CHAPTER ONE

|| Isabella's POV ||

I pressed my palm against the cool window glass for the third time in an hour, searching the driveway for headlights that refused to appear.

This had been the same routine, every night for nine months… and Aaron had warned me countless times about waiting up for him.

But tonight was different.

My hand moved to my swollen belly, fingers tracing gentle circles, to soothe our unborn daughter, who was kicking restlessly too.

He promised. He promised he'd be here.

Aaron had looked me in the eye three days ago when Dr. Morrison said the baby could come any time in the next three days.

He'd nodded, his jaw set in that way that made him look carved from marble, and said, "I'll be here every day until the baby comes."

I wanted to believe him. God, how desperately I wanted to believe him.

The baby kicked, hard, and I winced. "I know, sweetheart," I whispered, rubbing the spot where her tiny foot pressed against my ribs. "I know. I want to meet you too."

Finally, after what felt like forever, headlights swept across the window.

My heart lurched. I smoothed down my dress—ridiculous, really, at this size, but I still tried to look as good as I could for Aaron—and moved toward the foyer as quickly as my ungainly body would allow.

Maybe tonight would be different. Maybe tonight he'd look at me and see his wife, the mother of his child, instead of the woman who'd trapped him.

But oh, if only wishes were horses… etcetera, etcetera.

The door opened. Aaron stepped inside, and the winter cold came with him, seeming to emanate from him rather than the December night. His coat was dusted with snow, his dark hair slightly disheveled. He was beautiful in the way that ancient statues are beautiful—perfect and untouchable.

"You're heavily pregnant, Isabella," Aaron snapped while handing his coat over to Mrs. Rivera, our housekeeper. "I've told you countless times that you don't have to stand here waiting for me."

I bit my lip, mentally scolding myself for being hurt over his tone. What was I expecting? A hug? A kiss? From Aaron Styles?

Pathetic.

I ignored the sting of his words and took two steps toward him. "Welcome home," I said softly, forcing a smile. "How was your day? I made dinner. The baby—"

"I'm exhausted." Aaron's voice cut through my words like a blade before he turned to Mrs. Rivera again. "Get me coffee, please. Make it black, and have someone hang the coat properly. The dry cleaning instructions are in the pocket."

Mrs. Rivera's gaze drifted to me where I stood, words dying in my throat, and her eyes were filled with pity.

Pity that I always hated worse than Aaron's coldness… but I couldn't say anything about it because I knew she actually cared.

"Right away, sir." She hesitated. "Mrs. Styles is—"

"Get me the coffee immediately, Mrs. Rivera." Aaron was already walking toward his study, loosening his tie.

I grabbed his hand, and he turned, face pinched in anger, as he looked at where my fingers gripped his sleeve. I dropped it instantly, the words tumbling out in a desperate rush.

"I'm sorry for bothering you. It's just that… you promised you'd be here and I think I'm… I think the baby is coming soon because I'm feeling—"

"Oh God, Isabella. Please, I'm exhausted and not in the mood for your theatrics again." His eyes were ice. "Whatever promise I made, do you think it was more important than the meeting with the investors? Answer me! Was trying to get four hundred million dollars in investment more important than this promise?"

I took a staggering step back, as if to shield myself from the overwhelming coldness in his eyes and his tone.

"Of course not," I whispered, my voice barely audible. "I understand you have other important things, but Aaron—"

"But what?!" His voice rose, sharp and cutting. "You're always so fucking dramatic, and it's exhausting. Do you hear me, Isabella? I'm so sick and tired of coming home every day to your pretentious, manipulative face and your endless stream of complaints! Can't you just… I don't know… leave me the fuck alone?"

Tears filled my eyes, but I blinked them back, knowing they would only make him angrier.

"Please, Aaron..." My voice cracked. "I don't feel well."

"Then get yourself to a hospital. I'm not a doctor." He gestured dismissively. "You have an entire staff at your disposal and the best medical care money can provide. Of course that's not enough for you because gold-digging, greedy Isabella never gets enough, does she?"

"That's not—" I started, but he was already walking away.

I watched him disappear down the hallway without a backward glance, my knees weakening as I pressed my hand against the wall to steady myself. My heart felt like it was shredding to pieces over and over from his words.

What the hell was wrong with me?

I swiped away my tears angrily, trying to drag air through my lungs, my chest tightening.

What was wrong with me? Why was I standing here being heartbroken over Aaron's cruelty like it was such an unusual thing?

He'd made his stance clear from the beginning… I was nothing but a thorn in his flesh.

And one would think it's a case of men being irritated with their heavily pregnant wife. Oh, how I wish that was the case, but Aaron has always hated me… from the very moment we got married.

From the very moment I 'trapped him in this marriage.' Which were his words.

Stupid me for thinking that as time passed, he would start to open his heart more to me… for wishing that if I stayed long enough and proved myself, he would start loving me.

It's been ten months. Ten months since everything fell apart, I thought, leaning against the wall as the baby kicked.

The memory still burned. The business party, the glittering chandeliers, the man who'd cornered me in the hallway with hands that grabbed too tight. How he had almost assaulted me until Aaron appeared like some dark angel, pulling the man away and chasing him off with a punch to the eye.

I'd wanted to thank him. Just thank him. So I approached him later with a drink, my hands shaking as I offered it, trying to smile, trying to show gratitude.

I didn't know Matthew had drugged it. My own brother, desperate and drowning in debt, had seen opportunity in my gratitude and Aaron's wealth.

The rest was a blur of shame and horror. Waking up in an unfamiliar bed. The cold realization that I had slept with him. The pregnancy test four weeks later sealed my fate with two pink lines.

Aaron married me. Of course he did—the Styles don't have scandals, which is what this pregnancy would have been. His mother, Victoria, had explained, voice dripping with disdain, as she plotted solutions to the predicament.

Although she had made it very clear that her son marrying someone like me would be shameful, at least it would not be as shameful as news getting out that her son had a bastard.

I took another shuddering breath and pressed a palm on my belly. My precious daughter….

With my knees still shaky, I walked toward Aaron's study, needing to plead with him or at least explain everything before I gave birth.

The study door was slightly ajar when I got there, and I heard his voice speaking to someone.

I took a step forward, knowing very well that I ought to turn back and give him some privacy. Instead, I moved closer and listened.

"No, Anastasia, I can't tomorrow." Aaron was saying, his voice warm in a way it never was with me. "It's—the baby. Isabella's due any day."

I bit my lip, my pathetic heart leaping in hope that he actually was turning down Anastasia for me.

"I know. I know it's important." A pause. "This shouldn't have happened. Any of it. If things had been different—" Another pause, longer. 

Anastasia was the woman he was supposed to marry. The heiress his mother had chosen, elegant and sophisticated and everything I wasn't.

The marriage didn't work out, but she still worked at his side… practically his right-hand person.

"No, Anastasia, don't say that. Of course this merger is important to me too and…” He took a deep breath. “Fine, I will be there in a few minutes.”

My heart sank. He was leaving?

I should leave. Walk away. Preserve whatever shred of dignity I had left. But my feet were frozen to the floor.

The study door swung open.

Aaron stood there, phone in hand, and for a moment—just a moment—something flickered across his face. Surprise? Guilt?

Then it was gone, replaced by that familiar cold mask.

"I have to go." He brushed past me, already texting. "Emergency at the office. I'll be back late."

"But the baby," I called after him, my voice breaking. "You promised—"

He wasn't listening. He was already down the stairs, grabbing his coat from Mrs. Rivera.

I tried to follow, each step an effort, my body heavy and aching. By the time I reached the landing, he was at the door.

"Aaron, please!" The desperation in my voice made me hate myself, but I couldn't stop. "Don't leave me. Not tonight. Please, I need you—"

The door closed behind him with a soft click that felt louder than a slam.

The sound of his car engine faded into the night.

I stood there, alone in the grand foyer of this house that had never been a home, and felt something twist deep inside.

At first, I thought it was just my heart, finally breaking completely.

Then the pain came again, sharp and unmistakable, radiating from my lower back around to my belly.

"No," I whispered to the empty air. "Not now. Not like this."

I gripped the banister as another contraction seized me, this one stronger, stealing my breath.

My phone. I needed my phone.

I made it back to the bedroom, each step an eternity, and grabbed my phone with shaking hands. Aaron's number. I hit call.

It rang. Once. Twice.

Another contraction, this one making me gasp and double over.

Three rings. Four.

"Please," I whispered into the phone, knowing he couldn't hear me yet. "Please answer."

Five rings.

But the call disconnected.