Isabella's POV
I sat on the edge of the hospital bed, my fingers gripping the thin sheet beneath me. My mind raced, spiralling with thoughts I wasn't ready to face. The reality of my situation pressed down on me like a crushing weight. Pregnant. The word felt foreign, like it didn't belong to me, like it had been dropped into my life by mistake.
Pregnancy wasn't in my plan, not now. Not when I was finally hitting my stride. My career was everything. Everything. I couldn't let it all go for something I wasn't even sure I wanted. But I couldn't focus on that right now because Alexander was standing in front of me, his eyes blazing with a mixture of anger and confusion.
"Isabella, you're not leaving here until you tell me the truth," he said, his voice low but sharp, cutting through my thoughts.
I swallowed hard, avoiding his gaze. I knew what he wanted—an explanation. But I wasn't ready to give it. Not yet. If I said it out loud, it would be real, and I wasn't ready for real. Not when everything felt like it was slipping out of my control.
"I don't know what you want me to say," I whispered, my voice trembling despite my best effort to keep it steady.
"I want you to tell me the truth," Alexander snapped, his patience clearly thinning. He stepped closer, and I instinctively backed away, but there was nowhere to go. The small hospital room felt like it was closing in on me, and his presence only intensified the feeling.
"I can't—" I stammered, shaking my head.
"You can," he said, his eyes narrowing as he looked at me, searching for answers. "You just don't want to."
His words hit a nerve, and I flinched. Of course, I didn't want to. I wasn't ready to deal with this. How could I? How could I explain that this pregnancy threatened to ruin everything I'd worked so hard for? How could I tell him that I wasn't ready to be a mother? That I wasn't even sure if I wanted this baby?
Alexander's face hardened. "Isabella, stop playing games with me. I need to know if this baby is mine."
I clenched my jaw, refusing to meet his eyes. I could feel his frustration growing with every second of silence that passed between us. But I wasn't going to just give in. I wasn't going to let him dictate what I should say or when I should say it.
"I'm not doing this right now," I muttered, trying to stand up, to leave, to escape the suffocating tension in the room. But before I could take more than a step, Alexander's hand shot out, grabbing my wrist.
"You're not going anywhere," he said firmly, his grip tightening around my wrist.
"Let go of me," I hissed, trying to pull my hand free, but his hold only tightened. Panic flared in my chest, mixing with the frustration and fear I'd been trying so hard to bury.
"Not until you tell me the truth," Alexander said, his voice steady but his eyes stormy with barely restrained anger.
I glared at him, yanking my hand again, but it was no use. He was stronger than me, and I could feel the pressure of his fingers digging into my skin. "You're hurting me," I said through gritted teeth.
"Then stop making this harder than it needs to be," he shot back, his voice cold. "Just tell me. Is it mine, Isabella?"
Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, but I blinked them away, refusing to let him see how much this was affecting me. I didn't want to give him that satisfaction. I didn't want him to know that he was breaking me down, little by little, with every word, every touch, every demand for answers I wasn't ready to give.
"I don't want to talk about this right now," I pleaded, my voice softer now, more desperate.
"And I'm not letting you leave until you do," Alexander said, his grip still firm, his eyes locked onto mine.
I tried to pull away again, my breath quickening as the pain in my wrist intensified. But he didn't loosen his hold. If anything, he tightened it, and I could feel the sting of it radiating up my arm.
"Alexander, please—" I choked out, my voice breaking.
"Stop running away from this, Isabella," he said, his tone harsh. "You think you can just avoid this forever? This is happening whether you want it to or not. So tell me the truth. Is the baby mine?"
I could feel myself unravelling, the walls I'd built around my emotions starting to crumble under the weight of his relentless pressure. My wrist throbbed, and the pain was becoming unbearable. I couldn't fight him anymore. I couldn't hold on to my pride when everything was falling apart around me.
"Yes," I finally whispered, my voice barely audible. "The baby is yours."
For a moment, there was nothing but silence between us. The words hung in the air, heavy and final, like the last blow in a fight that I knew I couldn't win. Alexander's grip loosened, but he didn't let go entirely. His eyes were wide, and I could see the shock flicker across his face, quickly followed by something else—something I couldn't quite place.
I yanked my wrist free, cradling it against my chest, and took a shaky breath. "Are you happy now?" I spat, my voice sharp with a mix of anger and pain. "You got what you wanted. Now leave me alone."
Alexander stared at me, his expression unreadable. I expected him to say something, to lash out, to demand more answers, but he didn't. Instead, he just stood there, silent and still, like he was trying to process everything I'd just told him.
I turned away, not able to look at him any longer, not able to handle the weight of his gaze on me. My wrist still ached, but it was nothing compared to the ache in my chest, the hollow feeling that had taken root there the moment I'd admitted the truth.
Pregnant. And the baby was his.