Chapter 2

Isabelle's POV

Vincent feels me stiffen. "What's wrong?" Confusion edges his voice as his arms tighten around me.

That perfume gets stronger.

I want to push him away. I want to run to the bathroom and throw up. I want to ask him why he'd let that woman's scent cover him before coming to hold me. But I just stand there, letting him hold me, letting the nausea build inside me.

Outside, the sky darkens. This house that used to be mine feels foreign now.

"Oh, right." Vincent pulls back, a slight smile on his face. "You texted earlier about a surprise? What is it?"

I think of the medical report in my bag.

A few hours ago, I was excited imagining his reaction when he saw it. I even rehearsed in the car on the way home, practicing what to say, how to say it, when to hand it over.

But now, standing in this house still littered with celebration, breathing in another woman's perfume on his skin, I realize something. This news probably isn't good news for him anymore.

He already has the child he wants. A legitimate one that meets the family's expectations. This hope that came too late now just seems like trouble.

"Nothing," I say. "Just wanted to tell you I picked up takeout from that restaurant you like. It's in the car."

Vincent looks surprised, about to say something, but noise erupts from outside.

Footsteps, gasps, servants talking urgently.

I follow him to the door.

Downstairs is chaos.

Several servants cluster at the bottom of the stairs. Vincent's mother stands among them, anxiety all over her face. Serena sits on the couch, one hand against her forehead, the other protecting her stomach, her face pale.

"What happened?" Vincent rushes down.

A servant hurries over. "Sir! Miss Serena nearly fell down the stairs!"

Vincent's expression changes instantly.

I stand halfway down the stairs, watching. I recognize that look. Urgency. Panic. The kind of pure concern I haven't seen on his face in a long time.

"Where are you hurt?" He's already at Serena's side, crouching to check her ankle.

"I'm fine, Vincent." Serena's voice sounds weak and wronged. "Just a little shaken..."

I look closer.

Her clothes are neat, her hair unruffled, her makeup perfect. Her ankle doesn't even show a hint of swelling. She's clearly faking.

"Vincent," his mother's voice cuts in. "Don't just stand there! Get her to the hospital now! What if something happens to the baby..."

"I'll take her right now." Vincent stands, turns to me. "I need to get Serena to the hospital."

He says it like it's obvious.

"Can't you stay?"

The words slip out before I can stop them.

Vincent freezes, something conflicted crossing his face.

For just a moment, I see the man who used to drop everything for me. The man who stayed by my hospital bed for three days straight. The man who said nothing mattered more than me.

"Don't start." His voice hardens again. "She's carrying my child."

I reach out to stop him. My fingers barely touch his sleeve before he shakes me off impatiently.

Too rough.

I stumble back into the pillar by the stairs. Sharp pain explodes from my shoulder blade.

Vincent has already turned toward Serena.

"Vincent..." I call out.

He pauses without looking back.

"Stop being difficult," he says. "I'll be back soon."

Then he bends to lift Serena and heads for the door.

I lean against the pillar, watching servants rush after them. Like I don't even exist.

I deal with my shoulder in the bathroom. When I pull off my jacket, I can see bruising spreading under the skin.

Not serious. Compared to that bullet three years ago, this pain is nothing.

So why does it hurt so much worse this time?

I drive to the hospital.

I don't know why I need to go. Maybe to see if he'll care for her the way he used to care for me. Or maybe I just need an answer.

The VIP ward is on the fifth floor. I stand outside the room, looking through the window in the door.

Serena half-reclines on the bed, her "weakness" already gone. Vincent sits beside her, holding her hand, his face showing a tenderness I haven't seen in forever.

I can't see their lips moving, but I can feel that intimacy. The kind that used to belong only to us.

Then I watch him lean down and kiss her forehead.

I should leave.

But my feet won't move.

The door isn't fully closed. Their voices drift out in fragments.

"Vincent," Serena's voice comes soft. "Are you sure it's okay, leaving her like that? She lost the chance to be a mother because of you."

"I know she got hurt for me." Vincent's voice drops low, complicated. "But I just... every time I see that scar on her stomach, it reminds me of that time. Those dark, bloody days."

"I know it makes me an asshole. But I can't help it."

"And you," his voice turns gentle, "you and our baby are a fresh start. Clean. Full of hope."

My hand presses against the cold wall.

That's when I finally understand.

The man I nearly died saving changed a long time ago. Not just because of the heir.

He chose to change.

He chose to resent my scar because it reminds him of his own weakness.

He chose to avoid my pain because it makes him feel guilty.

He chose to embrace a new future because it doesn't force him to face the past.

And I became that past he left behind.

I walk out of the hospital and sit in my car for a long time.

Then I pull out my phone and call his mother.

"What now?" Her voice drips with impatience. "How long are you planning to keep this up?"

"I'll agree to the divorce."

Silence on the other end.

Then comes the barely concealed joy. "Really?"

"Really," I say. "But I have conditions."

"What conditions?"

"I want to leave. And I don't want anyone finding me."

The line goes quiet for a few seconds.

"Give me three days," she finally says. "In three days, you'll have everything you want."