Taming My Sugar Mommy
Chapter 42: Her secret

Chapter 42: Her secret

"Perfectly serious," she replied. "Consider it insurance. You have something of mine, I’ll have something of yours. Mutually assured destruction, as they say in diplomatic circles."

"And if I refuse?"

"Then the file remains locked, and in three days, everyone learns what Isabella did." Her voice hardened. "Including the authorities."

Liam closed his eyes, weighing his options. Each one worse than the last. "This wasn’t part of our deal."

"I’m altering the deal," she said simply. "Pray I don’t alter it further."

Silence stretched between them as Liam grappled with the choice before him—compromise himself or risk Isabella’s freedom, her empire, her very life perhaps.

"You have thirty minutes to decide," Seraphina added. "After that, I’ll assume you’re not serious about protecting her, and I’ll make other arrangements."

The call ended, leaving him standing in the middle of his bedroom, trapped between impossible choices.

Twenty-eight minutes later, his phone buzzed with a text containing a string of random characters: the password. Followed immediately by: "Wise choice, Mr. Campbell. Consider this the beginning of our partnership."

Hands shaking slightly, he entered the password into the prompt. The file unlocked, revealing documents and photographs that confirmed his worst fears about what had happened in Jonathan Ashworth’s study that night—and Isabella’s role in it.

The video quality was grainy—security footage from what appeared to be a hidden camera in Jonathan Ashworth’s study. The timestamp in the corner showed a date nine years ago, just before Isabella launched her company.

Jonathan Ashworth paced the study, drink in hand, his imposing figure casting long shadows across the book-lined walls. The man’s face was contorted with fury—not the controlled anger of board meetings, but something raw and unhinged. A vein pulsed at his temple as he gestured wildly with his free hand.

Isabella entered the frame, her posture rigid, face composed but pale. She looked different than the Isabella he knew—thinner, her confidence not yet fully formed, but her eyes held the same fierce determination.

There was no audio, but it was clear from Jonathan’s gestures that he was shouting. Isabella stood her ground, saying something that made her father’s face darken further. He threw his glass against the wall, the liquid splashing across expensive books.

Liam’s stomach clenched as Jonathan advanced on Isabella, finger jabbing toward her face. Even without sound, the menace was palpable. She backed up a step, not in submission but strategy, creating distance.

Jonathan grabbed her arm, yanking her forward. The camera caught Isabella’s grimace of pain. With a swift movement, Jonathan backhanded her across the face, sending her staggering sideways.

Liam’s hands curled into fists as he watched, bile rising in his throat. ’This isn’t a one-time loss of control—the casual brutality speaks of well-practiced violence.’

Isabella straightened, touching a hand to her split lip. Whatever she said next made Jonathan pause, his expression changing from rage to cold calculation. He moved to his desk, yanking open a drawer and withdrawing papers—contracts, from the look of them. He thrust them toward Isabella, jabbing at a line with his finger.

She shook her head, refusing to take the pen he offered. Jonathan’s face contorted again, and he seized her by the throat, pushing her against the bookshelf. Books tumbled around them as he pinned her there.

Liam could see Isabella struggling to breathe, her hands clawing at her father’s wrist. Just when it seemed she might lose consciousness, her hand found something on the shelf behind her—the silver letter opener that now sat innocently on Isabella’s kitchen counter.

In one fluid motion, born of desperation, Isabella brought the letter opener down, driving it into her father’s shoulder. Jonathan released her immediately, howling silently as he staggered backward. Blood bloomed across his expensive shirt as he looked at Isabella with shock and fury.

But instead of retreating or calling for help, Jonathan lunged toward her again, his face twisted with murderous rage, his hands outstretched toward her throat. Isabella’s eyes widened in terror as she made a split-second decision. As he came at her, she raised the letter opener defensively, and his momentum carried him forward onto the blade.

Jonathan Ashworth froze, disbelief washing over his features. He stumbled backward, collapsing into his desk chair, the silver handle protruding from his chest.

Isabella stood motionless, chest heaving, watching as her father’s movements grew weaker. She didn’t run. Didn’t cry out. Just watched with a terrible stillness as Jonathan Ashworth took his final breaths, his hand reaching toward her in what might have been supplication or a final attempt to harm.

When he finally stilled, Isabella approached cautiously, checking his pulse with clinical detachment. Only then did her composure crack, her hand flying to her mouth as the reality of what had happened washed over her.

But what happened next revealed the Isabella that Liam had come to know. She straightened her shoulders, wiped her tears with the back of her hand, and began methodically cleaning the scene. She removed the letter opener, wiping it clean. She retrieved a small leather-bound journal from her father’s desk drawer—the same journal Liam had glimpsed once in Isabella’s private safe, its pages filled with what appeared to be decades of meticulous records of Jonathan’s various indiscretions, blackmail material, and offshore accounts.

The video ended there, freezing on Isabella’s face—tear-streaked but resolute, already calculating her next steps, already planning the empire she would build from the ashes of her father’s violence.

’Was it self-defense or something more?’ Liam wondered, replaying the scene in his mind. ’The video showed clear evidence of assault, of Isabella fighting for her life—but had she seized an opportunity in that moment of crisis? The careful cleaning, the journal—those weren’t the actions of someone in shock.’

Liam stared at the frozen image of Isabella, seeing her anew. Not just as a powerful businesswoman, but as someone who had survived terrible violence—and perhaps crossed a line in the process. The evidence suggested self-defense, but the aftermath revealed calculation. The courts might see it one way, but public opinion would destroy everything she’d built, regardless of the circumstances.

He closed the file and poured himself three fingers of whiskey, downing it in one burning gulp. Tomorrow, he would see Isabella after Blackwood meeting—would look into her eyes knowing what he now knew. Would she see the knowledge there? Would she recognize that he held her fate in his hands, just as Seraphina held his?

The letter opener sitting on Isabella’s kitchen counter flashed in his memory—polished, gleaming, displayed almost like a trophy. ’Had she kept it as a reminder of what she was capable of? Or as a warning to herself about what she might become?’

Liam poured another drink and walked to the window, staring out at the city lights. The whiskey glass trembled slightly in his hand as a new, disturbing thought formed: ’What if Isabella already knew he had seen the footage? What if this was all part of a larger game—one whose rules and players remained hidden from him?’

He reached for his phone, then stopped. ’Who could he trust now? Who was manipulating whom?’

The answer, he realized, was nowhere to be found.

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