Chapter 2

Isabella woke to sterile white walls and the smell of antiseptic. Her head throbbed with each heartbeat, a dull ache that seemed to pulse in rhythm with the beeping machine beside her bed. For a blessed moment, she couldn't remember where she was or why everything hurt. Then it all came rushing back—the stage, the papers, Damien's cold eyes, Sophia's red dress, the applause that had felt like knives.

She'd fainted. Collapsed in front of 500 people after signing away her marriage while her husband kissed another woman.

A sob caught in her throat, but she swallowed it down. She was done crying over Damien Reeds. Done breaking herself into smaller pieces trying to fit into a life that had never wanted her.

"Oh thank God, you're awake." Grace's voice cut through the fog. Her best friend sat in a chair beside the hospital bed, mascara smudged under her eyes, still wearing the navy cocktail dress she'd worn to her own work event. "I got here as fast as I could. The hospital called me—you had me listed as emergency contact."

Because I have no one else, Isabella thought but didn't say. Her parents had died in a car accident when she was nineteen. No siblings. No aunts or uncles who'd bothered staying in touch. Just Grace, who'd been her roommate in their tiny studio apartment before Damien had swept into Isabella's life like a hurricane and left destruction in his wake.

"How long was I out?" Isabella's voice came out rough, like she'd been screaming.

"About forty minutes. They said you fainted from stress and shock. Your blood pressure was dangerously low." Grace stood up, moving closer to grip Isabella's hand. "Bella, what the hell happened? The news is everywhere. Social media is exploding. There are photographers outside the hospital."

Of course there were. Damien Reeds divorcing his wife on stage at a charity gala was exactly the kind of scandal that fed the city's gossip machine for weeks. Isabella could already imagine the headlines: "Billionaire CEO Dumps Wife Publicly" or "From Bookstore to Breakdown: Isabella Reeds' Fall from Grace."

"He planned it," Isabella said flatly, staring at the ceiling tiles. "He planned the whole thing. Asked me to come tonight, told me to look my best, then humiliated me in front of everyone we know."

Grace's grip tightened. "That bastard. That absolute—" She stopped herself, clearly trying to find words vile enough but coming up short. "Why? Why would he do that?"

"Sophia Laurent is back in town."

Understanding flooded Grace's face, followed quickly by fury. "His ex? The one his mother tried to set him up with before you?"

"Not just his ex. His true love, apparently." Isabella's laugh was bitter, hollow. "I was just keeping the seat warm until she decided to come back from Paris. Five years, Grace. Five years I tried to be good enough, and I was just a placeholder."

The machines beeped steadily, marking time Isabella wished would stop. She wanted to rewind to this morning, to yesterday, to five years ago when she was still just a girl who worked in a bookstore and dreamed about romance novels coming to life. She'd been so stupid. So naive.

A knock on the door made them both turn. A doctor entered—young, kind-faced, with tired eyes that suggested a long shift. "Mrs. Reeds, I'm Dr. Patel. How are you feeling?"

"Like my life just ended," Isabella said honestly.

Dr. Patel's expression softened with sympathy that made Isabella want to scream. She didn't need pity. She needed to disappear. "I understand tonight was traumatic. We'd like to keep you for observation, run a few more tests. Your vitals were concerning when you arrived."

"I'm fine. I just want to go home."

"I would strongly recommend—"

"I said I'm fine." Isabella's voice cracked despite her best efforts to sound strong. "Please. I just need to leave."

Dr. Patel exchanged a look with Grace, then sighed. "At least let me run one more test. Your blood work showed some abnormalities we'd like to rule out."

Abnormalities. Everything about Isabella's life was abnormal now. What was one more thing?

"Fine. Whatever. Just make it quick."

The doctor left after checking her vitals and making notes on a tablet. Grace sat back down, her hand finding Isabella's again. They didn't speak. What was there to say? That everything would be okay? They both knew that was a lie.

Twenty minutes later, Dr. Patel returned. Something in her expression made Isabella's stomach clench.

"Mrs. Reeds, the abnormalities in your blood work..." The doctor paused, choosing her words carefully. "You're pregnant. About six weeks, based on the hormone levels."

The world stopped spinning. The machines stopped beeping. Time itself seemed to freeze in that sterile hospital room while Isabella tried to process words that didn't make sense.

Pregnant.

She was pregnant with Damien's child.

"No," Isabella whispered. "No, that's not possible. We barely... we haven't..." But even as she said it, she remembered. Six weeks ago. Damien had come home late from a business trip, smelling like expensive whiskey and exhaustion. He'd pulled her into his arms without explanation, kissed her like he was drowning and she was air, made love to her with a desperation that had felt almost violent. She'd fallen asleep thinking maybe, finally, something had shifted. That maybe he was ready to try.

The next morning, he'd been gone before she woke up. Back to his usual cold distance, like that night had never happened.

"Oh my God," Grace breathed beside her. "Bella..."

"I need you to leave," Isabella said to the doctor, her voice mechanical. "Both of you. I need to be alone."

"Mrs. Reeds, we should discuss options and—"

"Get out!" The words came out as a shout, surprising everyone including herself. "Please. Just... I need a minute."

Dr. Patel nodded slowly, sympathy and concern warring on her features. "I'll be right outside if you need anything. And Mrs. Reeds? Congratulations might not feel appropriate right now, but this is a life. Whatever you decide about it, take your time."

The door closed behind her with a soft click. Grace started to speak, but Isabella held up a hand.

"Don't. Please don't say anything. I can't... I can't process this right now."

Grace nodded, tears streaming down her face. But she didn't leave. She just sat there, holding Isabella's hand while Isabella stared at the ceiling and felt the universe rearrange itself around this new, impossible reality.

She was pregnant with Damien Reeds' baby. The same man who'd just divorced her on stage. The same man who'd called her a mistake in front of 500 people. The same man who was probably in bed with Sophia Laurent right now, celebrating his freedom.

What was she supposed to do with this? Tell him? Let him know that the wife he'd discarded so publicly was carrying his child? He'd probably demand she get rid of it. Or worse, he'd try to take the baby away, claim she was unfit, use his money and power to paint her as unstable.

The headlines would be even worse: "Scorned Wife Uses Baby to Trap Billionaire" or "Isabella Reeds' Desperate Pregnancy Ploy."

No. She couldn't tell him. She couldn't give him that kind of power over her again.

"Bella," Grace said softly. "Whatever you're thinking, talk to me. Please."

Isabella turned to look at her best friend—the only person in the world who'd never asked her to be anything other than herself. "I can't tell him."

"Bella—"

"No. Listen to me." Isabella sat up despite the dizziness, driven by something fierce and protective blooming in her chest. "He destroyed me tonight, Grace. In front of everyone. He didn't just end our marriage—he made sure I'd be humiliated, that everyone would know I wasn't good enough. And now I'm supposed to tell him I'm pregnant? So he can what? Force me to terminate it? Take the baby away from me? Use it as leverage?"

"He's the father. He has a right—"

"He gave up his rights when he handed me divorce papers on stage!" Isabella's voice broke, but she pushed through. "This baby... this is mine. Mine to protect. Mine to love. Mine to keep safe from him and his toxic family and that world that treated me like I was nothing."

Grace was quiet for a long moment. Then she squeezed Isabella's hand. "Okay. Okay, so what do we do?"

We. Not you. Grace had always been that kind of friend—the kind who said we when things got hard.

"I leave," Isabella said, the plan forming even as she spoke it aloud. "Tonight. As soon as they discharge me. I disappear before the press gets worse, before Damien or his lawyers come looking for me."

"Where will you go?"

"I don't know. Somewhere he won't find me. Somewhere I can start over." Isabella looked down at her flat stomach, imagining the tiny life growing there. A life that hadn't asked to be created in the middle of such chaos. "This baby deserves better than being a pawn in Damien Reeds' games. Better than growing up watching its mother get destroyed piece by piece."

"Bella, this is crazy. You have no money—the prenup—"

"I know." The prenup had been Victoria's masterpiece, ensuring Isabella would leave the marriage with exactly what she'd brought into it: nothing. "But I'll figure it out. I always do."

Grace pulled out her phone. "I have savings. About fifteen thousand. It's yours."

"Grace, no—"

"Yes. You're my sister, Bella. The only family I've got. Take it. Use it to disappear, to start fresh, to give that baby a fighting chance." Grace's voice was fierce, determined. "And I'll cover for you. If anyone asks, I'll tell them you went to stay with relatives. I'll buy you time."

Tears finally spilled down Isabella's cheeks, but these weren't tears of devastation. They were tears of gratitude, of fierce love for this friend who'd never abandoned her. "Thank you. God, Grace, thank you."

They held each other while machines beeped and fluorescent lights hummed and somewhere in Manhattan, Damien Reeds slept peacefully, unaware that the woman he'd destroyed was carrying his child.

Two hours later, Isabella was discharged against medical advice. Dr. Patel gave her prenatal vitamins and a stern lecture about the importance of follow-up care, along with pamphlets about pregnancy and a list of clinics in the area. Isabella took them all, knowing she'd never visit any of those clinics.

She was leaving this city. Leaving this life. Leaving everything except Grace and the tiny spark of life inside her.

Grace drove her back to the penthouse in the early morning hours. The photographers had finally left, chasing other scandals. The city was quiet in that eerie way it got between night and dawn, like it was holding its breath.

"You sure you want to go in there?" Grace asked, parked outside the building where Isabella had lived as Damien's wife.

"I need clothes. My documents. Some things I can sell."

The penthouse was dark when Isabella entered, her heels clicking on marble floors that had never felt like home. She half-expected Damien to be there, but of course he wasn't. He was probably at Sophia's place, finally getting what he'd always wanted.

Good. Let him have it. Let him have everything except this one thing—this child that was hers to love and protect.

Isabella moved through the rooms mechanically, packing a small suitcase with practical clothes and grabbing the few pieces of jewelry that had belonged to her mother. In the bedroom, she paused at their—his—bed. The emerald dress from tonight lay crumpled on the floor where she'd stepped out of it before the gala.

His favorite color.

Isabella picked up the dress, carried it to the kitchen, and stuffed it in the trash. Then she grabbed a pair of scissors and went back to the closet. Every designer gown he'd bought her, every piece of clothing chosen to make her into someone she wasn't—she cut them to pieces. It was petty and destructive and felt absolutely necessary.

When she finished, fabric scraps covered the bedroom floor like confetti after a parade celebrating her escape.

In Damien's study, Isabella found his laptop still open. She shouldn't look. She should just leave. But something pulled her toward the screen, toward the email account left carelessly open.

The most recent emails were from Sophia. Dozens of them, going back weeks. "Can't wait until she's finally gone." "Tonight is going to be perfect." "I'll be wearing red, your favorite." "Finally we can stop pretending."

So it had been planned. All of it. The public divorce, the timing, the cruelty. Sophia had known. Had helped orchestrate Isabella's humiliation.

Isabella felt nothing. She was beyond anger now, beyond hurt. She was simply done.

She grabbed the documents she needed—birth certificate, social security card, bank statements showing the pittance she'd been allowed as an allowance—and left the penthouse without looking back.

Grace was waiting in the car, engine running. "Got everything?"

"Everything that matters."

They drove through Manhattan as dawn broke, pink and gold light spilling between skyscrapers. Isabella watched the city wake up—joggers hitting the parks, coffee shops opening, delivery trucks making their rounds. Somewhere in this city, Damien was waking up to his new life. His free life. His life with Sophia.

And Isabella was waking up to something too. Not a new life exactly. A second chance at the life she'd abandoned when she married him.

"Where to?" Grace asked as they crossed into Brooklyn.

Isabella pulled out her phone, scrolling through cheap hotel listings. She needed something temporary, somewhere to think and plan. Her finger hovered over a listing for a small motel in a quiet neighborhood. Weekly rates, no questions asked, cash accepted.

"Here," she said, showing Grace the address. "Just for now. Until I figure out my next move."

The motel was exactly as advertised—cheap, clean, anonymous. The kind of place people went to disappear. The manager, an older woman with kind eyes and tired hands, took Isabella's cash and handed over a key without asking why a woman in yesterday's makeup was checking in at seven in the morning.

Room 12 was small but functional. A bed, a bathroom, a window overlooking a parking lot. Nothing like the penthouse. Nothing like the life Isabella was leaving behind.

Grace helped her bring in the suitcase, then stood awkwardly in the doorway. "You sure about this, Bella? Really sure?"

Isabella looked around the dingy motel room that would be her home for the foreseeable future. Then she placed a hand over her still-flat stomach, protecting the secret growing there.

"I've never been more sure of anything," she said. And meant it.

After Grace left, promising to call every day and transfer money as soon as the banks opened, Isabella sat on the edge of the bed and finally let herself feel everything she'd been holding back. The devastation. The betrayal. The fear of what came next.

But underneath all of that, something else stirred. Something fierce and protective and absolutely unbreakable.

She was going to have a baby. Damien's baby, yes, but hers to love and raise and protect from the cruelty of his world.

"It's just you and me now," Isabella whispered to her stomach. "And I promise—I swear on everything—I will never let anyone make you feel the way your father made me feel. You will know you're wanted. You will know you're loved. You will know your worth."

Outside, the city continued its morning routine, unaware that in a small motel room in Brooklyn, Isabella Blakes was being reborn.

Not as someone's wife.

Not as someone's mistake.

Just as herself. And as a mother who would burn the world down before letting anyone hurt her child.