3

Isabella’s POV

I strode over to Rosa, ready to slap her one last time. Vincent rushed forward, his hands stopping me. “What are you doing?”

“It’s my fault, Vincent. Mrs. Falcone has every right to be angry with me. First, I asked you to come to the pregnancy check-up with me, then I moved in here.” Rosa put on that innocent act again. “It’s all my fault. I should just leave. I really shouldn’t have come today.”

Fine, then leave. The thought crossed my mind.

To my surprise, Vincent—who had been trying to stop me from slapping Rosa—spoke up. "I agree. You should leave, Rosa. I’m not going to force my wife out of here."

I was stunned. After everything, I expected him to yell at me, to tell me to leave.

Rosa was taken aback too, but in the next breath, she managed to shed a few tears, pleading, “Ow, my stomach hurts so badly. Is the baby angry with me?”

Once again, I watched as Vincent’s serious expression faltered. He softened—for her. His hand hovered over her stomach, like she was the most delicate thing in the world. It made my blood boil.

The way he always crumbled when she played the victim card made my stomach turn.

“Vincent,” I said through clenched jaws, “You can’t possibly believe her, right?”

But he didn’t look at me, his attention entirely focused on Rosa."She's in pain," he said, his voice gentle, like the words were meant for her, and only her. “Let’s not make things worse.”

And so, Rosa stayed. My room became hers, and I was told to move to the first floor, the small room next to the nanny.

Vincent tried to reassure me, saying, "It’s only until her stomach calms down. I’ll make sure you’re back in your room before you even notice, okay?”

Once again, I was told to wait.

But what Vincent didn’t realize was that I no longer wanted this baby.

A child born without a father by their side, without a family to love and care for them—there was no reason for that life to come into this world.

There was no need for another soul to suffer in this house.

…

After that dramatic move-in day, Rosa settled in, but I never saw her. It was like nothing had changed.

While she was probably enjoying her new space, I was focused on figuring out how to make contact with the outside world. Vincent still hadn’t returned my phone.

I even tried bargaining with Rosa, telling her that if she helped me, I would leave this place for good—meaning Vincent all to herself.

But all she did was look at me with pure dispise.

“You thought I wanted Vincent? God, Isabella, I have to admit—sometimes, I almost admire you. The lengths you’re willing to go, the perfectly innocent act you’ve put on… I almost pity you.”

I had misjudged Rosa. I thought all she wanted was Vincent for herself, that she would help me disappear. But I was wrong. She wasn’t after Vincent—she was after control. To her, we were nothing more than a spectacle, a show she could twist and manipulate for her own amusement.

The depth of her scheming was beyond anything I had imagined. She truly disgusted me.

Every day, Vincent would come home, checking on Rosa’s baby, acting like a perfect dad, playing with a child that wasn’t even his.

But when it came to me, he’d knock on my door, see that I was already in bed, and quietly shut it again. He never spoke to our baby. He never spent time with it.

The room I had now was nothing compared to the nanny's quarters. It was so small that only a bed fit in here. There wasn’t even space to sit.

All the rooms in the mansion were claimed by Rosa—one for the baby, one for dancing, one for her computer and books, one for clothes, and one for storage.

Vincent practically lived with her, sleeping in the same room. He called it helping her through her pregnancy. But who knew what else was happening behind those closed doors?

Today, Vincent surprised me by knocking on my door. He hesitated before speaking, “Isabella, how have you been? Do you still want to get rid of the baby?”

“You can trust me,” he said softly. “I love you. I’ll protect you.”

It was the first time Vincent had ever told me he loved me. But honestly, I couldn’t tell if he meant it—or if he was just trying to manipulate me into keeping the baby.

I closed my eyes, steeling myself, and said, “I will have this baby.”

“Only…”

“Only what?”

“Only… you gave me back my phone. You know I don’t have anyone to talk to in this house. I’ll get lonely, and that’s not good for the baby.”

Vincent pulled me into his arms, his voice full of happiness. “I’ll give you everything. Just keep our baby happy, okay?”

…

I had my phone back. I could finally breathe easier, knowing I had a way to contact anyone I wanted.

No one knew I was adopted by my family—the one Vincent was familiar with.

As for my birth parents, I found them two years ago. But back then, I was still deeply in love with Vincent, still married to him. I couldn’t just leave.

They were sad when I didn’t go with them, but they left me a number, telling me:

“Isabella, if you’re ever unhappy, or just miss us, call this number. We’ll come for you.”

I never thought I’d dial that number, but here I am. They’re my only hope now.

My adoptive family treated me well enough, but to them, keeping Vincent happy was always more important than helping me.

…

At eighth months pregnant, Rosa suddenly said she wanted to go to California, somewhere near the beach, to have her last two months of pregnancy.

Vincent initially planned to stay, but once again, he caved to Rosa’s demands, especially after she promised it would help her baby.

Before they left, Vincent came to my door one last time. “I’ll be back before you give birth. Will you wait for me?”

“I know I’ve crossed a line,” he continued. “But I promise I’ll make it up to you. Isabella, please trust me. I love you.”

Whatever he said, I just smiled and nodded.

Then Rosa called, and Vincent turned to leave.

But this time, he seemed to notice something off about me. I was unnervingly quiet.

He pulled me into a tight hug, almost suffocating me. “Say the word, Isabella. Just one word, and I won’t leave.”

I let him hold me, but deep down, I felt nothing—nothing about the hug, nothing about his words.

“You should leave, Vincent,” I whispered. “If you stay, you won’t be the man I married.”

Vincent still didn’t move, but I wasn’t in the mood to play his games right now.

“Alright then. How about you get that bitch and her stuff out of our mansion?”

I watched as Vincent blinked, surprised by the sharp edge in my voice. But I didn’t wait for his response. Instead, I sneered, “That’s what I want. If you can’t do it, then don’t say it. I’m sick of your empty promises.”

With that, I turned and headed straight for the bathroom.