CHAPTER 4

A CHANGE TOO HUGE TO BE IGNORED…

DRAKE

“All I wanted was to carry a child, our child…” Isabella's voice echoed in my mind as my eyes were glued to her physique in front of me.

The morning sun shone across the marble floors, but the warmth died before it reached the breakfast table.

I sat at the head, adjusting my cufflinks, feeling the suffocating weight of the silence.

Across from me, Isabella sat with her back perfectly straight. Her expression was indescribable—no anger, no tears, just a chilling, blank indifference.

There was something else too… something I couldn’t quite figure out.

She looked… thinner. Paler. I wondered if she was still using her pills.

Then there was Emily, she was already making herself at home, draped in a robe that cost more than most people’s cars, her presence a loud stain on the quiet of our home.

Emily snapped her fingers at a passing maid, the sound sharp and startling.

“This tea is lukewarm,” Emily snapped, pushing the fine china away with a look of pure disgust. “And tell the chef that from now on, the menu will change. No more of this heavy traditional food. I need organic greens and imported fruits.”

She paused, casting a cruel look towards my wife. “The baby needs proper nutrients, not whatever Isabella has been feeding the household for the last seven years.”

The maid froze, her eyes darting to Isabella, pleading for a command. But Isabella didn't even blink.

She continued buttering her toast with a steady hand, as if Emily were nothing more than a buzzing fly in an empty room.

Though for a split second, I thought I saw her hands tremble. Like her hands no longer had the strength to stay steady. It was subtle, but it was there.

Then she paused mid-bite, her fork frozen halfway to her mouth.

Not a hesitation from thought or distraction—her chest rose and fell unevenly, like each breath was suddenly heavier than the last.

I frowned, a cold knot forming in my stomach. Isabella had never struggled to breathe to this extent before.

My heart skipped a beat. It was a silent alarm I couldn't ignore.

I watched Isabella closely, my jaw tightening.

I hadn't slept.

Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the ghost of the woman I loved slipping away.

I knew what she must think of me but she didn't understand.

I couldn't lose her—I couldn't watch her body fail her, couldn't risk her life for a child the way my fears whispered she would.

This was the only way.

Let Emily carry the burden, let Emily risk the trauma of labor.

I would pay her off, take the heir the Blackwood legacy demanded, and raise it with Isabella. We would be the family I wanted, and she would be safe.

But to keep the plan alive, I had to play the part.

“Is everything alright, Emily?” I asked, my voice low, controlled.

“It would be better if the help actually listened to me, Drake,” Emily pouted, leaning toward me. Her eyes gleamed with a desperate need to humiliate Isabella.

“But I suppose they take after their mistress. Some women just don't know how to provide what a man truly needs.”

The air in the room turned to ice, even the maids stopped moving.

Isabella set her cup down slowly but she didn’t look hurt, she looked bored.

She turned her head, meeting Emily’s gaze with a small smile.

“And yet,” Isabella said, her voice soft but crystal clear, “here you are, begging to stay in my house and eating at my table just to feel safe. If you were so successful, Emily, you wouldn't need my husband’s charity to keep your head above water.”

Emily’s face turned a violent shade of red. As she opened her mouth to screech, I slammed my hand onto the table.

“That’s enough!” I barked and turned my glare on Emily. “Stop provoking her. You are a guest here, and you will act like one.”

Emily’s lip trembled, the tears already gathering. “But Drake, she’s being so cruel to me and the baby!”

I rubbed my temples, a headache throbbing behind my eyes.

I looked at Isabella, but she had already checked out of the conversation.

I softened my tone just enough to keep Emily compliant. “I know but you need to avoid stress. Go upstairs, I’ll have the chef bring you whatever you want.”

Emily shot Isabella one last triumphant look before walking out.

Finally, we were alone.

I turned to Isabella and realized I was looking at a stranger, she wasn't wearing her wedding ring.

Her hair was styled with a sharp edge, and her dress was one I’d never seen before—made her look like a woman who ran a company, not a home.

As she stood to leave, I reached out and caught her wrist.

“Isabella, wait,” I said. My voice sounded more desperate than I intended.

She didn't pull away, she just stood there, looking down at my hand as if it were an insect that had landed on her.

“What is it, Drake? I have things to do,” she said.

There was no emotion.

None.

“You’ve moved your things,” I said, the words tasting like ash. “The servants told me you’re in the guest room, that you’ve installed a new lock.”

“I didn't think you’d mind,” she replied simply. “You have a pregnant woman who needs your constant attention. It’s better if I have my own space.”

“We are still married, Isabella, you don't have to treat me like a stranger.”

“Don't I?” She tilted her head, a cold curiosity in her eyes. “You brought your mistress into our home, Drake. You’ve made our roles very clear. You are the father of the Blackwood heir, and I am the woman who lives in the room down the hall.” She paused, her voice slightly breaking.

"Isabella," I said, my voice sounding like it was coming from someone else.

“I used to sit in the nursery, Drake. Did you know that?" Her voice was so quiet that I almost missed it but it still hit me harder than if she had screamed.

"And I’d just imagine what he’d look like. Or her."

My chest tightened until it actually hurt to breathe. I had to clench my fists behind my back so she wouldn't see my hands shaking.

That was the one thing I couldn't handle—hearing her talk about the very thing that terrified me. Every time she spoke about a baby, all I saw was a hospital bed and a flatline on a monitor.

All I saw was her leaving me forever because of a risk I wasn't willing to take.

"Stop it, Isabella," I snapped, the words coming out harsher than I meant them to, but I had to kill the conversation before I broke down. "It's not happening."

I saw her shoulders drop, the rejection in my voice like a physical blow.

I wanted to tell her that I was only saying it because I loved her too much to lose her, but the lie was already too big.

I had to be the villain because if I wasn't, she’d keep trying, and if she kept trying, she might die.

The breath in my throat hooked, I couldn't draw air into my lungs. It felt like she’d reached into my chest and squeezed my heart with a frozen hand but as I stared at her, my mouth went dry.

I realized at that moment that she wasn't just hurt anymore.

She was looking at me like I was a stranger. The realization that she believed I preferred Emily—that I chose another woman's body over her heart—hit me with a pain so sharp I almost stumbled back.

"She’s giving you the one thing I couldn't, right?” She asked, her head tilting with that same calm smile. “She’s the winner here. You chose what she could give you over everything I gave you, and I hope the heir is worth it, Drake.” She paused.

“Truly."

I opened my mouth to speak, to say something to make her know I still cared, I was still here but as I tried to swallow the lump stuck in my throat, my ability to produce spoken words seemed to dissolve into thin air.

For a moment, her expression flickered with pain but it disappeared so quickly it almost felt imagined.

“Drake.” The sound of her calling out to me didn't feel as good as it did, not when it sounded like she was tired of me and everything this marriage meant to me.

“Let’s not pretend this is a marriage anymore.” she added, her eyes lingering on my hand for a second but before I knew it, the shield of defiance was back in its place as she pulled her wrist out of my grip.

She wasn’t sobbing or shaking.

She wasn't trying to make me feel guilty—she was just done.

I watched her walk away, a pulse of panic rising in my chest.

I wanted to run after her, wanted to scream the truth—that Emily meant nothing, that the baby was just a contract, that I was doing this for us.

But I couldn't.

If Emily suspected the truth, the leverage was gone, so I had to keep the lie alive.

Later, in my study, I tried to focus on the markets, but Isabella’s cold eyes haunted the pages of every report.

My assistant knocked and stepped in, looking hesitant. “Sir, your wife’s spending… it’s higher than usual. Should I freeze the secondary accounts?”

I waved him off, a small, arrogant smirk tugging at my lips. “No, let her spend whatever she wants.”

If a few million dollars spent by her could buy her happiness—or even just distract her—it was a small price to pay.

She was worth more than the numbers on a ledger.

An hour later, my phone buzzed, another bank alert.

I picked it up, expecting a boutique charge or a jewelry invoice but as I read the notification, the blood drained from my face.

I stood up so fast my chair screeched against the floor. I stared at the screen, my heart hammering against my ribs.

She wasn't buying clothes, she wasn't buying bags or shoes. Not even a luxury material.

​It was a multi-million dollar wire transfer to a private offshore medical facility and a cargo leasing firm.

​My thoughts drifted back to the morning. The tremble. The pause…

The way she held the table like she might fall if she didn’t.

A strange unease settled in my chest.

Something was wrong. Something was changing too fast.

I realized then that I wasn't just losing my wife, I was losing control of the very ground I stood on.

I whispered to the silence of the room. “What exactly are you doing, Isabella?”