After all, who wouldn’t want a baby when its father was Vincent Falcone?
“Isabella, I really needed you to trust me on this,” he said, pausing for a long moment before continuing. “It will be like we are saving a life together. If I do not help her, Rosa’s baby will be aborted the moment her parents take her home.”
“So…?” I didn’t let him finish. “So you’ve made up your mind to make our baby fatherless, is that it? So my child will be a bastard, possibly born without a name, with no family to back them up?”
Vincent took my hands and pressed them to his lips. “I’m sorry, Isabella. Just a little longer. Once Rosa gives birth, I can take our baby home and claim them as my own.”
“I couldn’t just stand there and watch Rosa suffer.”
I inhaled deeply. “Then I guess there’s no need for our baby to be born.”
“No!” Vincent stood up, his face contorted with anger. “Why can’t you just understand? I told you, I’ll claim our baby once Rosa’s is born. Why do you have to be so stubborn? You’re not giving up on our baby, and I’ll help with Rosa’s too. End of discussion.”
Then, just like that, he left—like nothing had happened.
The next day, Vincent sent a dozen bodyguards to surround the mansion and a dozen maids to help me. I knew what he was doing—keeping a close watch on me, making sure I didn’t do anything to harm our baby.
He was afraid.
He even took my phone, cutting off any chance of escape.
Why insist on having our baby when he’d already chosen Rosa’s first?
Did Vincent really think I was such a pushover that I’d just let him do whatever he wanted?
Well, screw him. I’m not a puppet, and I sure as hell won’t sit back and accept whatever crap he throws my way.
…
Time passed. I was stuck here, and according to Vincent, I was “enjoying” my pregnancy.
One morning, after finishing breakfast, I heard the front door open. Rosa was standing next to a woman I didn’t recognize.
The minute the woman saw me, she started shooting sarcasm. “Someone’s looking full of herself. Why would you still cling to the title of Mrs. Falcone when you’re clearly messing around with another man? And getting pregnant—how shameful.”
“My poor baby girl,” she cooed. “You must’ve suffered so much, Rosa.”
That woman was Rosa’s mother? What was she going on about—me messing around with another man and getting pregnant?
I was pregnant with Vincent’s child, not her. It was Rosa who was the one messing around and ended up pregnant.
I watched as more people followed them inside, carrying bags and boxes. Rosa acted like she owned the place, bossing the maids and workers around as they helped her move her things into one of the empty rooms. Once she was done, she turned to me with a cruel smile.
“Isabella,” she sneered, “you thought you won by marrying Vincent, didn’t you? Look at me now. I’m standing here, about to sleep in the bed he bought for this mansion.”
“You’re nothing, Isabella.”
I watched as she laughed, her voice dripping with malice. I couldn’t hold back the anger anymore. I marched toward her, step by step, and slapped her across the face with all the force I could muster.
She screamed as she fell onto the sofa behind her.
Just then, Vincent walked in, witnessing the scene. I wasn’t done with Rosa. I’d tolerated her sarcasm for far too long, but that didn’t mean she had the right to keep pushing me.
