4

Isabella’s POV

After their flight took off, I finally felt a sense of relief. Now, all I had to do was wait for my real parents to pick me up.

Just twelve more hours, and I’d finally be free from Vincent and all the lies. I was so happy I even ate another piece of steak at dinner.

When I spoke with my real parents on the phone, I told them Vincent had surrounded the mansion with nearly thirty bodyguards.

My father chuckled on the other end. “Thirty? Don’t worry about it. Your dad has thousands of them.”

“Just relax and wait for us, okay?” he said.

I didn’t know if he was exaggerating, but it was enough that they were coming to get me.

After dinner, while I was reading in the living room, Rosa’s mother arrived, followed by Vincent’s parents and my adoptive parents.

They all looked at me like I was the villain.

Vincent’s mother slammed a divorce agreement on the table. “Sign this. Get rid of that bastard child in your belly. The Falcon family can’t be more ashamed of you.”

Rosa’s mother added, “If I had my way, every family in New York would know what this bitch has done.”

“The Caruso certainly raised a fine daughter on their own,” she sneered.

My adoptive father’s face turned pale. He stood up, walked toward me, and slapped me hard across the face. “My reputation, your mother’s reputation—the entire Caruso family is being shamed by you!”

I was done with all the drama. I grabbed the divorce paper off the floor and, before signing it, I said, “If I was carrying Vincent’s child and Rosa wasn’t, would you all regret it when you find out the truth?”

Before I could hear their response, I signed the paper.

But what I hadn’t expected was Vincent’s mother demanding that I get the baby aborted immediately.

I refused without hesitation. The baby was innocent. Even if I wanted nothing to do with Vincent, this child was still a part of me.

She looked at me like I was nothing more than filth beneath her shoe, her voice dripping with disdain. “Do you really think I’ll let you give birth to whatever bastard you’re carrying after you walked out of the Falcone mansion today?”

I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms as I met her gaze without flinching. "I don't need your permission," I said coldly. "This baby is mine, and no one—especially not you—will decide its fate."

Vincent’s mother’s lips curled into a mocking smirk. "How naive. Do you really think you can defy the Falcone family and walk away unscathed?"

Rosa’s mother scoffed, crossing her arms. "Let her keep the child. It won’t survive long enough to cause problems anyway."

I felt the blood drain from my face. My heart pounded violently in my chest. "What the hell does that mean?" I demanded.

Vincent’s mother stepped closer, her perfume nauseatingly strong, her voice soft but laced with menace. "It means, darling, that accidents happen every day. Women like you… they slip, they fall, they lose things."

I stepped back instinctively, but my body trembled with rage. I turned to my adoptive father, hoping for the slightest hint of remorse, but all I saw was disappointment—disappointment in me, not in them.

"You're really okay with this?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. "With them threatening to kill your grandchild?"

He turned his face away.

Vincent’s mother stormed over, slapped me across my face and yanked my hair, her grip like iron. “Don’t waste our time. Even your own family won’t take you back. So decide—either you or your baby dies today.”

My lips trembled beneath her grasp, but I refused to break. “I won’t choose.”

Her eyes darkened as she pulled out a gun, pressing the barrel against me. “Will you choose now?”

“I told you—I won’t.” My voice was steady, my gaze burning with defiance.

She let out a sharp breath, then snapped at the bodyguards. “Take this bitch to the hospital. I don’t want her filthy blood on my hands.”

I struggled against them, but I had severely underestimated my strength against three burly men. One of them landed a swift kick to my leg, nearly knocking me to my knees.

My resistance was futile, and before long, exhaustion overtook me.

I was on the verge of collapsing, my vision blurring as the bodyguards effortlessly lifted me and carried me to the car.

Moments later, we arrived at the hospital.

As the nurse injected me with the amnesiac, a single tear slipped down my cheek.

Why did it still hurt so much to let go of this child? I thought I was ready. I thought I had prepared myself for this moment.

Just as the drug began to take effect, I caught a glimpse of my birth parents rushing in—only to be stopped outside as I was wheeled into the operating room.