Chapter 30

Chapter 30
Isabella's POV
Marco's study felt suffocating as I stood before his mahogany desk. The morning's confrontation still hung between us—his arrangement with Sigrid, his demand that I bear them a child.
"So," Marco said, settling back in his leather chair. "You've had time to consider my proposal. What are your conditions for cooperation?"
The word 'cooperation' made my skin crawl, but I forced myself to stay focused. This was my only chance to negotiate before he discovered the truth.
"First," I said, keeping my voice steady, "I cannot be locked in this villa like a prisoner. I need some freedom."
"Freedom?" His eyebrows rose. "You think you're in a position to make demands?"
"I'm proposing terms. If you want me healthy enough to conceive and carry a child, I need fresh air and exercise."
Marco studied me for a long moment. "You may walk in the garden once daily. One hour, with a soldato for protection."
I nodded. "Second, I need my own private quarters. I require adequate rest to maintain my health."
"Acceptable. My people will ensure you remain undisturbed during rest periods."
He thought this was about future conception, about preparing my body for his heir. If only he knew the truth growing inside me already.
The negotiations were going smoother than expected. Time for the real test.
"Finally," I said, watching his face carefully, "I would like Sigrid to serve as my personal attendant."
The change was instantaneous. Marco's hands clenched into fists on the desk.
"What did you say?"
"I'd like Sigrid to help with my daily care and needs."
"You want Sigrid Larsson to be your servant?" He rose from his chair, voice dropping to that deadly whisper. "What makes you think I would agree to something so absurd?"
I could see the fury building in his dark eyes, the way his jaw tightened with barely controlled rage.
"Sigrid comes from one of New York's most prominent families. Her father controls significant Wall Street interests." He moved around the desk toward me. "And you think I'm going to humiliate her by making her your maid?"
"I'm merely suggesting—"
"You're suggesting that I insult a woman who's shown you nothing but tolerance?" His voice carried that dangerous edge I knew so well. "A woman of her breeding and social standing?"
The possessive way he spoke about her made my stomach turn. Even now, he was protecting her while treating me like property.
"I'm not thinking anything," I replied evenly. "The decision is entirely yours, Don Marco."
His expression shifted at my formal address—surprise mixed with something that might have been hurt.
"Indeed it is," he said coldly.
Without another word, I turned and walked toward the door.
"Where are you going?"
"To rest," I said without looking back. "As per our agreement."

I found Connor in the servants' hallway, carrying fresh linens. When he saw me approaching, concern immediately creased his features.
"Isabella? What happened with Marco?"
I grabbed his arm, pulling him into the nearest empty room. The moment the door closed, the words tumbled out.
"I confirmed it this morning. I'm pregnant, Connor. It's Marco's child."
Connor set down the linens, his face going pale. "Are you... are you going to keep it?"
"Of course I'm keeping it." The question stung. "This is my blood, my flesh. But Marco doesn't know yet."
I began pacing the small storage room, panic rising in my throat. "Connor, I have to leave here soon. You've seen what Marco does to his enemies. If he discovers I was already pregnant during our negotiations..."
"Isabella—"
"He'll see it as deception. As manipulation. And you know what he does to people who manipulate him."
The memory of Viktor's execution flashed through my mind—the casual way Marco had pulled the trigger, the complete lack of remorse.
Connor was quiet for a moment, watching me pace. Then he spoke, his voice low and determined.
"Come with me to Las Vegas."
I stopped, staring at him. "What?"
"I have a safe house there. Completely off the grid, far from any Salvatore territory."
"Connor, you can't just—"
"I love you," he said simply. "I love you, Isabella."
The words hit me like a physical blow. In this house of violence and possession, Connor was offering something I'd thought was lost forever.
"You would do that?" I whispered. "Take on another man's child?"
"That child is part of you," Connor said, stepping closer. "How could I not love it?"
He reached for me, his hands gentle as they cupped my face. "I'll love your child like my own. I swear it."
The sincerity in his voice, the absolute conviction, broke something inside me. Here was a man offering me safety, love, a future where my child could grow up free from the violence and corruption of the Salvatore world.
When had anyone ever offered me something so pure?
"You mean that?" I asked, searching his blue eyes for any trace of doubt.
"I've never meant anything more in my life," Connor replied. "Isabella, you deserve better than this. Better than being treated like property. Better than living in fear."
His thumb brushed across my cheekbone, and I could see the pain in his expression—pain for what I'd endured, for what I was still enduring.
"I can protect you both," he continued softly. "I can give you a life where your child never has to see violence, never has to fear for their safety."
The promise hung in the air between us, golden and impossible and desperately wanted.
Without thinking, I closed the distance between us and pressed my lips to his.
The kiss was soft at first, tentative. Then Connor's arms came around me, careful and protective, and I felt something I hadn't experienced in years.
Hope.
When we broke apart, I could see the future in Connor's eyes. A life away from blood and vendettas. My child taking first steps somewhere safe.
"Connor," I breathed against his lips.
"I'll protect you both," he whispered. "I promise."
For the first time in three years, I allowed myself to believe in the possibility of happiness.