CHAPTER TWO

|| Isabella's POV ||

I was still trying Aaron's number over and over when I felt the warm wetness soaking through my nightgown and pooling on the marble floor.

Then the pain hit again, like a vise tightening around my entire abdomen, squeezing until I couldn't breathe, couldn't think, and could only grip the edge of the dresser and pray.

"Mrs. Styles!" Mrs. Rivera called, running toward me, her voice sharp with panic. "Your water—oh God, we need to get you to the hospital. Now."

Everything after that was fragments. The car ride, every bump in the road sending fresh waves of agony through me. The bright lights of the emergency room. Voices shouting medical terms I couldn't process. Hands lifting me, moving me, and through it all, the blood—so much blood that even through my pain, I felt the cold grip of fear.

"She's hemorrhaging—"

"BP dropping—"

"Get Dr. Morrison, now!"

"My baby," I gasped, my voice barely a whisper. "Please, save my baby."

Someone squeezed my hand. Mrs. Rivera's face swam above me, tears streaming down her weathered cheeks. "You're going to be fine, dear. Both of you. Just hold on."

I wanted to tell her to call Aaron again. To keep trying. To make him understand that his child was coming into this world, that we needed him, that I needed…

But the pain swallowed everything else, and I let it take me under.

The first thing I noticed was the softness. Clean sheets, the gentle beep of monitors, sunlight filtering through blinds. My body felt hollowed out, tender, and strange, like I'd been taken apart and put back together wrong.

Then I remembered.

The baby.

I tried to sit up, panic flooding my chest, but my body wouldn't cooperate. A soft whimper escaped my throat.

"Mrs. Styles." A nurse appeared by my side, her eyes gentle and warm. "It's okay, don't try to move yet. You lost a lot of blood, but you're going to be fine." She smiled. "And your daughter is perfect."

Daughter.

The word bloomed in my chest, overwhelming everything else. I had a daughter.

"Please," I whispered, my voice hoarse and weak. "I need to see her. Please."

The nurse's smile widened. "Of course. Let me get her for you."

She returned moments later, carrying a small bundle wrapped in pink. And then—oh, then she placed her in my arms, and the world stopped.

She was so tiny. Perfect rosebud mouth, wisps of dark hair, little fists curled against her cheeks. As if she could sense me, she opened her eyes—deep blue, unfocused but searching—and made a small sound, barely a sigh.

My daughter.

Tears spilled down my cheeks as I cradled her closer, this impossible miracle. Every moment of pain, every humiliation, every cold shoulder and cruel word—they all melted away and for a moment nothing else mattered.

She was here. She was real. She was mine.

I traced her tiny features with one finger, marveling at the impossibility of her. How could something so beautiful, so perfect, come from something so broken?

She yawned, a movement so small and complete it made my heart ache.

She was perfect.

"I'll protect you," I whispered against her soft hair, my voice thick with tears. "I'll be everything for you. You'll never feel unwanted. Never."

The door opened.

I looked up, hope flaring stupidly in my chest despite everything. Maybe Aaron had come. Maybe he'd finally…

But it wasn't Aaron.

It was my brother Matthew.

My brother looked uncomfortable in the sterile hospital room, his expensive suit out of place, his cologne too strong. He approached the bed, barely glancing at me before his eyes found the baby in my arms.

His expression soured immediately.

"A girl." The disdain dripped from every syllable. "Of course it's a girl."

I pulled my daughter closer instinctively, glaring at Matthew with all the fury burning through my veins.

"Well, that's... unfortunate," he continued, stepping closer to peer at the baby. His tone was the same one he might use to comment on spoiled food. "I was really hoping for a boy, Isabella. A son. An heir to the Styles fortune. That would have secured your position permanently."

White-hot rage exploded through me.

"How dare you?" My voice came out low and venomous, shaking with barely controlled fury. "How dare you look at my daughter—my perfect, innocent daughter—like she's a disappointment?"

"Isabella, be reasonable—"

"Be reasonable?" I hissed, my grip tightening protectively around my baby. "You forced me into Aaron's bed! You drugged him! You destroyed my entire life, forced me to marry a man who hates me, and now you have the audacity—the audacity—to stand here and criticize my child because she's not a boy? Because she doesn't fit into your malicious schemes?"

"Keep your voice down—" Matthew glanced at the door, then back at me with irritation. "You're being hysterical."

"I'm being hysterical?" Tears of rage burned my eyes. "You ruined everything! Everything! Aaron thinks I'm a scheming whore who trapped him! He won't even look at me! He despises me! And it's all your fault! You did this to me, Matthew! You sold your own sister!"

"I did what I had to do to save our family," Matthew said coldly. "Father's company was drowning in debt. We would have lost everything—our home, our status, everything. You marrying Aaron Styles was the only solution. The only way to save us from bankruptcy and ruin."

"The only solution?" My voice cracked with fury. "You could have asked for investors! You could have taken out loans! You could have done anything except drug an innocent man and use your sister to save yourself!"

"Watch yourself, Isabella." His voice hardened dangerously. "You're Mrs. Aaron Styles now. You live in a mansion. You have unlimited money, status, and security. Millions of women would kill for what you have. So what if he doesn't love you? Most wealthy marriages don't have love anyway. It's a business arrangement, and you got the better end of it."

"He hates me!" My voice rose, trembling with emotion. "He can barely stand to be in the same room as me! He looks at me like I'm garbage! Like I'm something disgusting he stepped in! And you think I should be grateful for that? You think I should thank you for destroying my life?"

"You should be thinking strategically," Matthew said sharply, his eyes moving back to the baby in my arms with that same disappointed expression. "And that's why this—" he gestured dismissively at my daughter, "—is a problem. A daughter doesn't secure anything, Isabella. The Styles need an heir. A male heir to carry on the family name and inherit the empire. That's what will make your position unshakeable. That's what will guarantee your daughter's future."

I stared at him, my blood running cold, unable to believe what I was hearing.

My daughter was a problem?

"Fuck you," I spat, my voice shaking. "He won't touch me! He hates me! He can barely stand to be in the same room as me. So I'm sorry to tell you, but there will be no son. There will be nothing!"

"I managed it once, didn't I?" Matthew's smile was cold and calculating. "I can do it again."

The room tilted. My arms instinctively tightened around my daughter, shielding her from the ugliness of his words, from the complete absence of humanity in my own brother's eyes.

"You're disgusting," I whispered, tears blurring my vision. "What you did—what you're suggesting—"

"I'm being practical," Matthew interrupted. "You want security for that baby? You want to keep your place in that mansion, with all those resources? Then you give Aaron Styles what he needs. It's simple—"

"You're talking about rape." The word dropped like a stone between us.

"Don't be so dramatic. A little something in his drink, a romantic evening—he's your husband, Isabella. It's not—"

"Get out!" My whole body shook with rage and revulsion. "Get out before I call security, you vile, greedy snake! I will never be part of your schemes again!"

"Isabella, you're being shortsighted here…"

The door swung open.

Aaron stood in the doorway, his tall frame filling the space. My heart stuttered, hope and fear colliding in my chest.

He came. He finally came.

But the hope shattered to dust when I looked behind him and saw Anastasia.