Chapter 4

Isabelle

I knocked on the apartment door. An elderly woman peered out, squinting through glasses perched low on her nose. Her eyes narrowed slightly before she opened the door wider.

“Good morning, ma’am,” I said with a smile, stepping in.

“Hmph,” she grunted. “You’re…” She glanced at a silver watch that clung to her thin wrist. “You’re three minutes late.”

My lips parted slightly in shock. Three minutes?

I bowed slightly. “I apologize for my tardiness, ma’am.”

She grunted again—maybe this time it meant I was forgiven. She turned at once, expecting me to follow.

We passed through a dim passage into a sitting room that looked really archaic.

“Start here, young lady” she pointed to a flower vase beside the television. “Don’t break that vase. It costs more than your entire life.”

I bit down on my tongue, biting back a retort on impulse. “Understood, ma’am.” I said, instead.

She watched me like a hawk as I picked up a rag to begin dusting the vase.

“Not like that,” she snapped. “You’ll scratch it.”

I adjusted my grip immediately. “Sorry, ma’am.”

“Honestly,” she muttered, settling into a chair with an annoying groan. “Young people these days lack training. No discipline at all.” She scoffed.

I bent forward to dust under a shelf. My back had begun to ache already.

“You need to stand up straight when you work. How do you expect to finish this with that lazy pose of yours?” she said sharply.

For the next hour, she gave orders and complaints, never giving me breathing space.

“You missed that spot.”

“Oh no, don’t clean there!”

“Not that rag. Use the other one.”

Honestly, I was fed up but I nodded instead, obeying and swallowing my pride.

“You married?” she asked suddenly.

I blinked, surprised where this question came from. “No longer, ma’am.”The response danced off my tongue before I could hold it back.

She snorted. “Figured. You don’t look like someone a man would stay with.”

The words stung and I turned my face away. “I’ll get to the kitchen now.”

“Don’t touch the copper pots,” she yelled after me. “They’re real. Worth more than whatever you’re being paid!”

By noon, my hands were raw and I was soaked in perspiration. I slipped into the tiny guest bathroom and shut the door.

I took sharp breaths. One. Two.

Then the tears came, rolling down my cheeks like a fountain. I wiped them away with a tissue, still sniffling.

You chose this, Isabelle. No one’s coming to save you.

The sun was setting as I dragged myself towards the cheap motel I had used for the past two days. I didn’t bother with food as I barely had money for tomorrow’s fare.

Halfway down the street, my vision blurred and the world tilted before me. Then everything went black.

The smell of antiseptic hit my nose, then I heard a faint beep of machines in the background. Just above, my eyes caught the sterile white ceiling.

My throat felt dry, my head pounding with every heartbeat. Where was I?

I turned my head slowly. A curtain shielded the bed beside me. There was a drip attached to my hand, and my clothes had been replaced with a hospital gown.

There was a soft knock, before the curtain drew back.

“You’re awake.” A middle-aged doctor with kind eyes stepped forward, clipboard in hand. “How are you feeling?”

“I… I’m fine. Just tired. What happened?” I asked, my voice hoarse.

“You fainted on the road. You're lucky someone brought you in. You're suffering from severe fatigue and dehydration,” he said gently. “ Seems like you’ve been pushing yourself too hard.”

I swallowed, my expression grim. “The past few days have been rough.”

He nodded, his eyes holding understanding between them as he scribbled something on his chart.

“We noticed your iron levels were low. And, Miss…” He checked the file. “Isabelle, we ran a standard test—”

My breath caught in my throat. “What test?”

“You’re pregnant.”

I stared at him. My heart slammed against my chest.

“I—what? That's not possible”

“You’re early. Around four weeks, from what we can tell. But you’ll need to come back for a scan.”

My ears rang. Pregnant? How? From where?

“I can’t be pregnant.” I pressed a hand to my temple. “I don’t…I don't even have a place to live.”

The doctor’s eyes softened. “One step at a time. You’re stable now. We’ll monitor you.”He stepped out quietly.

I lay still, my eyes wide, my thoughts racing. I heard a chair scrape nearby. I turned and froze.

The man from the club.

Leaning against the far wall, arms crossed, jacket slung over one shoulder, a familiar smirk tugging at his lips.

“You again?” I croaked. “Are you… stalking me or something?”

He shrugged. “You passed out right in front of my car. Thought it’d be inhumane to drive around your unconscious body.”

I narrowed my eyes. “That’s too convenient.”

I sat up slowly. “How are you always where I am?”

“I could ask the same,” he said with a lopsided grin. “Or maybe the universe is trying to tell you something.”

I gave him a blank look. “I don’t believe in signs.”

“Fair.” He paused. “But maybe you should believe in hydration.”

I snorted before I could stop myself. Then I caught myself again. “Why are you even here?”

He pulled out a plastic bag and set it on the table. “Brought you water. And crackers. You looked like you might need them.”

I stared at him for a beat. “You don’t even know me.”

He shrugged again. “You looked like someone who’s had a rough time. I don’t need to know you to offer help.”

Silence stretched between us, awkward but not uncomfortable.

Then he said, “Name’s Adrian.”

I glanced at him. “Isabelle.”

He shrugged, gazing at me for a while. I caught a flicker of something unsettling in his gaze. But it disappeared so quickly that I almost missed it.

Who was this man really? Why was he helping me?