Chapter 142

Chapter 142
Isabella's POV

"Gabriel." I spoke softly.

"Mm?"

"Will Marcus realize it's a trap?"

His hands paused briefly before resuming their motion. "He'll suspect, but he has no way out. Douglas cut off his funding. Quincy and Aiden's 'internal conflict' has the outside world thinking the Sullivan family is about to collapse. Other families are circling like vultures. Marcus is standing on a cliff edge right now—behind him is the abyss, ahead of him is the trap we've laid. But he has to jump forward, because that's his only way out—at least, that's how it looks to him."

The baby moved again, this time in a series of rolling motions strong enough to make my belly visibly bulge. I couldn't help a soft "oh" of surprise.

Gabriel immediately stopped massaging, his whole body tensing. He practically dove toward my belly, his palm carefully settling over it, feeling the small life's restless movements inside.

"Is she uncomfortable?" His voice carried obvious worry. "Should I call the doctor?"

"No need." I took his hand, pressing it to where the baby was most active. "She's just moving. The baby's been very restless these past couple days. Maybe she senses something."

Gabriel's hand covered my belly, almost able to encompass my entire rounded abdomen. We waited quietly, and after a few seconds, another distinct kick landed right in Gabriel's palm.

His expression instantly softened, tenderness flickering in his eyes. "Hey, little princess. Stop bothering your mother. Sleep well. After tomorrow, no one will ever be able to threaten you two again."

My eyes suddenly felt hot. I reached out to cover Gabriel's hand, feeling the warmth of his palm and the baby's movements beneath. "Gabriel, I'm scared. I'm scared something will happen to you."

He looked up, his gaze locking firmly onto mine. "It won't. After this is over, we'll watch the baby be born together. I'll be right there beside you, holding your hand, watching our daughter come into this world. Then we'll give her a name, teach her to read, watch her grow up."

"I'll wait for you to come back." My voice came out hoarse. "You have to come back."

"I will." He kissed the top of my head, then pulled me tighter into his embrace. "Marcus won't survive tonight. And I'll come back alive to be with you and our daughter."

We stayed like that, holding each other in the silent night. Outside, wind swept through the garden, leaves rustling like a low hymn for the coming storm. I buried my face in his chest, greedily absorbing his warmth, his heartbeat, his presence.

I didn't know what tomorrow would bring. I only knew that right now he was beside me, our child was in my belly, and there was still someone in this world willing to risk his life for us.

After midnight, I finally drifted into uneasy sleep, my dreams fragmented and full of gunfire and blood I couldn't quite see. I woke several times, each time finding Gabriel still awake, his hand resting protectively over my belly, his eyes fixed on something distant. Morning came too quickly, sunlight streaming through the curtains into the room, though I felt no warmth from it.

I'd barely slept all night, my mind replaying Gabriel's words over and over, along with images of that abandoned church—though I'd never been there, I could imagine the cold, decaying atmosphere.

Gabriel woke earlier than me. When I opened my eyes, he was already dressed—black shirt, black trousers, even black shoes. He stood before the wardrobe adjusting his cuffs, his movements unhurried, as if today were just an ordinary workday.

"You're awake?" He noticed my gaze and turned around.

I nodded, struggling to sit up. My late-pregnancy body made even this simple movement difficult, and Gabriel immediately came over to support me, helping arrange pillows behind my back.

"Want breakfast?" Gabriel asked. "The kitchen made your favorite oatmeal."

I shook my head. "Can't eat."

He didn't insist, just sat down on the bed's edge and took my hand. "Isabella, look at me."

I raised my head, meeting his eyes.

"I will come back." He spoke each word deliberately. "I promise you, tonight you'll see me return safely, and then we'll celebrate Marcus's death together."

"How can you be so certain?" My voice trembled slightly.

"Because I'm calmer than him, better prepared, and I have more reason to stay alive." Gabriel's thumb gently stroked the back of my hand. "Marcus is being driven by fear and desperation right now, but I have you, I have our daughter. I won't let anything happen to myself, because I can't let you two lose me."

I bit my lip, fighting to keep tears from falling. I knew crying wouldn't solve anything—it would only distract Gabriel.

"I believe you." I finally said, though my voice still shook.

Gabriel leaned down to kiss my forehead, then my lips, the gesture tender and lingering, as if transmitting some wordless promise through the kiss.

The morning passed in a blur of forced normalcy that felt anything but normal. Gabriel went through his routine with mechanical precision—breakfast he barely touched, brief efficient phone calls, final checks of weapons and equipment that made my stomach clench each time I glimpsed them.

I stayed close to him all day, unable to shake the feeling that if I let him out of my sight, he might disappear. By early afternoon, the tension in the estate had become almost unbearable, every person moving with the heightened awareness of soldiers preparing for battle.

At two-thirty in the afternoon, I stood at the estate's entrance watching Gabriel make his final preparations. He'd changed into a bulletproof vest with a black jacket over it. Quincy stood beside him, similarly armed, his expression hard as stone.

Several black vehicles sat in the driveway, engines already running, ready to leave at any moment. I saw Aiden nod at me through the car window—a silent guarantee that they would protect Gabriel, ensure tonight's operation succeeded.

Gabriel walked up to me, reaching out to gently lift my chin. "Wait for me to come back."

I reached out to embrace him, using all my strength, as if I could keep him here. His arms circled me, the movement light, carefully avoiding my abdomen.

"I love you." I whispered in his ear.

"I love you too." He responded, his voice low and sincere. "And our daughter."

He released me, stepping back, looking at me deeply one last time. Then he turned and walked toward the convoy, his movements decisive, without any hesitation.

I watched him open the car door and slide into the back seat. Quincy followed, and the door closed. The engine's roar sounded especially harsh in the quiet afternoon.

The convoy slowly pulled away. I stood at the entrance, watching those black vehicles disappear at the estate's far end. The baby in my belly kicked again, as if reminding me of her presence.

"He'll come back." I spoke to the empty air, and to the baby in my belly. "Your father will come back."

But my hands still clenched involuntarily, nails digging into my palms, leaving deep marks.