CHAPTER 19
I woke up to the harsh light of morning streaming through my window, my head pounding and my eyes swollen and red from crying. Every muscle in my body ached, and my heart felt like it had been shattered into a million irreparable pieces.
The events of the previous night played on a loop in my mind, and with every replay, the pain deepened. Alexander's words were like daggers: "Call me only when the little monster in your belly is no more."
The love I thought we shared now felt like a cruel joke. I had believed in him, trusted him with my heart, and now I was left with nothing but devastation.
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I forced myself out of bed, stumbling into the living room where the remnants of last night's disaster still lay scattered around. The torn decorations, overturned candles, and shattered pieces of my hope were a grim reminder of how quickly my world had come crashing down.
I grabbed a trash bag and started cleaning up, my movements slow and mechanical. Every piece of ribbon I picked up felt like another piece of my heart being torn away. When the room was finally back to its original state, I collapsed onto the couch, staring blankly at the ceiling.
I knew I couldn't go to work today. My heart wasn't in it, and I couldn't face Sarah or anyone else with my emotions in shambles. I grabbed my phone and called in sick, my voice hoarse as I informed my manager that I wouldn't be coming in.
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The silence of the apartment was deafening, and the weight of loneliness pressed down on me. I reached for my phone, scrolling through my contacts until I found Alexander's name. Against my better judgment, I pressed the call button.
The line rang once, twice, and then he picked up.
"What do you want?" His voice was cold, devoid of any warmth or affection.
"I just… I just wanted to talk," I said, my voice breaking.
"There's nothing to talk about," he snapped. "I told you already—call me when the little monster in your belly is gone. Until then, don't bother me."
"Alexander, please," I pleaded, my voice trembling. "We can work through this. I don't understand why you're acting this way."
"I don't have time for this, Isabella," he said curtly. "Goodbye."
The line went dead, and I stared at my phone, the silence on the other end echoing the emptiness I felt inside.
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I buried my face in my hands, sobbing uncontrollably. My tears soaked the sleeves of my sweater, and I felt like I was drowning in a sea of pain and confusion. How could he say such things? How could the man who had once been so tender and loving turn into this cruel stranger?
As I sat there, crying and clutching my stomach, a thought began to form in the back of my mind. It was faint at first, like a whisper, but it grew louder and more insistent until it was impossible to ignore.
What if there was more to Alexander's reaction than I realized? What if he was hiding something—something that explained his sudden coldness and anger?
The idea took root, and for the first time since the night before, I felt a spark of determination. I needed answers. I needed to understand what was going on.
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I grabbed my phone and scrolled through my contacts until I found the name I was looking for: John.
John was an old friend, someone I trusted implicitly. He had a knack for uncovering information, no matter how deeply it was buried. If anyone could help me, it was him.
I dialed his number, and after a few rings, he picked up.
"Isabella?" he said, his voice warm and familiar. "It's been a while. What's up?"
"John, I need your help," I said, my voice shaky but resolute.
"Of course. What's going on?" he asked, his tone immediately serious.
"It's… complicated," I began, taking a deep breath. "I need you to dig into someone for me. His name is Alexander. Alexander Harrington. He's forty years old and owns a company called Harrington Enterprises."
"Okay," John said, his voice steady. "What exactly are you looking for?"
"Anything," I said, desperation creeping into my voice. "His past, his personal life, his business—anything you can find."
There was a pause on the other end of the line before John spoke again. "Isabella, are you sure about this? You know once I start digging, there's no going back."
"I'm sure," I said firmly. "I need to know the truth, John. I can't live like this anymore."
"All right," he said. "I'll get to work. It might take a day or two, but I'll let you know as soon as I have something."
"Thank you," I said, my voice barely above a whisper.
"Hang in there, Isabella," he said gently. "We'll figure this out."
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When I hung up the phone, I felt a mixture of relief and anxiety. Relief that I had taken the first step toward uncovering the truth, and anxiety about what that truth might be.
I spent the rest of the day pacing around my apartment, my mind racing with possibilities. What if Alexander had another family? What if he was in trouble with the law? What if everything he had ever told me was a lie?
The waiting was excruciating, and the questions swirling in my mind only added to my unease. I tried to distract myself by watching TV and reading, but nothing could hold my attention for long.
As night fell, I sat by the window, staring out at the city lights and wondering what the future held.
For now, all I could do was wait. Wait for John to uncover the truth, and wait for the answers that would either shatter my world completely or give me the clarity I so desperately needed.