Semua Bab Contract Marriage with the Disabled Billionaire : Bab 101 - Bab 110

Isadora’s POVI woke up sweating.Not the kind of warmth that came from too many blankets or the Texas humidity that sometimes clung to our skin like fog—but the kind that came from inside. From something shifting. Surging. Preparing.I sat up slowly, wincing as a dull ache curled along the underside of my stomach.Not sharp.Not painful, exactly.But different.Low. Deep. Persistent.The kind of ache that reminded you that your body was no longer yours alone.I placed my hands over my belly, breathing deeply, counting to ten the way the doctor had shown me.The baby didn’t kick—just shifted, slow and steady.As if they knew what I didn’t want to say out loud.It’s almost time.Darren was already up, moving around somewhere in the house. I could hear the faint clink of dishes and the low hum of music playing in the kitchen.I took my time standing, letting the blood return to my legs. My ankles ached, my spine protested, and my bladder screamed for attention—but still, I smiled.Becau

Isadora’s POVI was awake before the sun.Not because of discomfort, though that had been creeping in steadily over the past two days. Not because of contractions either—not the real kind. The truth was, I didn’t even know what “real” would feel like.I was awake because my mind wouldn’t stop racing.Everything felt like a countdown now.Every kick. Every twinge. Every moment of stillness followed by sudden motion. Each one made me pause and wonder, Is this it?But no. Not yet.Still, the air had changed.It held a kind of expectancy that pressed against my skin like humidity. Like something was about to break open.I spent most of the morning reorganizing.Not out of necessity. The nursery was already pristine—Darren had made sure of that. Every surface had been polished, every label printed, every tiny sock paired and tucked into place like a curated exhibit.But I needed to touch it again. Feel it. Make it mine.I opened the closet and stared at the row of baby clothes, arranged fr

Darren’s POVI woke up to an absence.The kind you feel before your mind catches up.Isadora’s side of the bed was cold. Her pillow slightly dented. Her scent lingering.I didn’t panic. Not at first.But when I saw the bathroom light glowing under the door and heard nothing but silence, something in my chest tightened.Then I heard her breath hitch.Not a sob. Not panic. But something caught between tension and pain.I was on my feet instantly.I knocked once. “Isadora?”“I’m okay,” she called back, voice low.But I knew her. And I knew that wasn’t entirely true.She emerged a minute later in one of my old T-shirts, robe tied loosely at her waist, hand resting on her belly.Her face was pale, eyes too alert for this early in the morning.“It started,” she said quietly.And just like that, the air shifted.The world narrowed.There was only this moment—this house, her face, her words—and the child we were about to meet.I asked her how far apart they were. She gave me numbers. I didn’t

Isadora’s POVI don’t remember exactly when the fear turned into fire.Maybe it was sometime around four a.m., when the nurse announced I was at eight centimeters and the room began to feel both too large and too small.Or maybe it was earlier, in that quiet space between contractions, when my mind finally registered that this—this—was the last stretch of a road I’d walked without knowing where it ended.Whatever the moment, it came quietly.Not like a siren.More like a whisper inside my bones.This is it. You’re almost there.By the time the nurse checked me again, I was trembling.Not from cold. Not even from pain.From sheer magnitude.“You’re at ten,” she said softly. “Fully dilated. It’s time.”The words didn’t feel real.I looked over at Darren, who was already on his feet, eyes wide and locked onto mine.He didn’t say anything.He just nodded.He was ready.Even if I wasn’t.The room transformed in minutes.More nurses.More equipment.The doctor stepped in, calm and confident

Isadora povI watched him from half-lidded eyes, my body aching in every place I could name—and in some places I couldn’t. But the pain was distant, floating at the edges of my awareness, because the sight before me eclipsed everything else.Darren, sitting at the foot of my hospital bed, cradling our newborn son like he was something holy.His hands, usually so confident when holding a phone, a whiskey glass, or a courtroom’s attention, now trembled slightly. Not from weakness. From awe. His thumb moved slowly in circles over the edge of the baby’s swaddled back, as if he were memorizing the texture of his own miracle.The nurse had offered to take the baby back to the nursery so I could rest, but Darren had refused. Not rudely. Just... completely. He needed this. He needed to see him, hold him, breathe him in.And so did I.“I was afraid I’d lose both of you,” I whispered, my voice hoarse. “In different ways.”He looked up, startled, as if he hadn’t realized I was awake.“You didn’t,