Alexander's POV
I had no reason to be at the hospital, really. It was just a routine check-up for a lingering headache that wouldn't go away, but as I walked past the corridor leading to the private wards, a familiar voice stopped me dead in my tracks.
Isabella?
I took a few steps closer, careful not to make a sound. My heart pounded as her voice, strained and desperate, filtered through the slightly ajar door. She was talking to a doctor, her voice low but frantic.
"Please," she was saying. "I just need it gone. I can't do this, I can't have this baby."
Baby? What the hell? My throat tightened as I strained to hear more.
The doctor's voice was calm, measured, the way doctors usually are when delivering difficult news. "Ms. De Luca, I understand you're under a lot of stress, but this decision—it's not one to be taken lightly. You're far along, and I would recommend you think this through before making any hasty decisions. It's still not too late to discuss other options."
"I don't want other options!" Isabella snapped, her voice breaking. "I just want it out of me. Please…"
I felt like I'd been punched in the gut. My mind raced, spinning with possibilities. Isabella was pregnant? With whose child? And why hadn't she told me? My heart raced faster than I could think, and before I knew it, I was pushing the door open.
"Who's getting an abortion?" I demanded, my voice harsher than I intended.
Isabella's head whipped around, her eyes widening in shock. "Alexander?" She took a step back as if my presence alone could force her to retreat.
The doctor cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable, but he stood his ground. "Ms. De Luca came to me for advice regarding her pregnancy," he said. "She has expressed her desire to terminate the pregnancy."
I stared at the doctor, my jaw clenched so tightly it hurt. "She wants to… what?"
I turned to Isabella, my voice low but seething with anger. "You're pregnant?"
Isabella bit her lip, her eyes darting between the doctor and me. She was always so composed, so in control of every situation. But now? Now she looked small. She looked scared. "It's not what you think," she muttered, crossing her arms as if that could shield her from the weight of my gaze.
"It's exactly what I think," I snapped. "You're pregnant and you didn't tell me? And now you're trying to get rid of it?"
Her hands clenched into fists. "I don't owe you anything, Alexander."
I took a step closer, towering over her. "You don't owe me anything? I'm finding out you're carrying a child—God knows whose—and you think I don't deserve to know about this?"
The doctor took a discreet step toward the door, sensing the tension rising in the room. "I think you two need to discuss this privately," he said, before looking pointedly at Isabella. "I'll give you some time. But Ms. De Luca, I urge you to reconsider your decision. I can arrange for counselling if you'd like."
Isabella didn't answer him. She was staring at the floor, her shoulders tight with tension. The doctor gave us both one last look before leaving the room, the door clicking shut behind him.
Silence filled the space between us.
"You don't understand, Alexander," Isabella finally said, her voice quiet but strained. "This isn't something I wanted. It wasn't supposed to happen."
I felt the anger boiling inside me, but it was mixed with something else now—confusion. Hurt. "How long have you known?" I asked.
She didn't answer immediately. Instead, she took a shaky breath and avoided my gaze. "A few weeks."
"A few weeks?" I repeated, my voice rising. "You've known for weeks and you didn't think to tell me? To tell anyone?"
Isabella shook her head. "It's not that simple. I'm not ready to be a mother, Alexander. I can't—"
"You can't do what?" I cut in. "You can't be bothered? You can't handle the responsibility? God, Isabella, what the hell happened to you?" My voice cracked with disbelief.
Her eyes snapped up to mine, filled with defiance now. "What happened to me? What happened to me, Alexander, is that I don't get the luxury of a normal life like everyone else. I don't get to make decisions based on what's right. I make decisions to survive. And this—this baby—doesn't fit into that."
My heart pounded painfully in my chest as her words sank in. "Survive?" I repeated. "You think getting rid of an innocent child is survival?"
Her hands trembled, and she clenched them into fists again. "You don't understand what it's like for me."
"Then make me understand!" I demanded, stepping closer, my eyes boring into hers. "Because right now, all I see is someone running away from responsibility."
Isabella flinched but didn't back down. "You think I haven't thought about this? You think this isn't tearing me apart inside?" Her voice cracked, and for a moment, I saw the real pain she was hiding behind that tough exterior.
I took a deep breath, trying to calm myself, trying to understand. "Isabella… I need to know. Who's the father?"
She went still. Her face paled, and her eyes flickered with something I couldn't quite read—fear, maybe.
"I asked you a question," I said, my voice low and dangerous now. "Who's the father?"
Her lips trembled as she tried to form words, but nothing came out. I could see the panic rising in her eyes, the weight of the question crashing down on her. And in that moment, a terrifying thought crept into my mind.
Was it possible? Could it be… mine?
But before I could say anything, Isabella shook her head, stepping back as if the distance would keep the truth hidden a little longer. "It doesn't matter," she whispered.
"It matters to me," I growled.
She looked up at me then, her eyes glistening with unshed tears, and for the first time, I saw just how broken she really was. "You don't want to know," she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper.
I took another step toward her, my heart in my throat. "Tell me."
And that's when her walls finally broke, and she whispered the name that would change everything.