CHAPTER 3

IT’S TIME.

Isabella

“...the Sinclair family has been pushing for the legitimacy of the Blackwood heir.”

I flung my phone across the room, the device skittering against the wood.

I pulled my legs tight against my chest, trying to make myself as small as possible.

Those last two words dug a hole into my heart. My dream was finally coming true, but it had twisted into a terrible nightmare.

My mind drifted, to the image of a toddler running through these halls—a child I would never be allowed to call my own.

A tear rolled down my cheek, the sting of neglect burning deeper than any physical wound.

A knock on the door jolted me back to the present. I instinctively wiped the liquid from my face.

“Come in,” I managed, straightening my posture and clearing my throat.

The door creaked open. “You called for me, ma’am,” a low, firm voice said.

A small smile touched my lips. “I’ll be down in a minute.”

The door shut, and the silence consumed me again.

I stood up and walked to the mirror, staring at a reflection I hardly recognized.

For years, I had played the part of the submissive wife but if the world wanted to talk about the Blackwood heir, I was going to give them something else to gossip about.

To him, I was worth a few million dollars—and if money could buy my silence or my happiness, maybe he would consider it a bargain.

—----

Three days later, I boarded a flight—flew to a country where the air felt breathable for once and the name Blackwood carried no weight.

While walking through a park near a cafe, a familiar voice cut through the fog of my thoughts.

“Isabella? Is that really you?”

I turned, and for the first time in months, a genuine smile reached my eyes. “Ethan?”

Ethan Hayes looked exactly as I remembered, only broader and more refined. He was the childhood friend who used to bring me flowers when my parents were too busy to notice I existed and he still looked at me with a warmth Drake had never possessed.

“I heard about the marriage,” Ethan said softly as we sat at a small outdoor table.

“I didn’t think I’d see you here, of all places.”

“I needed to breathe, Ethan. Everything at home is... complicated.” I looked down at my tea, unable to meet his gaze.

“You don't look like the Isabella I remember,” he said, reaching across the table to touch my hand lightly. “You look like someone carrying the weight of the world. You know, life doesn’t have to be a prison.”

I felt a rush of guilt. I was still a married woman; sitting here felt like a betrayal of the vows still encircling my finger but Ethan didn't push. He talked about his travels, and for a few hours, the mistress and the heir faded away.

“What will you do if you leave him?” he asked suddenly.

My heart raced. “I… I don’t know.”

Before he could respond, his phone buzzed. His expression turned serious. “I’m so sorry, Isabella. In an emergency with the firm back home, I have to take this.”

“It’s okay,” I said, feeling a strange mix of relief and sudden grief. “I should get back anyway.”

“We’ll see each other again,” he said firmly, standing up. “I feel it. Don’t let them take your light, Red.”

Red.

The old pet name made my skin flush, just like it did when we were children.

I spent the rest of my trip in a daze, using solitude to finalize the most important purchase of my life and by the time I returned to the mansion, I was physically drained.

Morning sickness was hitting me in waves, the exhaustion of the pregnancy settling deep in my bones.

The short walk from the car to the mansion left me strangely breathless. By the time I reached the front door, my heart was pounding hard enough to hurt, and I had to pause for several seconds before anyone noticed. It felt ridiculous; a few months ago, I could have at least climbed three flights of stairs without thinking twice.

It is just a faint reminder of my health condition eating away at me… of the time I was losing with every passing day.

I wanted nothing more than to sleep for a week.

But the moment I stepped through the front door, the atmosphere shifted.

The servants wouldn't look me in the eye. They stood in a line, heads bowed lower than usual.

Then I saw them, two large suitcases sitting in front of me, a woman's laughter echoing from upstairs.

“What are these?”

As I asked the empty air, Emily Sinclair strolled down the steps, wearing one of Drake’s white button-down shirts, the sleeves rolled up, she looked like she had just crawled out of his bed.

“Oh? The wife is back,” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

My stomach turned, but I kept my face like stone. After all, she had everything I was running out of my life to protect.

Drake appeared at the top of the stairs and walked down to stand beside her.

“Bella, you’re back. You didn't tell me you were traveling.” He looked like he was trying to hide the shame in his eyes, but he didn't ask how I was.

He didn't ask about the trip.

His gaze flickered to the suitcases, and he swallowed, a flash of an expression I couldn't understand running across his face. “Since you were gone, I made some arrangements.”

“I can see that,” I replied, looking from the luggage to the shirt hugging Emily’s body.

“Emily will be staying here for the duration of her pregnancy,” Drake explained, his tone clinical, as if discussing a merger. “The media is watching. If she stays at her place, the paparazzi will tear her apart.”

“It’s for the sake of the child. The baby needs to be protected.”

The silence was suffocating.

I tightened my grip on my bag and looked at Emily, she was glowing with triumph.

She probably expected me to scream, to cry, to demand she leaves.

Instead, I simply nodded. “I see.”

I didn't say another word.

I didn't even look at Drake as I walked past them, my heels clicking as I headed upstairs.

That evening at dinner, the clinking of silverware was the only sound. Drake sat at the head, I was on his right, and Emily was on his left.

Emily sighed loudly, deliberately rubbing her flat stomach. “Drake insists I eat properly, he’s so worried about my nutrition.” She paused, waiting for a response.

“I suppose it makes sense—this baby is his future heir, after all.”

She waited for me to flinch.

I didn't.

I cut a small piece of steak, chewed slowly, and took a sip of water and met her eyes with total indifference.

“Then take good care of it,” I said softly. “It would be a shame if all this effort went to waste.”

Emily’s smirk dimmed. She looked at Drake for defense, but he was staring at me, looking unsettled.

My lack of anger seemed to terrify him more than a tantrum ever could.

That night, I spent five agonizing minutes coughing up blood. By the time it finally stopped, I was trembling with exhaustion. I had to crawl to my bedroom, locked the door behind me.

Instead of sobbing or thinking of how to go to the hospital tomorrow, I went straight to my desk and opened my hidden planner, reviewing the dates and the money I had moved.

Six months… eight months, whatever it was, it wasn't just time. It was a countdown, and my body was already losing the race.

I had to move faster..

The house was a prison, and Emily’s presence meant they would notice my own changes soon.

I had to disappear before my bump showed—before they realized I was carrying the real heir.

The one they didn't deserve.

I picked up my phone and dialed the number I had memorized.

“Ethan?” I whispered when he picked up. “It’s me. I need to see you tomorrow. This stays between us.”