The weeks passed in a haze, but Isabella felt every hour like a weight pressing down on her chest. She threw herself into her duties at the estate, smiled when she was expected to smile, and nodded when her father spoke of alliances and responsibilities. But beneath the surface, her body was no longer her own.
The first time she suspected, she dismissed it as exhaustion. A skipped meal, a restless night, nothing more. But as the days bled into weeks, the signs became impossible to ignore.
The nausea at dawn. The faint dizziness that stole her breath. The way her dresses began to tighten across her waist.
And then there was the undeniable truth whispered by the midwife she sought in secret.
"You're with child," the woman said gently, her lined face soft with sympathy. "Nearly two months along, I'd say."
The world seemed to tilt on its axis. Isabella clutched the edge of the wooden table, her knuckles bone-white. Two months. That night in Adrian's library…
Her heart hammered painfully. She wanted to scream, to deny it, to will the words away. But deep down, she had known. She had known the moment she saw her reflection in the mirror, glowing with a light that didn't belong to her.
A baby. Adrian's baby.
The midwife laid a hand over hers. "You should tell the father. He has a right to know."
Isabella's throat closed, a storm of emotions choking her. Adrian. If he knew, he would never let her go. He would claim her child as ruthlessly as he had claimed her body.
But what kind of life would that be? A child raised in shadows, in blood, in fear of enemies who would strike without mercy.
"No," she whispered, tears stinging her eyes. "He can't know. No one can know."
The woman hesitated, then nodded, her gaze heavy with unspoken warnings. "Secrets don't stay buried forever, my dear."
Isabella pulled her cloak tighter around herself, her decision hardening like steel. "Then I'll bury it deeper."
That night, she stood at her window, staring at the sprawling city lights that glittered against the darkness. Somewhere out there, Adrian Moretti prowled the streets, ruthless and untouchable. Somewhere out there, the man who had shattered her world with a single night of passion lived, completely unaware of the life now growing inside her.
A part of her longed to run to him, to confess, to fall into his arms and beg him to protect her. But the memory of his words You're mine echoed in her mind like a chain clamping around her throat.
Adrian didn't love her. He had claimed her, yes, but in his world, claim and possession were the same thing. To him, she was a prize to be guarded, not a woman to be cherished.
And she would not allow her child to grow up as a pawn in the war between families.
Her hand drifted to her stomach, trembling as she felt the smallest swell beneath her palm. "I'll keep you safe," she whispered into the night. "Even if it means leaving everything behind."
Two weeks later, she made her choice.
Isabella packed her belongings quietly, stuffing plain dresses and keepsakes into a small leather trunk. Each item she folded felt like another farewell farewell to her gilded cage, to the halls that had both protected and imprisoned her, to the father whose cold eyes had never softened even once for her.
Her heart clenched as she paused over a small framed sketch of her mother, the only woman who had ever offered her tenderness in this house. She tucked it carefully into her trunk, close to her chest.
The hardest farewell of all would be to Adrian.
Though they had never spoken of love, though what lay between them had been born of fire and forbidden desire, a part of her soul remained tethered to him. She could still feel his hands, his voice, his claim etched into her skin.
But love if it could even be called that wasn't enough. Not when a child's life hung in the balance.
So she left him behind too.
Her escape was silent, cloaked in the cover of night. A hired carriage waited at the gates, its lantern dim to avoid attention. Isabella climbed inside, clutching her trunk with one hand and her belly with the other.
As the horses lurched forward, she cast one last glance at the city behind her. Somewhere in its labyrinth of power and violence was the man who would never know he had a son or daughter.
Her throat burned, but she held her tears back. She couldn't afford weakness now.
She whispered into the darkness, her vow carrying on the wind:
"You'll never touch him, Adrian. You'll never touch our child. I'll protect him from you, from this world, from everything."
The carriage rolled on, and with every mile that carried her away, Isabella buried the life she had known.
But secrets were living things. And as her child grew, so too did the storm waiting for the day it would finally break.