Chapter 48 Chapter 48
Hailey’s POV
I hesitated, every instinct screaming at me not to follow Isabella anywhere, especially not after what I’d just overheard from Vincent.
But I was too flustered, too confused by everything happening around me to come up with a reason to refuse.
So I followed her down the hallway, away from Vincent’s door, away from whatever conspiracy he was whispering about into his phone.
She closed the door firmly behind us, then walked to her closet without a word.
I stood there awkwardly, my arms wrapped around myself, wondering what fresh hell this conversation was going to bring.
Isabella emerged from the closet carrying something heavy. She turned and threw it at me without warning.
I barely caught it, stumbling back from the weight. It was a duffel bag, and when I looked inside, my breath caught in my throat.
Money. Stacks and stacks of cash, more money than I’d ever seen in my entire life.
“What is this for?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
“Disappear,” Isabella said bluntly, her arms crossed over her chest. “Move far away. You don’t have what it takes to survive in this family. That money is enough to set you up somewhere new and safe.”
The temptation was overwhelming. After everything that had happened today, the shooting, Sophia’s threats, Vincent’s disturbing behavior, the idea of just taking this money and running was almost irresistible.
“There’s a small town in Iceland,” Isabella continued, her tone businesslike, as if she was discussing a real estate transaction rather than my entire future. “Remote, quiet, where no one would think to look for you. You could start fresh, start a new life away from all this violence and danger.”
“Why would you help me?” I asked suspiciously.
“I’m not helping you,” Isabella said coldly. “I’m helping my son. You’re a distraction he can’t afford right now. You’re making him weak, making him vulnerable. And in this world, weakness gets you killed.”
She took a step closer, her eyes boring into mine. “But there’s one condition.”
Something in her tone made my stomach drop. “What condition?”
“Lose the baby,” she said flatly.
The words hit me like a physical blow. I actually staggered back a step, clutching the duffel bag tighter.
“What?” I breathed.
“Get rid of it,” Isabella said, her voice not quite as steady as before but still firm. “Have an abortion before you leave. That child is the only thing tying you to this family, to my son. Without it, you’re free. You can truly disappear and start over.”
“No,” I said immediately, my hand moving instinctively to cover my stomach. “Absolutely not.”
“Don’t be foolish,” Isabella pressed. “That child will never have a normal life. It will grow up surrounded by violence, always in danger, always looking over its shoulder. Is that what you want? Is that the life you want for your baby?”
“I’m not killing my child,” I said, my voice stronger now despite the tears burning in my eyes. “Not for any amount of money. Not for anything.”
Isabella’s expression hardened. “Then you’re condemning both of you to this life. And when something terrible happens, when you or that baby ends up dead because of my son’s world, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
She turned sharply and grabbed something else, a newspaper that had been sitting on her dresser. She threw it at me, and I barely managed to catch it while still holding the heavy duffel bag.
“Read it,” Isabella commanded. “Maybe then you’ll understand what you’re really dealing with.”
“What is this?” I asked, looking down at the yellowed newspaper dated three years ago.
“The truth about Elena,” Isabella said, her voice tight with emotion I couldn’t identify. “The truth about what this family does to the women foolish enough to love the men in it.”
She moved toward the door, clearly done with this conversation. “Your presence here is only going to lead to more mysteries, more questions, more danger. I’ve done a background check on you, Hailey. I know you’re not equipped for this life. You’re going to get yourself killed, and probably take my son down with you.”
With that, she walked out, leaving me standing alone in her bedroom, holding a bag full of blood money and a newspaper I wasn’t sure I wanted to read.
But I had to know.
With shaking hands, I set down the duffel bag and unfolded the newspaper, my eyes immediately finding the headline. “Prominent Businesswoman Elena Alejandro Dies in Tragic Accident.”
I skimmed the article quickly at first, then went back and read it more carefully.
According to the report, Elena had been working late at her jewelry shop that evening, something she rarely did. She’d received an anonymous phone call around eight PM, and according to witnesses, she’d seemed excited, happy even, as she’d quickly closed up the shop.
She’d told her assistant she thought it was her husband calling from a burner phone, asking her to meet him.
Less than an hour later, her car had crashed into a barrier on a rain-slicked road. She’d died instantly.