The sound of car tires crunching against gravel made Isabella freeze mid-step in the hallway. Her fingers tightened around the tray she was carrying, the scent of soup wafting up. No one was supposed to arrive today. Rosa had even said Vance wouldn't be back until the end of the week.
But then the door opened.
Vance strode in, brushing off his black coat like he owned the entire world, his cold blue eyes sweeping over the foyer as if inspecting it for dust. Behind him, two of his men carried briefcases, their presence as silent and suffocating as always.
"Surprise," he said, his lips curling into a grin that didn't quite reach his eyes when he spotted her.
Isabella plastered a smile on her face, even as her stomach churned. "You're back early."
"Business wrapped up faster than expected." He walked toward her and took the tray from her hands without asking. "Still taking care of things around here? Good. You look pale. Are you feeling alright?"
"Just a little tired," she replied quickly. "I wasn't expecting you."
"No one ever does," he murmured, his gaze lingering on her face for a heartbeat too long before turning away. "Dinner tonight. I've had the dining room set up already. Wear something red."
He walked off before she could answer, the tray in his hands forgotten as one of the staff rushed forward to take it from him. The walls felt smaller all of a sudden. Tighter.
That evening, the dining room glowed with soft golden light, the chandelier above flickering like candlelight. Vance had spared no expense. There was wine, plated courses of veal and roasted vegetables, a chocolate dessert she could barely look at.
Isabella sat across from him, hands folded in her lap. Every move she made, every breath she took, felt watched.
"You've been quiet," Vance said, swirling his wine. "Too quiet. Makes me wonder what's keeping you so occupied these days."
"Just resting more," she said carefully.
"Resting," he repeated. "Hmm. You know, in this family, there's not much room for rest. People who rest too long tend to miss things."
Her throat dried. She reached for her water, hiding the tremble in her fingers. "I understand."
Vance leaned forward slightly, elbows on the table, his expression unreadable. "Tell me, Isabella. What would you do if someone betrayed you?"
Her heart kicked against her ribs. "I…" she faltered, lowering her glass. "I guess it would depend on the betrayal."
"Would it?" he asked, his tone almost amused. "Because for me, there's no in-between. Betrayal is betrayal. Blood or not."
The words hung heavy between them.
Then he smiled again, wide and gleaming. "But we don't have to talk about unpleasant things, do we? You look beautiful tonight. Red suits you."
"Thank you," she whispered, wishing she'd chosen anything else.
From the far end of the hallway, Karl watched from the shadows.
He had come to grab files from the study when he heard Vance's voice echo through the hall. And then he saw Isabella, stiff-backed, eyes dull, her lips pulled into something that was supposed to be a smile.
He hadn't realized how quiet she'd become lately. Or how much distance now lingered between them. And as he watched Vance raise his glass toward her with a smug grin, something hot and sour curled in Karl's chest.
Back in the dining room, Isabella barely tasted her food. Every time Vance reached for his glass or knife, she flinched. Her thoughts were clouded, not just by fear, but guilt. She hadn't told Karl she was pregnant. She hadn't told anyone. And now, she wasn't sure who was watching her or how much Vance already suspected.
"Finish up," Vance said suddenly, standing. "I have something else planned for us tonight."
The warning bells in her head screamed louder.
He took her hand, firm but not rough, and led her through the hallway to the master bedroom. She didn't resist. She couldn't. The staff were still nearby. And Vance knew how to smile while whispering threats.
Inside the room, soft jazz played from unseen speakers. The curtains were already drawn. She stood near the door as he shrugged off his blazer and undid his cuffs.
He said without turning. "Is there something I should know? You don't look quite like yourself."
"No," she said too quickly. "I've just been... trying to find my place here."
Vance turned and walked up behind her. She didn't move as his hands grazed her shoulders, sliding down to her waist.
"You already have a place," he murmured near her ear. "Right next to me."
She closed her eyes, trying not to stiffen.
His lips brushed her neck, slow and possessive. His hands slipped lower, one brushing the curve of her hip. "Let me remind you of it."
She turned sharply, placing a palm against his chest. "Vance... I don't feel well. I think I ate something bad."
He paused.
His eyes narrowed just slightly, reading her like a page. "Is that so?"
"Yes," she lied, pressing a hand to her stomach. "I was feeling it earlier, too."
A beat passed.
Then he stepped back, sighing. "You've never been a good liar, Isabella." She blinked, stunned for a moment. Her heart skipped. "But," he said, already turning away, "I'm not in the mood to force anything tonight. Rest. You'll feel better tomorrow." He walked into the bathroom and shut the door behind him.
Isabella stood frozen, her entire body shaking once the door clicked shut. She hadn't realized how hard she was breathing. She didn't move until she heard the water running.
She bolted.
Not from the house, but to the guest room down the hall. She locked the door, leaned against it, and slid to the floor. Her hands cradled her lower abdomen protectively, tears stinging her eyes.
She couldn't do this much longer. Not with Vance watching. Not with the baby growing inside her.
Not when everything felt like a trap tightening around her neck.