THE RETURN OF THE RED BUTCHER

3

Simon got down from the public taxi before it fully settled by the curb.

He tossed a few notes to the driver and rushed toward the tall black gates of the Robertson Estate. His heart was beating too fast. Isabella’s cold voice kept repeating in his head.

“It concerns our child.”

The guards at the gate straightened when they saw him, but not with respect. One of them looked at Simon’s simple shirt, dusty trousers, and worn shoes. The other guard’s mouth twisted as if Simon had brought dirt to the gate.

“Good afternoon,” Simon said, moving past them.

“Afternoon, sir,” one guard replied, but the word sir came out lazy and empty.

The second guard waited until Simon passed before muttering, “Public taxi again. This man is truly shameless.”

“He married Miss Isabella and still smells like the public market,” the first one said.

Simon heard them, but he did not stop. His mind was on Isabella and the baby. The Robertson Estate was wide, bright, and expensive. The driveway curved through trimmed flowers and short palm trees. Gardeners worked near the fountain, while two maids crossed the marble path with silver trays.

One maid saw him and held her nose.

“Oh no,” she whispered. “Mr Simon and that fish smell is back.”

The other maid looked him up and down. “How did Miss Isabella end up with him? The late Mr. John must have made a terrible mistake handing over his daughter to this dog of a man.”

A gardener laughed quietly. “Mistake? That was a curse. Look at him. He looks like someone who came to repair the drainage.”

Simon kept walking.

Every insult hit him, but he buried it. He had heard worse in war camps and royal halls. Still, this place hurt in a different way. It was the home where he once believed he had found peace after a long time of turbulence, chaos, war and death.

The late John Robertson had known the truth about him. John had known that Simon Gallagher was not a common man. He had known about the Red Butcher, the wars, and the enemies Simon had left behind. When Simon asked for a quiet life, John had promised to protect his identity.

“You hide here,” John had once told him. “In my house, no one will look for a warlord.”

So Simon became John’s personal assistant. He handled private threats, blocked and dealt with dishonest rivals, and gave advice that saved Robertson Oil from foolish deals. John trusted his judgment so much that the company’s profits rose faster than anyone expected. But no one knew Simon was the hidden hand behind many of those wins.

When John gave Isabella to him in marriage, Simon had believed the old man truly saw him as family.

Then John died.

After that, the house changed. Fiona Robertson treated him like a stain. Caleb and Irene who were Mr John other children mocked him like a servant who had forgotten his place. Even the staff grew bold. Simon said nothing. He sold fish, stayed humble, and tried to love Isabella well.

But lately, Isabella had changed too. Her smiles had become rare. Her voice had lost its warmth. Sometimes she looked at him as if she was measuring the cost of staying married.

Simon reached the mansion doors and pushed them open.

The cool air inside smelled of polished wood, flowers, and expensive perfume. He walked quickly into the living room, then stopped.

Fiona Robertson sat on the long cream sofa with her legs crossed. Caleb leaned against the bar counter, holding a glass. Irene sat near the center table, smiling as if she had heard a joke. Uncle James Robertson sat with his hands folded over his stomach.

Beside them was Isabella.

Her small baby bump showed under her fitted dress. She looked calm. She did not look hurt. She did not even look afraid.

And sitting close to her was Romeo Benjamin, the CEO of Benny Media Group. His suit was sharp, his shoes were shining, and his smile carried the confidence of a man who believed every room belonged to him.

Simon’s chest tightened.

Five seconds before he entered, they had all looked happy. Now they only looked amused.

Fiona’s face changed first. She lifted two fingers to her nose. “Oh, heavens. Simon, must you bring that awful smell into my living room?”

Irene leaned back and made a choking sound. “Oh, it’s the fish again. I knew it. I told Caleb I smelled something dead.”

Caleb laughed. “Don’t insult dead things. At least they stop moving.”

Romeo gave a polite smile and adjusted his sleeve. “Mrs. Robertson, perhaps we should open the windows. The man clearly came straight from his stall.”

Irene covered her mouth. “Please do. I may vomit.”

They laughed.

Simon looked at Isabella.

She only gave a small chuckle and looked away.

That hurt more than all their words.

“Isabella,” Simon said quietly. “You called me here and said it concerned our child. What is going on?”

Fiona clicked her tongue. “Listen to his tone. A fish seller raising his voice in my house.”

“I am not raising my voice,” Simon said. “I am asking my wife a question.”

“Your wife?” Irene said, laughing again. “You say it like it makes sense.”

Romeo leaned forward. “Mr. Gallagher, no one is attacking you. Try to act with some class. This is a family discussion.”

Simon’s eyes moved to him. “And you are family?”

The room went still for a second.

Romeo smiled wider. “Well I am more useful than some family members.” That insult was referred to Simon.

Caleb raised his glass. “That is true.”

Simon’s hands curled at his sides, but he controlled himself. He had crossed battlefields without losing his mind. He would not lose it because of rich fools in a living room.

“Can someone tell me what the hell is happening here?” Simon asked.

The laughter faded.

Isabella slowly stood up. One hand rested on her baby bump. Her face was beautiful, but there was no warmth in it.

“Simon,” she said. “I want a divorce.”

The words struck him harder than any blade or bullet had ever done.

For a moment, the room seemed too quiet. Simon stared at her, waiting for her to smile, to say she was angry, to explain that this was some cruel test. But Isabella only watched him with cold eyes.

“What?” he said.

Fiona sighed as if she had been waiting for this relief. Irene smiled openly. Romeo looked down, hiding satisfaction behind his hand.

Simon took one step closer. “Come on, Isabella. You are joking.”

“I am not joking.”

“You called me like something had happened to you. I rushed here because I thought you or the baby was in danger.”

“This concerns the baby,” Isabella said.

Simon’s voice cracked despite his effort to stay calm. “Then why would you want a divorce when you already have my child?”

Isabella looked away for a moment, then faced him again.

“No, Simon,” she said coldly. “This isn’t just…”