CHAPTER THREE

|| Aaron's POV ||

Anastasia had called me away at the last minute today.

"Aaron, I'm so sorry," she'd said, her voice apologetic but urgent. "But this is critical. The investors are threatening to pull out of the Singapore deal. We need you at this meeting. Only you can salvage this."

I'd hesitated, glancing at my watch. Isabella's due date was today. I'd made a promise—one I'd been regretting ever since I'd made it, but a promise nonetheless.

"I can't," I'd started. "My wife is—"

"The deal is worth four hundred million dollars, Aaron." Anastasia's tone had shifted, becoming firmer. "Four hundred million. Can your wife's... situation really be more important than that?"

She'd been right, of course. Business came first. It always came first.

So I'd gone to the meeting.

The negotiations had dragged on for hours—back and forth, point and counterpoint, legal minutiae and financial projections. My phone had been on silent, face-down on the table, as per meeting protocol.

When I finally checked it after the meeting ended, my stomach dropped.

Seventeen missed calls from Isabella.

Eleven voicemails.

Countless text messages, each one more desperate than the last.

I glanced at the time on my phone. 8:47 PM.

Today was Isabella's due date. The baby could have come at any time, and I'd promised—actually promised—that I would be there for her during childbirth.

Although I'd never liked Isabella, the wife who'd been forced upon me through her brother's schemes and manipulation, I was still a man of my word. I kept my promises.

Or I was supposed to.

I called Isabella back immediately, my jaw clenching as the phone rang.

No answer.

I tried again. Still nothing.

What trick was this woman playing now? Was this some kind of manipulation, some scheme to make me feel guilty?

Frustrated, I called the house. Mrs. Rivera answered on the second ring.

"Sir! Oh, thank God. Mrs. Styles—she's been taken to the hospital. Hours ago. She went into labor and there were complications—"

I didn't wait to hear the rest. I was already moving, grabbing my coat, heading for the door.

I rushed to the hospital, my mind racing.

If something had happened to Isabella or the baby, if they'd been hurt because I wasn't there, the scandal would be enormous. The Styles family couldn't afford that kind of publicity, that kind of damage to our reputation.

That was what mattered. The family name. The business. Not whatever guilt was twisting in my chest.

---

The moment I pushed open the hospital room door, I saw her.

Isabella lay weakly on the bed, her dark hair dull and tangled against the white pillows, her face pale and drawn. Her eyes were red and puffy, as if she'd just been crying—or had been crying for hours.

And in her arms, wrapped in a pink blanket, was a tiny baby.

Our daughter.

Something shifted in my chest at the sight of them, but I pushed it away ruthlessly.

"Aaron." My mother's voice cut through the moment. Victoria stood near the window, her expression cool and composed. Anastasia was beside her, looking perfect as always.

"Mother," I said curtly. "What's going on?"

Isabella's hand shot out, thrusting a document toward me. "Look at this," she said, her voice shaking. "Look at what your mother just gave me."

I took the papers, scanning them quickly. Custody agreements. Guardianship transfers. Legal documents proposing that Anastasia be granted primary custody of the child, with Isabella relegated to supervised visitation rights.

I frowned. This was... aggressive, even for my mother.

"Aaron, please," Isabella continued, her words tumbling out desperately. "I would never give Sophie to anyone else. She's our daughter. She's—"

Although I felt for a moment that my mother was going a bit too far with this particular tactic, I couldn't deny that Anastasia's conditions were indeed more suitable for raising and educating a child.

Anastasia had breeding, education, connections. She understood the Styles world in a way Isabella never could.

"Mother is only thinking of what's best for the child," I said, my voice measured. "For Sophie's proper upbringing and development."

Isabella stared at me as if I'd slapped her.

And then she said the words I never expected to hear.

"I want a divorce."

The room fell silent.

I stared at her, trying to process what she'd just said. A divorce?

But I never expected that Isabella would actually ask for divorce.

Was this yet another tactic she was using to get my attention? What was she playing at now? What scheme was this?

The brief moment of self-reproach I'd felt—the guilt for missing the birth, for not being there—was instantly replaced by anger.

How dare she? After everything I'd done for her, for her pathetic family, she had the audacity to demand a divorce?

Before I could speak, Isabella continued, her voice gaining strength.

"I know you've never liked this marriage, Aaron. I know you hate me, that you think I trapped you. So let's end this. Let's get divorced."

She paused, clutching the baby closer.

"But I have to have custody of Sophie. She's my daughter. I carried her, I gave birth to her, I—"

"Stop," I said, cutting her off.

Isabella tried harder to make me understand, her words coming faster now.

"I can assure you that I'll find a job after the divorce. I'll work hard, earn money to support her. I'll provide for her education, her life. I'll hire a nanny if needed, make sure she has everything she needs—"

The more Isabella spoke, the deeper I frowned.

Was she serious? Did she actually think she could provide for a child? For my child?

Before Isabella could finish speaking, I interrupted her.

"What job skills do you have, Isabella?" My voice came out harsher than I'd intended. "Tell me. What kind of good job could you possibly find?"

She flinched, but I pressed on.

"Given the current state of Stone Corporation, you can barely support yourself, let alone a child. You have no work experience, no marketable skills, no resources beyond what I've provided."

I stepped closer to the bed.

"But I can provide Sophie with the best nanny money can buy. The best teachers, the best schools, the best of everything. Don't you understand that?" My voice rose. "What I can provide for our daughter, you could never give in your entire life, no matter how hard you try."

Isabella's eyes filled with tears, but I couldn't stop now.

"You should think of the child's future instead of your own selfish desires. And as for divorce?" I laughed bitterly. "I absolutely refuse to agree to a divorce."

How could she dare to mention divorce? How could she even think it?

I had saved her family's corporation when it was on the verge of bankruptcy. I'd invested millions to keep Stone Corporation afloat, keeping her father's legacy alive, saving her brother from complete ruin.

I had given her a life of luxury—a mansion, servants, unlimited money, the Styles name.

And this was how she repaid me? By demanding a divorce?

I was angry, but also—and I hated admitting this—a little flustered.

The thought of Isabella leaving, of her taking the baby and walking away from this marriage, from me... it created a strange panic in my chest that I didn't want to examine.

"Forget about divorce," I said firmly, turning toward the door. "I'm planning a baby shower party for Sophie next month. You'd better focus on recovering and getting better first."

I walked out before she could respond, before I could see the devastation on her face.

Before I could question why the thought of her leaving bothered me at all.