Blackmailed Between My Thighs - Chapter 5: Chapter 5

I don’t remember how I made it back to my apartment.
My head was spinning the whole way. Part of me was still reeling from my own stupidity—what the hell had I been thinking, storming into that storage room? But the other part couldn’t shake the gnawing suspicion about those hidden cameras.
Was Isabella the one being filmed?
Or worse—had Daniel set them up himself?
And then there was Nathan Lawrence, always so polished, so professional at work. The way he’d handled himself today made my skin crawl. I grabbed my phone and dialed Isabella before I could second-guess myself.
She picked up after a few rings. I didn’t bother with small talk. "Are you free right now?"
The clatter of silverware echoed through the line before she answered, confused. "I just got home. About to eat."
She laughed, light and teasing. "Damn, what’s the rush?"
I shut it down, my voice sharp. "We need to talk. Meet me out. My treat."
Maybe it was the edge in my tone, but she didn’t argue. Twenty minutes later, she slid into the booth across from me at the diner near our building.
Gone was her usual office polish—tonight, she was all legs and attitude in a skirt that barely qualified as clothing. Heads turned as she walked in, but she didn’t seem to notice. Or care.
She dropped her bag onto the seat and took her time settling in. "Okay, what’s the emergency?"
Whoever had planted those cameras—whether she knew about them or not—she needed to hear this.
I laid it all out: Michael’s warning, the locations, the timestamps. As the pieces clicked together, her expression darkened.
"You had no idea?" I pressed.
Her eyes locked onto mine, a crack in her usual composure. "No."
The server dropped off our food, but neither of us touched it. The second we were alone again, I leaned in. "Could it be Daniel?"
She swallowed hard. "He never mentioned cameras. But the first time we… hooked up, he tried to film it. I shut it down. Thought it was just some weird kink."
Her voice wavered. "Vivian, if this gets out—"
A hot rush of frustration cut through me. "Isabella, come on. You had to know this was a risk."
At that, her eyes welled up.
I’d seen her command boardrooms, crush presentations, own every room she walked into. But this? This was new.
She wiped at her smudged mascara, voice breaking. "I knew. But I wasn’t thinking straight back then."
She looked up, raw and exposed. "After we got married, my husband barely came home. Last year, I showed up for his birthday—and found out he had a whole other family. A two-year-old daughter."
My mouth fell open. "Jesus. But—divorce should’ve been your first move, not revenge sex."
A bitter laugh escaped her. "When I told my parents I wanted out, they called me hysterical. Probably didn’t want to give back the dowry."
By now, the place had emptied out. I pushed a napkin toward her, chest tight. "Why didn’t you tell me?"
Stories like hers weren’t rare back home.
Hell, even I got the constant lectures from my parents, and I wasn’t even married.
If she’d just said something—if she’d needed money for a lawyer—I could’ve helped.
Instead, she’d gone nuclear. And now we were here.
Isabella dabbed at her eyes, steeling herself. "Whatever. Maybe when the videos leak, my husband will finally file for divorce. That’s all I want now anyway."
I hesitated. "And your career?"
She gave me a hollow smile. "Doesn’t matter."
It took another hour before she picked at her food, shaky but calmer.
Back home, I stayed up half the night turning it over. One thing was clear—no matter who was behind this, I needed those memory cards. Now.