The bathroom mirror was foggy. Isabella leaned over the sink, both hands gripping the porcelain edge as if it was the only thing keeping her from falling apart. Her stomach churned again, but this time it wasn't the food. It was the fear.
A knock came at the door.
"You okay in there?" a maid asked from outside.
"I'm fine," Isabella croaked, forcing calm into her voice. "Just give me a minute."
Footsteps faded.
She turned back to the mirror, wiping the glass with the edge of her sleeve. Her reflection stared back at her–pale, with dark circles under her eyes. Her fingers trembled as she reached into the pocket of her robe and pulled out the small paper bag.
Inside it was the test.
She'd paid one of the drivers to sneak it in from the city, swearing him to silence. She didn't trust anyone else. The signs had been growing for weeks, sickness in the morning, fatigue that left her dizzy, and the strange heaviness in her chest. She tried to convince herself it was stress. After all, living under the roof of a man like Vance was enough to make anyone feel sick.
But she knew better.
Isabella opened the test with shaking hands. Her breath caught as she followed the instructions. Every second stretched into an eternity. She paced the tiled floor, glancing at the timer on her phone, willing time to move faster.
When the buzzer sounded, she froze.
This was it.
She walked back to the sink, heart thudding wildly. She looked down.
Two lines.
Clear. Bold. Undeniable.
Her breath left her in a rush. The room seemed to spin for a moment. She clutched the edge of the counter, willing herself not to cry.
Pregnant.
It didn't feel real. And yet... It explained everything.
She turned away from the test, wrapping it back into the paper and stuffing it deep into the pocket of her robe. No one could know. Not yet.
Not ever, if she could help it.
Her thoughts flew to Karl. That night. The mistake. The look on his face when they both realized what had happened. He didn't know. He couldn't know.
She splashed water on her face, forcing herself to breathe. There was no room for emotion. Not here. Not now.
When she stepped out of the bathroom, she found Vance waiting in the hallway.
He wore a black shirt, sleeves rolled up, eyes as unreadable as ever.
"You were in there a long time," he said, voice low.
"I wasn't feeling well," she replied, keeping her tone even. "Must be something I ate."
He studied her face, and for a moment, Isabella feared he would see right through her. But then he nodded.
"Come downstairs. I need you by my side for a meeting."
"With who?"
"Some of our buyers from Prague. Show them respect."
She followed him in silence, her hands clenched tightly at her sides. Every step felt like a battle. She couldn't let him see the fear crawling under her skin. He already treated her like property, if he found out she was carrying a child, it would only make things worse.
At the base of the stairs, Marco waited. His eyes skimmed over her, sharp and judgmental.
"You look like hell," he muttered.
"Thanks," she said dryly.
Vance shot him a look, and Marco stepped aside.
In the lounge, two suited men sat on the leather couches, smoking cigars. Their accents were heavy, their laughter loud and coarse. Isabella sat beside Vance, doing her best to look composed.
But her thoughts weren't in the conversation.
They were on the tiny life growing inside her.
Her hand moved unconsciously to her stomach. She caught herself and dropped it quickly. No one could notice.
"Isabella," Vance said sharply. "You're not listening."
She blinked. "I'm sorry. What was the question?"
One of the buyers grinned. "He asked if you were good with languages. You seem too pretty to be just an ornament."
"I speak four," she said coolly. "English, Italian, French, and some Russian."
The men exchanged a look of approval. Vance's hand settled on her thigh, a possessive gesture meant to remind her of her place. It took everything in her not to flinch.
After the meeting ended, Isabella returned to her room. She locked the door behind her and collapsed onto the bed. The walls closed in around her. She felt trapped, like a bird in a golden cage.
Pregnant.
How was she supposed to hide it? For how long?
She thought of the women in the house... maids, spies, Vance's informants. Even a whisper would be enough to destroy everything. If Vance suspected the baby wasn't his... he would kill her.
No questions. No mercy.
There was a soft knock at her door.
"Isabella?"
It was Karl.
Her heart raced.
She stayed silent, hoping he would go away.
"I know you're in there," he said softly. "Please... just open the door."
She hesitated, then moved slowly to unlock it.
Karl stepped inside, closing the door behind him.
He looked tired. His eyes were darker than usual, and his jaw was tense.
"We haven't talked," he said. "I know I said..."
"There's nothing to talk about," she replied, voice hard.
He winced. "I just... I wanted to make sure you're okay."
"I'm fine."
Silence fell between them.
He took a step closer. "You look pale. Have you seen a doctor?"
She shook her head quickly. "Don't."
"Don't what?"
"Don't act like you care. It was a mistake. We said that."
His jaw clenched. "Right."
He turned to leave.
But before he could open the door, she spoke.
"Just leave me alone, Karl. That's the best thing you can do."
He hesitated, then nodded.
When he was gone, Isabella sank to the floor, tears spilling silently down her cheeks.
It was all falling apart.
She had to be strong. For her unborn child. For herself.
No one could know.
Not yet.
Not ever.