CHAPTER 30

Isabella's POV

The morning started like any other, a routine I had grown numb to. I woke up, got dressed, and headed to work, trying to push Alexander out of my mind. It wasn't easy, but I was trying. I had to.

Work was its usual chaotic mess. Orders came in one after another, phones rang incessantly, and Sarah, bless her heart, flitted around like a ray of sunshine despite the madness. She asked me how I was holding up, and I gave her a tight-lipped smile, brushing it off.

"Same as yesterday," I said.

She gave me a knowing look, but didn't press further. That's what I liked about Sarah—she cared, but she knew when to back off.

By the time the day ended, I was exhausted, both physically and mentally. I couldn't wait to kick off my shoes, sink into my couch, and let my mind drift into something mindless for a while. But as soon as I opened the door to my apartment, my plans for a quiet evening vanished.

There he was.

Alexander.

Sitting in my living room like he owned the place.

My heart slammed against my chest. For a moment, I just stood there, staring at him. He looked out of place against the warm tones of my apartment, his tailored suit and rigid posture a stark contrast to the comfort I'd tried to build for myself.

"What the hell are you doing here?" I asked, my voice sharper than I intended.

He stood, his movements slow and deliberate, as if he were trying to calm himself before speaking.

"We need to talk," he said, his voice low.

I crossed my arms, leaning against the doorframe. "About what? The baby you don't want? Or the fact that you're sitting in my apartment uninvited?"

He flinched, just barely, but enough for me to notice.

"Isabella, I'm serious," he said, stepping closer. "You can't keep doing this."

I let out a bitter laugh, dropping my bag onto the floor. "I can't keep doing this? You show up at my place, after everything you've done, and you have the audacity to tell me I can't keep doing this?"

He ran a hand through his hair, his frustration evident. "You don't understand—"

"No," I cut him off, my voice rising. "I understand perfectly. You don't want me. You don't want the baby. You don't want to deal with the mess you've made. That's what this is about, isn't it?"

He sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly. "It's not that simple."

"Oh, it's not?" I shot back. "Then enlighten me, Alexander. Make me understand why you've spent months lying to me, using me, and now think you have the right to waltz in here and tell me how to live my life."

For a moment, he didn't say anything. He just stood there, his jaw tight, his eyes clouded with something I couldn't quite place.

Then, he spoke.

"I'm begging you, Isabella," he said, his voice soft but urgent. "Either abort the baby or... or just stay away from my family. I can't have you showing up at my house again."

I froze, his words sinking in like stones.

"You're begging me?" I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "After everything, this is what you're begging for?"

"Yes," he said, his tone desperate. "Do you have any idea what you're doing to me? To my life? If Angelina finds out about this—"

I laughed, a harsh, bitter sound that echoed through the room. "If Angelina finds out? That's what you're worried about? Not me? Not your child?"

He winced, but pressed on. "You don't understand what's at stake here."

"No, Alexander," I said, my voice shaking. "You don't understand. You don't understand what it feels like to be lied to, used, discarded like I'm nothing. You don't understand what it feels like to carry a child you never wanted, to wake up every day knowing that the man who's supposed to care about you is more concerned about his image than his own flesh and blood."

I walked to the kitchen, grabbed a glass of water, and stood there for a moment, trying to calm the storm raging inside me. Then I turned around and hurled the water in his face.

He stumbled back, shocked, water dripping from his hair and suit.

"Wake up, Alexander," I said, my voice trembling with anger. "This isn't just about you anymore. This isn't about your perfect little family or your spotless reputation. This is about me. And my child. And you don't get to decide what happens next."

His shock quickly turned to anger. He stepped closer, towering over me.

"You're only able to live this life of luxury because of me," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "Don't forget that."

I stared at him, my chest heaving. "You think I care about this 'life of luxury'? You think I'm here for the money? Newsflash, Alexander: I don't need you. I don't need your money. I don't need anything from you."

His eyes narrowed. "Then why keep the baby? Why put yourself through this?"

"Because unlike you," I said, my voice breaking, "I'm not a coward. I'm not going to run away from my responsibilities just because they're inconvenient."

For a moment, we just stood there, the tension in the room thick enough to choke on. Then he turned and walked toward the door.

"You'll regret this, Isabella," he said quietly, his hand on the doorknob.

"No, Alexander," I said, my voice steady. "You will."

He paused for a moment, then opened the door and walked out, slamming it shut behind him.

As soon as he was gone, I sank to the floor, the weight of the confrontation crashing down on me. My hands went to my stomach, tears streaming down my face.

"I'm sorry," I whispered to the baby growing inside me. "I'm so, so sorry."

But as much as it hurt, I knew one thing for certain: I wasn't going to let Alexander—or anyone else—dictate my life. Not anymore.