Isabella stirred the soup with her spoon, but her appetite had vanished again. The rich aroma of garlic, tomatoes, and herbs normally would have tempted her, but today, like so many other days lately, the scent only made her stomach churn.
She set the spoon down slowly and looked around the dining room. Two maids hovered in the background, whispering behind their hands as they watched her from the corner of their eyes. The once-neutral glances had shifted into something sharper. Suspicion. Curiosity.
She straightened her back and forced herself to take a bite. It tasted fine, even delicious, but her body rejected it, and she swallowed hard just to keep from gagging. Her energy had been steadily draining over the last few weeks. Simple things like walking up the stairs or getting out of bed took more effort than they should.
She blamed it on stress. On the strange new world she had been thrown into. On Vance and the ever-tightening grip he had on her life. But deep down, she knew. Her body was changing. And it wasn't because of stress.
Rosa approached from behind, setting down a tray of fruit. Her tone was soft. "Miss Isabella, I made this for you myself. You haven't been eating much."
Isabella offered a weak smile. "Thank you, Rosa. I'm just not very hungry today."
Rosa hesitated, watching her with kind but searching eyes. "I hope you don't mind me asking... Are you alright? You look pale lately. Tired. Nausea in the mornings... certain cravings. It reminds me of when my sister was expecting."
Isabella's heart skipped. She shook her head quickly. "No. That's not it. I've just been adjusting to the environment here. It's nothing."
Rosa didn't press further, but the way her eyes lingered told Isabella the doubt hadn't vanished.
She excused herself shortly after and retreated to her room. Her hands trembled slightly as she locked the door behind her. The last thing she needed was for rumors to start. If word reached Vance...
The thought alone sent ice crawling down her spine.
A knock came at the door not long after. She opened it to find Vance standing there in his dark grey shirt, sleeves rolled up, a briefcase in hand.
"I want you to come with me on a trip to Vienna," he said flatly.
Her heart jumped. "Vienna?"
"I have some business to handle there. You'll keep me company. Pack enough for three days."
Isabella hesitated, her mind racing. Long flights, new surroundings, no safe place to run if something went wrong. What if she fainted? What if she vomited in public? What if...
"I-I'm not sure I'm up for traveling right now," she said carefully.
Vance raised an eyebrow. "Since when do you decide what you're up for?"
She swallowed. "I just feel a little off lately. Maybe something I ate. Could it wait?"
His stare lingered, unreadable as always. "Fine. Another time."
He turned and walked away, but the sense of unease he left behind clung to her. That had been a close call.
Later that night, the air in the mansion felt thick. Isabella wandered down the hallway in search of quiet, her bare feet pressing softly against the polished marble floor. Her nightgown brushed against her ankles, her fingers trembling slightly as she traced them along the wall.
She was unraveling. No matter how much she tried to stay composed, it was getting harder to hide.
"You've been avoiding me."
The voice made her stop.
She turned. Karl stood a few steps behind her. His jaw was tight, his eyes sharp. His presence filled the hallway in a way that made it impossible to ignore him.
"I'm not avoiding you," she said, turning away.
He walked closer. "Yes, you are... I mean... You barely even look at me."
"There's nothing to talk about, Karl," she said quietly. "What exactly do you want? We have decided to bury the hatchet and move on... Why haven't you?"
He stepped in front of her, blocking her path. "Then why do you look like you're carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders?"
Her lips trembled. "I'm fine."
"No, you're not. You're pale. You look exhausted. You barely eat. Don't lie to me."
She looked away, her voice barely above a whisper. "You don't understand."
"Then help me understand," he said. His tone softened. "Please, Isabella. If something's wrong... you can tell me. I'll protect you."
Tears welled in her eyes, and for a moment, she believed him. She wanted to throw herself into his arms, to tell him about the constant nausea, the missed cycle, the fear that twisted her insides every day.
But then she remembered. Vance. The power he held. The promises he made. The threat that loomed like a shadow over everything.
"I can't," she whispered.
Karl looked wounded. "Why not? You think I'd hurt you?"
"No," she said quickly. "That's not it. But whatever you're hoping for... whatever you think this is between us... it was one night. A mistake. We can't afford to think of it as anything else."
His eyes darkened, pain flickering across his face. "Is that really how you feel?"
She hesitated. "It has to be."
He stepped back slowly, nodding as if her words had cut through something inside him. "Right. I get it."
"I'm sorry," she said, brushing past him.
As she moved away, she could feel his eyes on her back. Heavy. Torn. He wanted to chase after her, to fight for her truth, but he didn't. He just stood there, stuck in the silence she left behind.
Isabella's steps faltered once she turned the corner. She pressed a hand to her stomach, eyes closed as a wave of nausea rolled through her. Her breath hitched, and she leaned against the wall until it passed.
She wasn't just protecting herself. She was protecting him, too. Karl couldn't know. Not yet.
Somewhere near the study, behind a thick velvet curtain, someone watched. Silent. Still. Their breath held. They had seen the exchange. Seen the way Isabella's hand drifted to her stomach.
Their eyes narrowed.
And now, the truth had a witness.