Chapter 152 She Can Have Her Uterus Removed
William's face was consumed by its own hunger, and the sight made Isabella's stomach twist hard. Nausea surged so fast she thought she might be sick.
Her body trembled uncontrollably. William didn't notice—or didn't care. His hands forced her knees apart, his movements inside her rough and relentless.
He didn't speak. Every ounce of focus was on the act itself, as though it were the only thing that could fill the hollow inside him. He didn't understand why, only that it gave him a fleeting sense of control.
Isabella's vision blurred. The room seemed to darken faster than it should.
Had he turned off the light? Why couldn't she see anything?
His breath came hot against her ear, a low, caged growl as he finished, leaving himself inside her. Then he pulled back and finally spoke.
"Go buy birth control."
At the villa and at Rosewood Estate, there had always been pills. Her new apartment had none. Last time he'd come over, he'd brought them. Tonight he hadn't expected her to be here.
"Okay," she said flatly, her voice stripped of emotion, cold enough to chill the air.
William walked into the bathroom, irritation in every step. Isabella gathered the torn clothes from the floor. The fabric was ruined, unwearable. She pulled on another set, stepped outside, and started walking.
She forgot why she'd left. Her feet carried her aimlessly through the streets, past several pharmacies without slowing.
An hour passed. William, waiting, finally called her. The ringtone came from the bed—she'd left her phone behind.
His jaw tightened. What the hell was she doing?
He grabbed his coat and headed out. At the bottom of the stairs, a pharmacy sat in plain sight. He swore under his breath. Had she even noticed it?
Was she trying to get pregnant? No. She didn't deserve that.
She didn't have her phone. So where had she gone?
His pace quickened until he saw her at the intersection ahead. She was standing at the crosswalk, smiling at empty air. The sight was wrong in a way that made the back of his neck prickle.
The light turned red. Traffic began to move. Isabella stepped forward.
William ran—faster than he'd ever moved in his life, the wind tearing past him. He caught her wrist after her second step, yanking her back hard.
She fell against his chest. Pain bloomed across her cheek where it hit him. His heartbeat pounded against her ear, his body rigid with panic.
"Are you trying to die?" His shout cracked against her ear. Without waiting for an answer, he dragged her back toward the sidewalk.
She stumbled to keep up, half-running.
When they reached safety, he let go. His eyes were sharp, cutting into her. "What the hell were you doing?"
Isabella looked at him, genuinely puzzled. "What was I doing?"
His patience thinned to nothing. He decided she was playing a game—dangling herself at the edge to pull him in.
"Where's the birth control I told you to get?"
Only then did she remember. She held out her empty hand. "Forgot."
His brow furrowed deeper, suspicion hardening his gaze. "You did it on purpose. You think if you get pregnant I'll forgive you. That I'll be stuck with you."
She shook her head. She could never bear William's child.
"Forget it. Even if you were pregnant, I wouldn't let you keep it. You're selfish. You're poisonous. You're not fit to be a mother."
She thought he was right. She didn't deserve to be a mother. She didn't deserve to live. How could she deserve a child?
People like her should be gone. But she couldn't die. She had Beatrice's wish to keep—she had to take care of William for her.
William watched her slip back into that empty stare. He turned, walked into the pharmacy, bought the pills, and shoved them into her hand.
"If you dare not take them, the consequences—"
Before he could finish, she tore the package open, dropped a pill into her mouth, and bit down. The crunch was sharp. She swallowed.
The sound of her chewing made his scalp tighten. Was she really unwilling to have his child? Or was she twisting this to manipulate him?
Yes. That had to be it. She was still the same calculating woman. Selfish, cruel—that was why Beatrice was dead.
She looked at him and said, "You don't have to worry. I've taken it. I won't get pregnant. I won't have children."
He didn't like her tone. She thought she was reassuring him. She was wrong.
"If you're that worried," she added, "I can have my uterus removed. Then it'll never happen."
His chest tightened, a sharp sting under the ribs. He stared at her, wondering if she understood the weight of what she'd just said. Removal meant no chance—ever—of being a mother.
He told himself it didn't matter. She didn't deserve it anyway.
"It's good you've thought that far. Don't let me see you trying anything else. Or I won't let you off."
She nodded once, serious, silent.
He clenched his teeth. His temper darkened again, and it was her fault. She was too much. Too infuriating.
They stood there for a moment before he turned and walked away. He didn't want to see her anymore.
Isabella watched his back. She cocked her head. "Is he angry? Did I not do well enough?"
She sighed as if she'd been scolded, then walked slowly back to the apartment under the eyes of strangers passing by.
The next day, Isabella arrived at the office. A small cake sat on her desk.
Thalia leaned out from her office door. "The bakery's running a special. I grabbed you one."
"Thanks, Thalia."
"Keep at it. And make time to review the match files. We're short on time."
"I've been watching. I won't fall behind."
"Good. Keep it up." Thalia gave her a quick thumbs-up and went back to her desk. Her chat window was still open. She typed a message.
Beatrice: [She's doing okay. The cake's on her desk. She likes it.]
Donny read it and felt a knot in his chest loosen.
Donny: [Thanks.]
He was still thinking about how to get close to Isabella without disrupting her life. He wasn't afraid of William—only of making things harder for her.
For now, there wasn't much he could do except ask Thalia to keep an eye on her.
Isabella worked through the morning. Around noon, she finally had a moment to watch match footage. She checked overseas games too, chasing ideas that might spark something new.
The rebuild would start in a few days. She needed to send Bruce a payment first. He was an old contact of her father's—he'd let her pay part now and the rest later.