Isla’s POV

Alaric never once admitted that I existed when other people were around.

For three entire years, I belonged to him only behind locked doors. In public—within the organization, among politicians, businessmen, and rival families—he remained untethered. Immaculate. Untouchable. The kind of man everyone assumed was waiting for the right woman, someone worthy of standing beside the head of the Montenegro empire.

No one ever imagined that woman was me.

And I never asked him why.

Not once.

Back then, I convinced myself that simply being near him was enough. I told myself I should be grateful—that being chosen in private mattered more than being acknowledged in public. I was his, even if only when the lights were low and the doors were closed.

I had loved him long before that arrangement ever began.

It went back to our school days. I could still pinpoint the exact moment my feelings turned irreversible—the afternoon a jealous girl lost her temper and hurled a kettle of boiling water in my direction. I hadn’t even had time to scream before Alaric stepped in front of me without thinking. The water splashed across his sleeve instead of my face. I remembered the sharp smell of scorched cloth, the way my heart thundered so loudly it drowned out everything else.

That was more than ten years ago.

And somehow, my feelings hadn’t faded. Not even slightly.

Three years earlier, after Sabrina walked away from him, Alaric unraveled.

The man who never lost control staggered through a smoke-filled bar like a ghost, drinking himself into numbness. The music was loud, the air thick with alcohol and sweat. Everyone else drifted away eventually, uncomfortable with his silence, his anger, his grief.

I stayed.

I watched him drink until his hands shook, listened as his words blurred together, felt the weight of his regret settle over the booth between us.

That night, with unfocused eyes and a voice rough from whiskey, he asked me if I wanted to try being together.

I knew exactly what it was.

A substitute.

A distraction.

A way to hurt the woman who had left him first.

I understood that he didn’t love me.

And still… I said yes.

I told myself a comforting lie—that if I stayed long enough, if I loved him carefully and quietly, one day he would choose me the way I had chosen him.

Now, thinking back, the naïveté of it almost made me smile.

That night, I waited for him.

I sat alone on the couch, watching the clock creep forward inch by inch. Midnight passed. Then one in the morning. The apartment stayed silent, untouched.

It wasn’t until the early hours, when the city lights dimmed, that my phone finally vibrated.

I’ve got a business dinner tonight, the message read. It ran late. Don’t wait up—get some rest.

But I already knew.

Sabrina’s social media glowed on my screen—a photograph of her laughing freely as a man carried her piggyback. The angle was blurry, but the breadth of his shoulders, the familiar slope of his back, were unmistakable.

Her caption felt like a blade pressed directly against my chest:

Still the man I always imagined my future with. I can’t stop crying… should I say yes?

Business dinner?

My fingers tightened around the phone until it hurt.

He hadn’t offered her vague promises or whispered hopes for “someday.” He had given her something concrete. A proposal. A future. The kind of commitment a man like Alaric didn’t make lightly.

I stared at the screen until my eyes burned. It felt achingly familiar—like being young again, watching their story unfold from the sidelines while I remained invisible.

Pain twisted low in my abdomen. I shut the phone off and pressed my palm there instinctively.

I’m leaving anyway, I told myself. Why keep punishing myself?

I stood and began packing.

The extra toothbrush went straight into the trash. The mugs I’d chosen for us. The cushions, the decorations—everything that suggested we were a shared life instead of a temporary arrangement disappeared into black bags.

I was tying one shut when the front door opened.

Alaric walked in.

He surveyed the room briefly, then looked at the bags. “You liked those,” he said mildly. “Why throw them out?”

I didn’t look at him. My hands felt detached, my voice deliberately casual.

“They’re old. I got tired of them.”

A part of me waited. Hoped. That he’d notice the strain in my voice. That he’d ask what was wrong.

He didn’t.

Instead, he moved past me as if everything were normal. He rested his hand over my stomach and spoke gently, almost fondly. “Easy in there,” he murmured. “Your father’s home.”

He looked like every man’s idea of a devoted future patriarch. Once, that sight would’ve broken me.

I used to believe that if he cared so deeply for our child, then somewhere beneath it all, he cared for me too. Maybe he just didn’t know how to express it.

Now I understood the difference.

He loved the child.

Not the woman carrying it.

“You’re still upset, aren’t you?” he asked after a moment. “You shouldn’t be. I didn’t mention Sabrina joining the company because it wasn’t important. She’s between contracts. I offered temporary help. That’s all.”

He hesitated when he noticed I hadn’t taken his coat, hadn’t moved closer like I usually did. That was when it finally registered that something was wrong.

His tone softened, persuasive. “You’re jealous. I get it—but there’s no reason to be. She’s my past. Whatever we had is over. You’re the one I’m with now.”

I nearly laughed.

Instead, I stood still as he leaned in and kissed my cheek—slower, gentler than usual.

If I hadn’t seen you with her.

If I hadn’t heard your voice when you thought I wasn’t listening…

I might have believed you.

But now, every tender word sounded practiced. Every affectionate gesture felt calculated.

It wasn’t love.

It was management.

Isla’s POV

The next morning, my assistant approached me quietly, her expression unusually careful.

She closed the office door behind her before speaking. “Everything has been scheduled,” she said. Then she hesitated, fingers tightening around the folder in her hands. “Ma’am… are you certain you don’t want to tell Mr. Montenegro? The pregnancy is already well along.”

“There’s nothing he needs to know,” I answered evenly.

My hand drifted to my abdomen, resting there without thought. The faint curve beneath my palm felt heavier than it had days ago. The child inside me—once so active, so alive—had gone unnervingly still. The absence of movement weighed on me more than any kick ever had, as though the life growing inside me understood that I’d already made my choice.

If I were honest, up until yesterday, I’d still been clinging to a delicate illusion.

I’d convinced myself I was content. That this half-life, hidden and unacknowledged, was enough. That being loved in secret was better than not being loved at all.

Alaric had always been meticulous. Calculated. If he wanted to continue seeing Sabrina without my knowledge, he easily could have. With his influence, his resources, and his talent for keeping appearances intact, I might never have discovered the truth.

But something had changed.

Maybe my pregnancy had advanced too far. Maybe he believed that once I was carrying his child, I’d be too trapped to leave. After all, what woman—pregnant and dependent—would dare walk away from the head of a crime family?

He had underestimated me.

I’d waited ten years for him. Since I was sixteen. I’d endured loving him silently, endured becoming a secret, endured carrying his child while being fed lies and half-truths. Waiting, I knew how to do.

What I refused to endure was being reduced to a function—kept only to produce an heir, then quietly replaced once my role was complete.

On the way to the hospital, I stopped at the commercial center next door, hoping to force down something light. I wasn’t hungry, but I needed the energy.

That was when a familiar voice cut through the air.

“This wing needs closer evaluation. Luxury brands here are expanding faster than projected.”

My steps slowed.

I turned.

Alaric stood a short distance away, immaculate as ever, his posture relaxed but authoritative. At his side was Sabrina. Both of them were dressed with deliberate precision, the kind meant for inspections and public appearances. They looked composed. Powerful. Like a matched set.

A sharp ache tightened in my chest.

I was about to turn away when a bright, artificial laugh rang out.

“Well, what a surprise,” Sabrina said pleasantly. “Miss Frostwyn—what are the odds?”

She walked toward me, heels clicking crisply against the polished floor. Her smile was flawless, polished to perfection, devoid of warmth.

Before I could respond, the mall’s general manager hurried over, all smiles and nervous enthusiasm. “Mr. Montenegro, Mrs. Montenegro—this way, please. We’ve arranged the new sector for your review.”

Sabrina laughed softly. “Just Sabrina, please. Let’s keep things professional.”

As she spoke, her gaze flicked toward me—brief, intentional.

My hands curled at my sides.

So this was it. The man who had hidden me for years hadn’t even waited for my child to be born before openly presenting her—introducing her to partners, allowing assumptions to flourish.

She turned back to me, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “You won’t mention this to anyone, will you? The company doesn’t know yet. We’re planning to announce things properly after the engagement.”

She said it lightly, as though sharing an innocent confidence. As though she didn’t know exactly who I was.

Alaric’s jaw tightened. For a fleeting second, guilt crossed his eyes—followed immediately by warning. Silent. Firm. Don’t make this difficult.

My chest ached, but I still forced a polite expression.

“Of course,” I replied calmly. “Your secret’s safe.”

Because once the procedure was over, I wouldn’t be here anymore. Whatever future they were building together would no longer involve me.

“I thought you’d be understanding,” Sabrina said brightly. Then her eyes sharpened. “But tell me—why are you here alone? Where’s your partner?”

There was unmistakable triumph in her gaze as she looped her arm through mine, feigning closeness.

“All this business talk makes me nervous,” she added sweetly. “It’s so male-dominated. Will you keep me company for a while?”

I gently pulled my arm free and deliberately avoided looking at Alaric.

“I don’t have a partner,” I said.

For a fraction of a second, something dark crossed his face. Then it vanished, replaced by his usual detached authority.

“Since you’re here,” he said coolly, “show Sabrina around. She’s still familiarizing herself with our properties.”

Without waiting for my reply, he turned and walked off with the manager.

I frowned and stepped back, but Sabrina leaned in close. Her smile disappeared, her voice dropping into something sharp and cruel.

“I know exactly what you are to him,” she murmured. “But let’s not pretend. You’re temporary. A means to an end. Alaric is mine. Once that child is born, I’ll be the woman standing beside him.”

Ice spread through my veins.

“Let go,” I said quietly.

I pushed her away—barely more than a nudge, just enough to create space.

She screamed.

In the same breath, she stumbled sideways and slammed into a woman passing by with a baby in her arms. Both of them crashed to the floor.

The infant’s cry pierced the air.

The woman scrambled up, fury blazing in her eyes as she pointed at me. “Are you insane?! You’re pregnant—how could you shove someone like that?! Are you trying to kill someone?!”

I stepped forward instinctively. “No—it wasn’t—”

Sabrina cut me off instantly.

Tears streamed down her face as she bowed repeatedly, voice shaking with apparent remorse. “Please—this is my fault! Don’t blame her. She didn’t mean anything! I lost my balance. Please, I’m begging you—”

Her acting was perfect.

And standing there, surrounded by strangers’ judgment, I finally understood something with absolute clarity.

I was completely alone.

Isla’s POV

The woman’s face twisted with rage as she jabbed a finger straight at me, so close it nearly brushed my skin.

“A vice president?” she shrieked. “So you outrank her—and this is how you behave? Intimidating her, hurting her, then pretending it’s her fault? What kind of organization allows people like you to climb so high? Is this what the Montenegro syndicate stands for?”

“I didn’t—”

My chest seized. My lungs refused to cooperate. I tried again, forcing air into my throat, but before another word could escape, the atmosphere shifted.

Alaric had arrived.

The second his eyes swept over the scene—Sabrina collapsed on the floor, the screaming baby nearby—his expression hardened into something dark and volatile.

“What happened?” he demanded.

Sabrina didn’t hesitate.

Through tears, she explained that I had accidentally pushed her, that she’d lost her balance and slammed into the woman holding the child. She clutched her ankle as though in pain, biting her lip dramatically.

“It hurts… but I’ll be fine,” she whimpered. “Please don’t be upset. Just explain it to the client. The vice president didn’t mean to do this…”

Alaric turned on me like a storm breaking.

“Isla!” he shouted. “Have you completely lost your mind? You couldn’t even manage something this simple? Why would you shove her?!”

“I didn’t—”

“I’m not interested in excuses!” he snapped. “Apologize. Now.”

I stood frozen, my breathing shallow and erratic.

He doesn’t even doubt her, I realized dully.

Not for a second.

But something inside me finally shattered.

“I won’t,” I said quietly. “I’m not apologizing for something I didn’t do.”

My hand rose instinctively to my stomach. My voice trembled, but I didn’t retreat.

I was leaving anyway.

I was finished explaining myself. Finished begging.

Shock flickered across his face—he hadn’t expected defiance.

Before he could respond, the enraged woman suddenly lunged forward and shoved me with all her strength.

“You disgusting woman!” she screamed. “With an attitude like that, no wonder your child will grow up rotten! You won’t even apologize? Get out of my sight!”

I slammed into the floor.

Pain tore through my abdomen like something being ripped apart from the inside. My ears rang violently. The world dissolved into noise and light, everything muffled, distant, unreal.

I saw Alaric take a step toward me—his hand twitching, hesitation written across his face.

Then he stopped.

In the next second, he turned away and lifted Sabrina into his arms instead, carrying her swiftly toward the exit.

“Think about what you’ve done, Isla!” he shouted without looking back.

I curled around my stomach on the icy tiles as waves of agony crashed through me.

Voices blurred together. Some whispered. Some shouted. Others stepped away as if I were something dangerous. I caught glimpses of raised phones, flashing screens, strangers recording my collapse, my humiliation.

That was all I could process.

Noise.

Judgment.

Pain ripping me open from the inside.

It wasn’t until much later that someone realized something was truly wrong and called for medical help.

At the hospital, chaos erupted.

Doctors rushed me down sterile corridors toward the operating room. Orders were shouted over one another.

“Where’s her family?” someone yelled. “Her vitals are dropping—do we save the mother or the baby?!”

A nurse grabbed my phone with trembling hands. “Ma’am—do you have the father’s number?”

My lips shook as I gave her Alaric’s contact.

He answered.

Not with fear.

Not with concern.

With fury.

“Isla, are you insane?!” he roared through the line. “What did you do to Sabrina? Her ankle is badly swollen—the doctor thinks it could be fractured! All because you shoved her!”

My entire body trembled as I whispered, “I didn’t… She fell… on her own.”

“Oh, stop with that jealous nonsense!” he snapped. “You’re upset because she joked about becoming my wife? You actually took that seriously? It was obviously a joke!”

A joke.

Tears finally spilled as my fingers clenched the sheets.

“Alaric… the baby—”

The call ended.

I stared up at the doctor, forcing a broken smile through the pain.

“Please,” I whispered. “Forget the baby. Just… save me.”

“We’ll do everything we can,” the doctor said quietly.

When I woke, my body felt unbearably light.

Wrongly light.

My stomach was flat.

A nurse approached slowly, holding a small box. She placed it gently in my hands. Inside lay what remained of my child—so tiny, so fragile, never given the chance to breathe.

Something inside me collapsed completely.

My sobs tore out of me, violent and uncontrollable. No physical injury had ever hurt this much. The emptiness was unbearable.

In the midst of my grief, the door burst open.

A man rushed in—tall, disheveled, his presence instantly familiar.

My brother.

Not by blood, but by choice. By loyalty. By every bond that mattered.

He crossed the room in seconds and pulled me into his arms, his voice hoarse with guilt. “I’m sorry… I should’ve been here sooner.”

I buried my face against his chest, unable to speak through the tears.

That same afternoon, he transferred me to a private hospital under his own name, cutting off all access, shielding me from the world.

Before I left the city forever, I mailed the small box—the remains of the heir the Montenegro family had wanted so badly—to their estate.

Then I sent Alaric one final message.

We’re done.

I blocked his number. Deleted everything. No hesitation. No regret.

From that moment on, Alaric Montenegro no longer existed in my life.

And he never would again.