All Chapters of Compilation Hot Stories : Chapter 91 - Chapter 100

I S A B E L L A𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐓 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆, I wake up with the kind of giddy nerves I haven't felt in... God, forever. It's ridiculous, really. I've stared down men with guns, gotten blood on my hands, and faced off against a bitch like Dominik without flinching—yet somehow the idea of pulling off a birthday surprise for Luciano has me buzzing like a kid on Christmas morning.Step one was Nico, and bless his grumpy, sarcastic soul, he pulled through. By nine a.m., he'd successfully lured Luciano out of the house with some "urgent business." Something about a meeting downtown with a contact who "couldn't reschedule."I don't know the exact details, but when I watched them leave—Luciano scowling, Nico smirking like he had a death wish, I nearly clapped with joy.Now? Step two.Which means errands.Lots of errands.────୨ৎ────"Black or gold?" Samantha holds up two rolls of streamers in the party store, waving them like she's brandishing weapons."Both," I decide instantly, grabbing t

I S A B E L L A"𝐁𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐒," Sam groaned, "if you buy one more black top, I swear to God I'm going to strangle you.""It's practical," I muttered, flipping a tag. "Doesn't stain, doesn't stand out.""You're not on a job right now," she said, yanking the hanger out of my hand. "You're shopping. For once in your cold little life, live a little."I rolled my eyes, about to fire back something sarcastic, when the smell hit me. Coffee. Strong, fresh coffee from the café across the walkway. Normally, I loved that smell. Needed it, even. But the second it drifted my way, my stomach lurched. I pressed a hand to my mouth, stepping back like it had punched me in the gut."Whoa." Samantha stopped mid-rant, eyes flicking over me. "What was that?""I don't know." My voice was tight. "Just... smelled wrong.""Smelled wrong? Bells, it's coffee. Your lifeline. Your blood type.""I'm serious," I hissed, swallowing hard against the nausea rising in my throat.Sam's eyes narrowed before they widened. A

I S A B E L L Aᥫ᭡𝐈 𝐅𝐄𝐄𝐋 like shit.I didn't mean to say what I said. I just panicked. How the fuck do I tell this man there's a fucking mini him growing inside of me? I've never been scared of anything in my life.But this.I don't know how to be a fucking mother.The thought keeps circling my head like a hawk waiting for me to die. Every time I look in the mirror, it's there, screaming at meAm I making a big deal out of this? I dont know.I grab my bag and keys, needing air, needing distance. The walls of the house feel like they're closing in, heavy with silence. Even walking down the hallway, I hear my heartbeat louder than my footsteps. My fingers curl around the cool metal of the doorknob and I suck in a breath before stepping out.The drive to Elle and isn't long, but every stoplight feels like a chance to turn back. My stomach twists with a guilt I can't name. The city outside looks exactly like it did before I was arranged to marry Luciano.Elle opens the door before I

L U C I A N O𝐈𝐒𝐀𝐁𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐀 is now five months pregnant and she looked beautiful as ever. Even with her belly rounding, the soft curve of it gave her a glow I couldn't take my eyes off. She moved through the store with her usual mix of focus and chaos, rifling through racks and holding up pieces like she was making very important decisions.I carried everything she had already picked out. Handbags, outfits, a tote stuffed with snacks and random beauty products, more than a normal person could manage without a hand truck. She wasn't carrying a single thing, and I wasn't about to let her.She paused at a sparkly top, holding it up in front of her. "Luc, do you think this will make me look big?" she asked softly, tilting her head.I tried to keep my grin in check. "Tesoro," I said, my voice low and calm, "you look good. Always."She rolled her eyes, half amused and half exasperated, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. I watched quietly, letting myself notice everything—the way s

I S A B E L L Aᥫ᭡𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄 years.Three years since the night she nearly broke my hand in the delivery room, screaming at me that I should've pulled out.Now, the same woman is standing in the kitchen, hair tied messily, our son balanced on her hip, swaying to music that's way too loud for six in the morning.And God help me, I'm still obsessed.She's wearing one of my shirts again. Always my shirts. She says they're comfortable, but I know it's because she likes seeing the way I look when she steals them. Matteo is literally her — bright, stubborn, unbothered, and somehow capable of making a mess out of absolutely anything he touches.I lean against the doorframe, watching them dance. Flour dusts the counter, the floor, and somehow his hair. Isabella twirls him, both laughing like the world outside doesn't exist.He's three now. Talks too much, asks too many questions, and loves his mother like she hung the moon herself. Sometimes he calls her bella just because he hears me say it