Chapter 91 Chapter 91
Hailey’s POV
They walked in without waiting for my invitation, Isabella moving with that regal confidence she always carried, my mother following more hesitantly behind her.
Isabella stood in the center of my room, her sharp eyes scanning everything the furniture, the windows, me like she was assessing whether I measured up to some invisible standard.
“I’ll be direct,” Isabella said, her voice crisp and businesslike. “I didn’t approve of you initially. I thought you were a naive college girl who’d gotten herself knocked up and trapped my son. I thought you’d crumble under the first real threat.”
I braced myself for whatever cutting remark was coming next.
“But you endured the attack,” Isabella continued, surprising me. “You survived being hunted through my son’s compound. You kept your head, protected yourself and that baby, and made it out alive. That takes strength. Resourcefulness.”
She paused, her expression softening almost imperceptibly.
“So maybe,” she said slowly, as if the words pained her, “you actually are cut out to be my son’s knocked-up girl after all.”
It wasn’t exactly a warm endorsement, but coming from Isabella, it felt like high praise.
“There’s one thing you should know about this house,” Isabella added, moving toward the door. “Avoid the attic upstairs. It’s unsafe structurally compromised. Damien’s been meaning to have it repaired for years but never got around to it. Just stay away from there.”
With that, she swept out of the room, leaving my mother and me staring after her.
The moment the door closed, my mother made an exaggerated face, mouthing silent insults at Isabella’s retreating back.
“Knocked-up girl?” she mouthed dramatically, rolling her eyes. “Who talks like that?”
I couldn’t help it I laughed. Actually laughed, the tension breaking as I watched my mother’s theatrical display of disgust.
“She’s something else,” I said, shaking my head.
“She’s a piece of shit,” my mother corrected, but her expression softened as she came to sit beside me on the bed. “But at least she’s not actively trying to get you killed anymore. That’s progress, I suppose.”
She reached out and took my hand, her touch warm and familiar.
“How are you really doing, baby?” she asked quietly. “After everything that happened. The attack, the fear, all of it.”
I took a deep breath, trying to find the words. “I don’t know, Mom. I’m still processing it all. One minute I’m fine, and the next I’m remembering the gunfire and the running and Marco…”
My voice broke on his name.
My mother squeezed my hand. “You survived, Hailey. We both did. We survived something terrible.”
“Dad would be proud,” I said quietly. “Right? That we survived?”
My mother’s expression shifted to something complicated, grief and pride and anger all mixed together.
“Your father would be proud of your strength,” she said slowly. “But he’d also be furious with me. Absolutely livid. For letting you stay in this world, for not dragging you away from Damien the moment I realized what he was.”
She looked down at our joined hands.
“He died trying to protect us from this life,” she continued, her voice thick with emotion. “And here I am, watching you choose to stay in it. He’d call me a terrible mother. Tell me I failed you.”
“Mom, no….” I started.
“But I also know,” she interrupted gently, “that you’re not a child anymore. You’re a woman making your own choices. Even if those choices terrify me.”
We sat in silence for a moment, both of us lost in thoughts of my father and the sacrifices he’d made.
Then my mother looked at me directly, her eyes searching mine.
“Hailey, I need to ask you something, and I need you to be completely honest with me,” she said seriously. “Are you truly ready for this mess of a life to be your life? Not just for now, not just until the baby is born, but forever? Because once you’re in this deep, there’s no easy way out.”
I felt something shift inside my chest. A certainty I hadn’t fully acknowledged before.
I was falling in love with Damien. Maybe had already fallen.
Despite the danger, despite the violence, despite everything that was wrong and terrifying about his world, I wanted to be with him.
But I couldn’t say that out loud. Not to my mother, who’d lost her husband to this life and was terrified of losing me too.
So I used the safest excuse available.
“I want my baby to grow up with a father figure,” I said, my hand moving instinctively to my stomach. “A real one, not just weekend visits or shared custody. I want them to know Damien, to have that stability relationship.”
It wasn’t a lie, exactly. I did want that for my child.
But it also wasn’t the whole truth.
My mother studied my face for a long moment, and I wondered if she could see through my carefully constructed reasoning to the real emotions underneath.
But she didn’t push. Didn’t demand I admit what I was really feeling.
Instead, she just nodded slowly, something sad and resigned in her expression.
“I’ll be there for your baby too,” she said quietly, though the words sounded half-hearted. “You know that, right? They’ll have me. They’ll have a grandmother who loves them.”
“I know, Mom,” I said, pulling her into a hug. “And they’re so lucky to have you.”
We held each other for a long moment, both of us trying not to cry, both of us terrified of what the future held.
Finally, my mother pulled away, wiping at her eyes.
“Get some rest,” she said, her voice rough. “You need it. For the baby.”
She left, closing the door softly behind her.
I sat there on the bed, my hand still resting on my stomach, feeling overwhelmed and exhausted and strangely hopeful all at once.
Then I felt a small flutter. A tiny movement inside me that wasn’t quite a kick but was definitely… something.
The baby.
My baby was moving.
I lay down carefully, my hand pressed against my stomach, a smile spreading across my face despite everything.
My eyes grew heavy, exhaustion finally catching up with me. I let myself drift toward sleep, my mind already fading into darkness.
But then my eyes shot open as a thought struck me with sudden clarity.
Sophia.
Why had Sophia stormed out so angrily when she saw Louis?
She’d hissed at him, treated him with open contempt and hostility. More than she’d shown to anyone else, even me.
Why?