Married To My Ex's Ruthless Father

Isabella's POV

“You really think this baby is going to change anything, Isabella?” Ethan’s voice was cold and sharp. He stood in the middle of his fancy Manhattan penthouse office, the one I had helped design with the expensive walnut floors and big windows looking out over the city. “I’m engaged, for God’s sake. Vanessa and I announced it two weeks ago.”

I held the positive pregnancy test in my shaking hand, feeling like my whole world was spinning. “Engaged?” The word came out weak. “Ethan, we’ve been together for six years. I gave up everything for you — my own career, putting my name on the projects, giving you all my best ideas….”

“Your ideas?” He laughed in a mean way. A couple of staff members stood near the glass doors, pretending they weren’t listening. “Don’t flatter yourself. You helped a little, sure. But Blackwood Tech is mine. You were just… support.”

The pain hit me harder than the morning sickness I’d been fighting for weeks. I had written those pitch decks that got their first big funding. I had stayed up all night fixing the strategies that made the company grow. I had believed every promise he made about our future.

“I’m carrying your child,” I whispered, my voice cracking.

Ethan stepped closer, his handsome face twisted with disgust. “Get rid of it or don’t. I don’t care. But stay the hell away from me and my future. Vanessa’s father is funding the next big round. You? You’re just a mistake I should’ve ended years ago.”

I stared at him, my chest feeling tight. “How can you say that? After everything we built together? Remember last year when the investors pulled out? Who stayed up with you rewriting the whole plan? Who talked you through every doubt you had? That was me, Ethan. Me.”

He rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. “Yeah, and I appreciated it back then. But things change. Vanessa understands the world I’m in now. She has connections. She fits the image. You… you’re just complicating things at the wrong time.”

“Complicating things?” My voice got a little louder, even though I hated showing how hurt I was. “This is a baby, not some business problem you can push away. We talked about a future. You said you loved me.”

Ethan sighed like I was being too dramatic. “Love? Come on, Isabella. We had fun. We made a good team for a while. But marriage? A family? That was never the real plan for me. I thought you knew that deep down.”

“I didn’t know that,” I said, tears stinging my eyes. “I believed you every time you said we’d get through the hard parts together. What about all those nights you promised we’d announce our engagement once the company was stable? Was that all just talk to keep me working for free?”

He glanced at the staff still hanging around and lowered his voice. “Keep it down. This isn’t the place. Look, I’ll even help with some money if you need it to handle… the situation. But don’t expect more. Vanessa and I are moving forward. You need to do the same.”

I shook my head, feeling sick. “I don’t want your money, Ethan. I wanted you to be a decent person. To own up to this.”

“Decent?” He smirked. “Decent doesn’t build empires. I did what I had to do. Now security is going to walk you out. Don’t make a scene.”

Security dragged me out like I was trash. I held back the tears in the elevator and the cab ride, but the second I stepped into the quiet luxury of the Meridian Hotel bar in downtown New York, they finally broke free.

I ordered sparkling water and slumped into a corner booth, trying to disappear into the soft lighting and piano music. My hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

“Rough night?”

The deep, strong voice pulled me from my fog. I looked up and nearly dropped my glass.

He was older, mid-forties maybe, tall and broad in a perfectly tailored black suit. Dark hair with silver at the temples, stormy gray eyes that studied me like I was a puzzle he needed to solve. Damien Blackwood. I knew him from the business magazines Ethan used to read all the time. Ethan’s father. The man who ruled Blackwood Holdings with an iron grip.

I quickly wiped my cheeks. “You could say that.”

He didn’t wait for an invitation. He sat across from me and signaled the bartender. “Most women crying in hotel bars have either lost a fortune or a man. Sometimes both.”

A bitter laugh escaped me. “Try both. And a baby on the way.”

Something shifted in his eyes, surprise, maybe a spark of interest. He didn’t offer fake sympathy. He just watched me with that cool, calculating stare that made the air feel heavier.

“Most people would be begging right now,” he said quietly. “You’re not.”

“I’m done begging,” I replied, meeting his gaze even as my heart pounded. “It never works anyway.”

He nodded slowly, like he was thinking that over. “Interesting. Most in your position would be calling friends, family, anyone who might listen. Or at least asking for a tissue and a shoulder. You’re sitting here alone, trying to hold it together. What’s your name?”

“Isabella,” I said after a pause. “Isabella Hart.”

“Damien,” he replied, even though I already knew who he was. “Tell me, Isabella, what exactly happened tonight that brought you here looking like the world ended?”

I hesitated, but something about his straightforward way made me open up a bit. “The father of my baby just told me I was a mistake. Said he’s engaged to someone else and basically threw me out. Six years down the drain, and now I’m alone with this.”

Damien raised an eyebrow. “Six years is a long time to invest in the wrong person. Did he know about the baby before today?”

“Yes,” I admitted. “I told him right away. Thought maybe it would make him step up. Instead, he accused me of trying to trap him. Asked if I expected him to drop everything for me.”

“Foolish move on his part,” Damien said, his voice low. “A man who runs from responsibility like that doesn’t deserve what he has. Have you eaten anything? You look pale.”

I shook my head. “Not really. I’ve been too sick and upset to think about food.”

He waved the bartender over again. “Bring her some crackers and fruit. Something light.” Turning back to me, he added, “You shouldn’t skip meals right now. Not with a child involved.”

“Thanks,” I murmured, surprised by the small kindness. “You don’t have to do that. I’m sure you have better things to do than talk to a stranger crying in a bar.”

“Perhaps,” he said with a slight shrug. “But I find real conversations more useful than the fake ones at most events I attend. So, what did you do for this man? Besides, give him six years and a baby?”

I let out a breath. “I helped build his company. Ideas, strategies. I turned down other jobs because I believed in us. In him.”

Damien’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “And he took all the credit, I assume. Sounds familiar. Men like that often do. What’s your background? You seem sharp.”

“Business strategy, mostly self-taught through experience,” I told him. “I used to dream about starting something of my own, but I put it all into his vision instead.”

“Admirable, but risky,” he replied. “Loyalty is rare these days. Wasted on the wrong people, though. Do you have any plans now? Family to lean on?”

“Not really,” I said quietly. “My family is back in Chicago, and I don’t want to burden them yet. I just feel so lost tonight.”

The bartender returned with the snacks and his whiskey. Damien raised his glass slightly. “To not begging.”