Chapter 182 She Is Pregnant
The smell of disinfectant wrapped around Isabella like a suffocating shroud.
She clawed her way back to consciousness through endless darkness.
Blood soaked her dreams—the cottage collapsing in clouds of dust, Rodolfo and Hermione buried in the rubble, their final looks seared into her memory.
Those words, "Isabella, live well," detonated in her ears again and again, each echo ripping through her insides.
Her lashes fluttered. She forced her eyes open, vision swimming, taking in the stark white ceiling, the IV line hanging overhead, and two faces hovering at her bedside—bloodshot eyes, expressions collapsing under exhaustion and grief.
Donny.
Amara was here too.
The moment Amara saw her eyes open, tears spilled down her cheeks. She reached out, then hesitated as if Isabella might shatter at the slightest touch. Finally she took the hand resting outside the blanket—it felt like a stone pulled from snow.
"Isabella... you're awake. God, you scared me. Do you have any idea how long you've been out..."
Isabella's throat felt like sandpaper. She couldn't form whole words, just moved her lips weakly, barely breathing out: "Rodolfo... Hermione..."
Amara's whole body shook. More tears came, but she couldn't speak. She bit her lip and turned away, wiping her face.
Donny stepped forward. Pain and pity filled his eyes. He kept his voice soft. "Isabella, you need to stay strong. Rodolfo and Hermione... they're gone."
The words hit her like a sledgehammer, shattering what little was holding her together.
Her eyes flew wide, pupils contracting sharply. Her chest heaved. It felt like hands were closing around her throat, every breath slicing through her lungs.
She had been the one insisting on staying at that cottage. She had refused to compromise. Her stubbornness, her weakness—they had killed the last two people who truly cared about her.
What was the point of being alive?
"I'm... so... sorry..."
Each word fell like a death sentence, barely audible. Tears streamed down without warning, soaking into the pillow by her temples. "It's my fault... I killed them."
Donny felt as if his chest were caught in a vise. He couldn't breathe. He pressed his hand to her shoulder, trying to ground her. "Don't do this. This isn't your fault. Your body's in terrible shape. You can't keep torturing yourself."
He paused, his throat working. His voice went heavy. "There's something else. I have to tell you."
Isabella stared at him blankly, her eyes hollow like a puppet with its strings cut.
"You're pregnant." Donny closed his eyes, then opened them again, helpless. "Six weeks. You're already dealing with severe depression, hypothermia, you're on the edge of a complete breakdown, and now... this baby couldn't have come at a worse time."
Pregnant?
The word struck like lightning. She froze.
Slowly, she looked down at her flat stomach.
Silent. Empty. But holding a life.
William's child.
"No..."
She shook her head violently. The movement jerked the IV needle. A bead of blood welled on the back of her hand. "That's not possible... I don't want..."
Amara was shaking all over, gripping her hand tight, choking on her words. "Isabella, I know you're in pain, but the baby... the baby's innocent."
"Innocent?"
Isabella laughed suddenly. The sound was raw and jagged, soaked in despair.
"This is William's child. Something he left behind with hate and violence and humiliation. It's a chain. It's dragging me into hell."
Her hand trembled as it moved to her stomach. Her eyes went hard. "I'm not having this baby."
She couldn't even save herself. She couldn't protect the people she loved most. What right did she have to be a mother?
What right did she have to bring a child into darkness, hatred, and shame?
What right did she have to let a baby open its eyes and see William as a father—and her, broken beyond repair, as a mother?
"I'm getting rid of it." Each word fell like a death sentence. "As soon as possible."
Donny closed his eyes and let out a long breath, utterly defeated.
He knew. For her, this baby wasn't hope. It was another slow torture.
Amara wrapped her arms around Isabella, sobbing so hard she could barely stand. "Isabella, don't do this... please don't give up on yourself..."
Then—
A deafening crash.
The door exploded inward, kicked open from the outside.
William stormed in, dressed in a black suit, radiating fury and ice-cold menace. His gaze locked onto Isabella like a poisoned blade.
He had just finished dealing with Rodolfo and Hermione's funeral arrangements, used his power to bury the media coverage, and all he could think about was her unconscious in that hospital bed.
The panic clawing at him, the ache spreading through his chest—it was absurd. He was supposed to hate her. But he couldn't stop himself from coming here.
And what did he walk into? Her, pale and broken, tears streaming down her face. Donny at her bedside. Amara holding her, sobbing. The three of them huddled together like a family.
Without him.
And she was pregnant.
In that instant, blood rushed to William's head. His control snapped.
"Pregnant?"
He moved closer, each step heavy as a hammer striking the floor, suffocating the air around him. A cold, cruel smile twisted his lips. His eyes were sharp as knives, his voice low and freezing, like it could crack bones.
"Isabella, you're really something—playing the victim after getting two people killed, carrying a baby, and letting two men play bodyguard for you like you're some kind of saint."
Donny shot to his feet, blocking her from view, his eyes cold as steel. "William, show some respect. Isabella's a patient, and the baby she's carrying is—"
"Donny, stop." Isabella didn't want him to know the child was his. The thought made her sick.
Amara immediately stepped in front of her, glaring up at William through her tears, voice ringing clear.
"William, don't you dare twist this around! You're the one who killed Rodolfo and Hermione. The baby's Isabella's, and you have no right to say a damn thing about it! If you were any kind of man, you wouldn't be saying this to someone who just woke up and is in agony!"
The two of them stood shoulder to shoulder, forming a wall between William and the bed.
Isabella looked up at him. No fear in her eyes. Only dead, empty disgust.
She didn't want to explain. She wouldn't bother.
William's rage flared hotter. Seeing them protect her like this made his blood boil. He shot Dylan a look.
"Get them out."
Amara held onto Isabella's hand, refusing to let go. Isabella gave her a faint, reassuring smile.
"It's okay, Amara. You and Donny take care of each other."
She couldn't drag anyone else down with her.
Donny tried to protest, but the guards physically hauled him out. The door slammed shut, leaving just the two of them.
William's fury ignited at the dead, resistant look in her eyes, flames searing through his chest. He grabbed her wrist, grip crushing, forcing her to meet his gaze.
"Talk." His eyes were bloodshot, rage pouring out unchecked. "Whose baby is it?"
"It's Donny's, isn't it?"
"You've been sneaking around with him behind my back, got yourself pregnant, and now you're playing innocent in front of me."
The words "bastard child" sliced into her heart like a blade, cutting deep and drawing blood.
Isabella stared back at him, using her coldness to shatter his anger—hoping it would destroy her too, and the baby with her.
William saw right through her. A vicious, dangerous smile curved his mouth. "You want to die? Not happening."
"You're mine alive. You'll be mine dead. That baby in your belly—even if it is a bastard—you don't get to decide what happens to it. You hurt that child even once, and I'll bury everyone you've ever cared about."