Chapter 1
Isabelle's POV
Everyone in this city knows that the king of the underworld, my husband Vincent, is crazy about me.
Three years ago, when that bullet tore through my abdomen, it took away my chance of ever being a mother. He held my blood-soaked body and swore to God he'd make the shooter's entire family pay. A month later, that family was wiped off the map in this city. No one dares speak their name anymore.
He sat by my hospital bed, holding my hand. "I don't need kids. I only need you."
I believed him.
Until six months ago, when his brother died in an accident, leaving behind his wife Serena. The family pressure came like a tidal wave. An heir. A bloodline. That's all they cared about. And that woman became everyone's golden ticket to keeping the Caruso name alive.
That's when my husband stopped coming home at night. Every night, I hear them through the wall. Sounds that used to be mine.
But today, the doctor told me my body is healing. The chances are slim, but there's hope.
I clutch the medical report and rush home, imagining Vincent's face when he sees the results. Maybe everything can go back to how it was. Maybe he'll realize he doesn't need her.
Until I stand outside our mansion and hear laughter pouring out.
"Serena's pregnant! Can you believe it? The family finally has an heir!"
"Finally. The family's saved."
The report feels damp in my hands, my sweat soaking through the edges.
I take a deep breath and push open the door.
The laughter freezes the second I appear. Everyone's eyes land on me, then quickly dart away, like I'm a ghost.
Serena nestles into Vincent's arms, her hand resting on her small baby bump. His hand covers hers, and his face shows a softness I haven't seen in three years.
Champagne glasses glitter on the table. The air smells like celebration.
"Keep going, everyone," Vincent's mother says, her voice sticky sweet. "Isabelle just needs to grab something. She won't be long."
The chatter picks up again, just quieter this time.
I stand in the doorway, the report burning in my hand. A few hours ago, I was sitting in my car grinning like an idiot, texting Vincent about having a surprise for him tonight. I even went out of my way to pick up takeout from his favorite restaurant.
That food's still in my car, along with all my stupid expectations.
"Poor thing, so young and yet..."
"Shh, keep your voice down."
"What does it matter? She can hear us anyway. Besides, if she hadn't taken that bullet..."
"Enough." Vincent's voice cuts through, sharp with controlled anger. "She took that bullet for me. I won't let you talk about her like that."
Such a familiar script. He always jumps in to defend me at moments like this, as if that somehow cancels out everything else.
My eyes find the necklace around Serena's throat.
That necklace.
A single ruby hangs from a platinum chain, catching the light and gleaming blood-red. It's been passed down through the Caruso family for generations. Only the boss's wife gets to wear it.
Three years ago at our wedding, Vincent knelt in front of me holding that necklace. "From now on, you're my wife. My only wife. The only woman who'll ever wear this. I swear to God, nothing will ever come between us."
I thought real love didn't need proof. So I locked it away in the safe and never wore it again.
Now it sits around another woman's neck.
Vincent notices where I'm looking. I watch him swallow hard, then he gets up and walks toward me.
"Look, uh..." He sounds embarrassed. "She wanted to try it on, so I let her wear it tonight. Don't read into it. You're still everything to me."
Everything to him.
How ironic. Everything to him stands in the doorway like a stranger, while the woman who's "borrowing" it sits in my seat, soaking up everyone's congratulations.
I don't answer. I just slip the report into my bag.
"Congratulations," I hear myself say, my voice flat and empty. "Really. Congratulations."
The party ends two hours later.
Vincent sees the last guest out and turns to find me standing at the bottom of the stairs with my suitcase.
"What are you..."
"Your mother said the master bedroom has better light. Better for a pregnant woman." I cut him off. "I already packed."
His expression shifts. I know what he's thinking. His mother brought it up first. It wasn't his idea. So he can pretend to be innocent.
"Isabelle," Serena appears from the living room, her voice dripping with sweetness. "If you don't want to move, I can really take another room. I don't want to make things difficult for you."
She says my name like we're old friends. But the flash of triumph in her eyes gives her away.
I look at her and suddenly want to laugh.
"Congratulations," I say again, then drag my suitcase toward the stairs.
Vincent's footsteps follow me. He catches up and reaches for the handle.
"I can manage."
"Let me help."
The new room is at the end of the hallway, its window facing north where the sun never reaches. Compared to the master bedroom, this place feels like a storage closet.
I set down my suitcase. Vincent lingers in the doorway, his face full of things he wants to say but doesn't.
"I know you're upset," he finally starts, his voice soft and patronizing. "But you have to understand. The family needs an heir. Once she has the baby, this all ends. There's nothing between me and her. Nothing real."
Once she has the baby.
Then what? Then he'll come back to me? Go back to loving only me?
"You're the one I love," he says, moving closer and pulling me in. "That's never changed."
His arms wrap around me, his chin resting on top of my head. We've done this a thousand times. It used to make me feel safe. Loved.
But this time, I smell something. Serena's perfume, clinging to his shirt, mixed into his scent like she's marking her territory.
My body goes rigid.
I think about earlier, in the living room. Serena leaning against his shoulder. The two of them so close.
Every night, do they hold each other like this too? Does he use this same gentle voice with her? Do his hands touch her waist the way they're touching mine right now?
Nausea hits me hard and fast. It surges up from my stomach and lodges in my throat.
I think I'm going to be sick.
