Chapter 136 Chapter 136

Chapter 136 Chapter 136


Jail. Cold. Gray. Smelling like disinfectant, like metal, like despair.

Isabella sitting at table in visitation room, handcuffed wrists together. Orange jumpsuit replacing designer clothes. Hair messy, unwashed. Face without makeup, exposed, raw, real.

But eyes still the same. Wild. Unrepentant. Insane.

Door opening. Guards leading two people in. Kelvin and Margaret Hart. Parents looking older than days ago, worn down by shame, by guilt, by daughter who destroyed everything.

They sat across from Isabella. Table between them, barrier physical and emotional, both.

Margaret started crying immediately, seeing daughter like this. In jail. In jumpsuit. In handcuffs. Her baby. Her little girl. Gone. Replaced by this.

“Isabella,” Kelvin said, voice heavy, tired, defeated. “What happened to you?”

Isabella looked at father, blank expression. No shame. No regret. Nothing.

“What do you mean?” she asked, casual, like discussing weather, not kidnapping, not torture, not everything evil.

“What happened to you that made you this way?” Kelvin repeated, needing to understand, needing to know where they failed, where she broke.

Isabella laughed, bitter, harsh, cruel. “You want to know what happened to me?”

“Yes,” Margaret whispered through tears. “Please help us understand.”

“You happened,” Isabella said, simple, direct, blaming them completely.

Kelvin flinched like slapped. “What?”

“You and Mom,” Isabella continued, leaning forward, anger building, years of it pouring out. “Always busy with work, with business, with everything except me.”

“That’s not true,” Margaret protested, weak, knowing partly it was.

“Yes it is,” Isabella insisted, voice rising, guards watching closely, ready to intervene. “You gave me everything money could buy. Every toy. Every dress. Every thing I wanted.”

She paused, breathing hard, emotional despite trying not to be.

“But you never gave me you,” Isabella said, quieter now, hurt underneath rage. “Never time. Never attention. Never love. Real love.”

“We did love you,” Kelvin said, desperate to believe it, to make her believe it.

“You loved your work,” Isabella corrected, cruel, truthful maybe. “I was just obligation. Just responsibility. Just something to check off list.”

Margaret sobbed harder, knowing some truth in words, hating it, hating herself for it.

“And when I made mistakes,” Isabella continued, relentless, not done, not finished, “you never corrected me. Never said no. Never set boundaries. Just threw money at problems. Made them go away.”

“We tried to give you good life,” Kelvin said, defending weakly, knowing failed somehow.

“Good life?” Isabella repeated, mocking, angry. “I needed someone to care for me. Not my bank account. Not my wardrobe. Me. Isabella. The person. The daughter. The human being.”

She slammed handcuffed hands on table, metal clanking loud, guards stepping closer, warning.

“I needed someone to love me,” Isabella said, voice breaking finally, showing pain, real pain underneath everything. “Really love me. Not just say it but show it. Be there for me. See me.”

Silence for moment. Parents processing daughter hurting, understanding maybe where things went wrong.

“We do love you,” Margaret said, reaching across table, touching Isabella’s handcuffed hands. “We love you so much sweetheart.”

“Then prove it,” Isabella said, looking up at mother, eyes hard, demanding, insane still.

“How?” Margaret asked, willing to do anything to save daughter, to fix this, to make right.

“Help me get Landon back,” Isabella said, simple, serious, delusional.

Kelvin stared at daughter, shocked, horrified. “What?”

“You heard me,” Isabella said, not joking, not exaggerating, believing it completely. “If you love me like you claim, help me get Landon back.”

“Isabella, he’s married,” Margaret said, gentle, trying to reach sanity, trying to find reason.

“To her,” Isabella spat, hatred in voice, in eyes, in everything. “To Sienna. The woman who stole him from me.”

“She didn’t steal—”

“Kill her,” Isabella interrupted, cold, calm, terrifying. “If you really love me, kill Sienna. Remove her from picture. Then Landon will be mine again.”

Margaret pulled hand back fast like burned, staring at daughter, at monster she became.

“You’re asking us to murder someone?” Kelvin said, disbelief complete. “To commit crime for you?”

“For love,” Isabella corrected, twisted logic making sense to her only. “You said you love me. Prove it.”

“We can’t do that,” Margaret whispered, crying uncontrollably now. “We won’t do that.”

“Then you don’t love me,” Isabella said, leaning back, crossing arms best she could with handcuffs. “You never did.”

“That’s not fair,” Kelvin said, angry now, frustrated, heartbroken.

“Nothing’s fair!” Isabella shouted, standing up, guards moving in, hands on her shoulders, forcing her sit down.

“Nothing’s fair,” Isabella repeated, quieter but no less intense. “I loved him first. I wanted him most. But she got him. How is that fair?”

“Life isn’t fair,” Kelvin said, tired truth everyone learns eventually.

“Well I’m making it fair,” Isabella said, defiant, unbroken, unrepentant. “Even from here. Even from jail. I’ll find way to get him back. To destroy her.”

Margaret looked at daughter, searching for remorse, for regret, for anything human, anything redeemable.

But finding nothing. Just madness. Just obsession. Just emptiness where soul should be.

“Do you even feel sorry?” Margaret asked, needing to know. “For what you did to Sienna, to her baby, to all those people you hurt?”

“No,” Isabella said, immediate, honest, chilling. “I’d do it again. I’d do worse if I could.”

Margaret collapsed into sobs, complete breakdown, losing daughter truly, finally knowing she was gone forever.

Door opening again. Man in suit entering, briefcase in hand, professional, serious. Lawyer.

“Mr and Mrs Hart, Isabella,” he greeted, sitting down at table, opening briefcase, pulling out papers.

“Who are you?” Isabella asked, irritated by interruption.

“Your lawyer, David Morrison,” he said, calm, used to difficult clients. “Your parents hired me to represent you.”

“I don’t need lawyer,” Isabella said, dismissive, arrogant, delusional.

“You do,” David said, firm, direct. “You’re facing multiple charges. Kidnapping. Assault. Attempted murder. Terrorism for explosives. You need defense.”

He laid papers on table, pointing at dates, at details, at everything official.

“Court case is in two days,” David said, looking at Isabella, at parents, at everyone. “Judge set date already. Prosecution is ready. We need to prepare defense.”

“What defense?” Kelvin asked, hopeless, knowing evidence against her overwhelming.

“Insanity plea,” David said, only option really, only chance. “We argue Isabella wasn’t in right mind. Mental illness. Diminished capacity.”

“I’m not insane,” Isabella protested, offended somehow by implication.

“You kidnapped pregnant woman,” David said, blunt, factual. “Tortured her for days. Rigged buildings with explosives. Killed security guards. That’s not sane behavior.”

“I was in love,” Isabella said, like explained everything, justified everything.

“Love doesn’t do this,” Margaret whispered, still crying, still broken.

“My love does,” Isabella said, cold, final, true to her.

David sighed, closing briefcase, standing up. “We’ll talk more tomorrow. Prepare for court. For now think about what you want to say judge, jury, everyone watching.”

He left, leaving family alone again in silence, in grief, in everything wrong.

“We should go,” Kelvin said to wife, to Margaret, broken beside him.

They stood, looking at Isabella one last time, trying to see daughter they raised, daughter they loved, daughter they lost.

“We do love you,” Margaret said, final words. “Even if you don’t believe it. Even if you hate us. We love you.”

“Then get me Landon,” Isabella said, unchanging, unyielding, unrepentant.

They left. Guards taking Isabella back to cell, back to cage, back to life she chose.

And in cell alone, Isabella smiled, planning already, plotting, still believing she’d win eventually.

Two days until court. Two days until facing everything she did. Two days until justice, maybe.

But Isabella didn’t care about justice, about consequences, about anything but Landon.

And that would never change.