Winning Back His Ex's Wife's Broken Heart by Hayley

Chapter 113 Sarah pov.

I purposely did not bring up the photos that I saw in Isabelle's belongings yet because I need to have just more than pictures to prove her wrong.

At first, I convinced myself it was paranoia. After everything Richard and I had been through, wasn't it natural to be a little on edge? But the coincidences kept piling up, each one more unsettling than the last.

I sat on the edge of our bed that morning, staring at my reflection in the mirror. My hair looked dull, my skin paler than usual. I felt off-nauseous even-but I told myself it was the stress. "Sarah, you can't keep ignoring this," I muttered to myself, running a hand over my face. I hadn't been sleeping well, and the tension in the house was eating away at me.

When Richard appeared in the doorway, I forced a smile. "Morning," I said, but my voice sounded weak even to me.

"Morning," he replied, leaning against the frame. "You look tired." "Gee, thanks," I said dryly.

He chuckled softly and walked over to kiss my forehead. "I didn't mean it like that. I'm just... worried about you. You haven't been yourself lately." I wanted to tell him everything-about Isabelle, about my suspicions-but I hesitated.

Every tI tried, Isabelle managed to twist things in her favor. I wasn't sure Richard would believeanymore.

"I'm fine," I said instead, brushing him off. "Just a lot on my mind." Later that day, while folding laundry, memories began creeping back.

At first, it seemed like a strange coincidence-Richard and I were in Hawaii and we met her there, on the beach while trying to have a picnic.

Meanwhile Richard had met her earlier. I remember she was staring right at us, pretending not to notice us until Richard waved at her.

She'd approached us, smiling shyly, acting hesitant, like she didn't want to interrupt. I didn't think much of it then, though a small voice in the back of my head toldsomething felt off.

When we returned to the States and saw her outside the cafe where we dined, claiming her bag had been stolen and she had nowhere to stay, I couldn't ignore the prickling doubt in my mind. Richard, ever the knight in shining armor, didn't hesitate to offer our guest bedroom for the night.

One night turned into a week. A week turned into her becoming a shadow in our home.

Back to present.

The next day, Isabelle made my morning coffee without asking how I took it.

"Here you go," she said brightly, handingthe mug.

"Thanks," I murmured, taking a cautious sip. It was exactly how I liked it-two sugars, a splash of cream, the tiniest pinch of cinnamon. I hadn't told her that. "Did Richard tell you how I like my coffee?" I asked, trying to sound casual.

She laughed lightly. "Oh, no. I just guessed." Guessed? It didn't sit right with me, but I let it go.

By the end of the week, I knew I needed to talk to someone. Someone who would listen without brushingoff. Martins cto mind immediately. As Richard's best friend and our family lawyer, he had a way of seeing things clearly. When I called him, I didn't mention Isabelle at first.

"I just need to talk," I said.

"Of course," Martins replied. "Want to meet at my office?" We met that afternoon. Martins was sitting behind his desk, his tie loosened like he'd been dealing with a long day.

"What's on your mind, Sarah?" he asked, his tone warm but professional.

I hesitated, unsure of where to begin. "It's about Isabelle." He frowned. "Isabelle? The woman staying with you and Richard?" I nodded. "She's... there's something off about her. She keeps showing up, knowing things she shouldn't. And she's... too close to Richard." Martins leaned back in his chair, his brow furrowed. "What exactly are you saying?" I took a deep breath, trying to organize my thoughts. "She's playing skind of game. I don't know what her end goal is, but I don't trust her." "Have you told Richard this?" I let out a bitter laugh. "He thinks I'm overreacting." Martins tapped his fingers on the desk, considering my words. "Do you have any proof?" "I found spictures of Richard in her room," I admitted. "But they are not enough." He nodded slowly. "Alright. Keepupdated. And, Sarah... be careful. If you're right about her, she's dangerous." As the days passed, my suspicions grew stronger. Isabelle wasn't just trying to fit in-she was trying to pushout.

Whenever Richard was around, she becthis picture of helpfulness, cooking dinner, tidying up, offering to run errands.

And Richard ate it up, oblivious to the way she glanced atwith a smug little smile when his back was turned. Meanwhile, I couldn't shake the exhaustion. Even the smell of coffee, which I usually loved, madefeel queasy.

My clothes felt tighter, and my moods were all over the chalked it stress place m it up to stress after all, living with a constant sense of unease would take a toll on anyone. One evening, while Richard was out, I decided to search Isabelle's room again.

I felt a pang of guilt as I opened her drawers, but it quickly faded when I thought about how much she'd m invaded my life. If she was hiding something, I needed to know. Her room was as tidy as ever. Too tidy. It felt staged, like she was expecting someone to look through her things. Then, tucked inside a shoebox in the back of her closet, I found it-a tattered photo of a man.

My breath caught in my throat. The clothes and hairstyle were outdated, like the photo had been taken decades ago.

"What the hell...?" I whispered, turning the photo over in my hands. There was no writing on the back, no clue as to who the man was.

Before I could think any further, I heard the front door open.

"Sarah?" Isabelle's voice called out.

Panic surged through me. I quickly put the photo back in the shoebox and shoved oved it into the closet, closing NO the door as quietly as I could. "Up here!" I called, forcing my voice to sound normal. She appeared in the doorway moments later, her smile as radiant as ever. "What are you doing in my room?" "I was looking for... um, my book," I lied, hating how unconvincing I sounded.

Her smile didn't waver, but her eyes narrowed slightly. "Well, letknow if you find it." I nodded, slipping past her and heading straight to my room. My heart was pounding, my mind racing.

Who was the man in the photo? And what did he have to do with Isabelle? One thing was certain-I needed answers. And I wasn't going to stop until I got them