Isabella once foolishly believed Ethan’s heart was merely guarded, that her unwavering devotion might one day earn his love.

But the brutal truth now stared back at her—his coldness, his deliberate cruelty, were reserved for her alone.

With Sophia, he was gentle. Protective. Willing to sacrifice Isabella without a second thought.

That final, fragile hope within her shattered. Like glass crushed underfoot.

She closed her eyes, a quiet sigh escaping her lips. Her lashes trembled, veiling the deep well of sorrow.

Enough.

It was time to release the dream.

Her cold, unsteady fingers drifted to her still-flat stomach. She felt the faint, persistent flutter of life within—a tiny heart beating bravely against all odds.

“My love,” she whispered, voice soft but resolute. “Your father may not want us, but I do. We will survive this. Together.”

When she opened her eyes again, they held only hardened determination.

“So he didn’t save me. I saved myself. He means nothing.”

Sophia’s expression shifted instantly. Her flawless makeup couldn’t conceal the vicious gleam in her eyes.

Her careful plan was crumbling.

Her gaze locked onto Isabella’s abdomen, hidden beneath the thin hospital blanket, as if she could see the threat growing there.

The air turned sharp and heavy. Isabella sensed the lethal intent radiating from Sophia. Her instincts screamed a warning.

Sophia wouldn’t give up. Not now.

Playing her part, Isabella let her shoulders slump. Tears welled in her eyes and spilled over, tracing silent paths down her pale cheeks.

“But I lost the baby because of him. His child is gone. Perhaps this is his punishment,” she murmured, her voice laced with manufactured grief, leaving the statement purposefully vague.

“The baby… is gone?” Sophia’s voice cracked, a mix of shock and barely contained elation. She leaned closer, searching Isabella’s face for the truth.

Isabella didn’t answer. She simply let the tears fall, each one a testament to her supposed devastation.

She looked utterly broken.

A sliver of doubt pierced Sophia’s triumph. Isabella had always been stubbornly strong in her presence.

Since when did she break so easily?

But Sophia quickly dismissed the thought.

Isabella was a fool. A simple, predictable fool. What clever scheme could she possibly concoct?

If she had been pretending weakness before, she wouldn’t have lost so thoroughly. The weight of certainty settled on Sophia’s shoulders, followed by a wave of relief. So what if Isabella lived?

The child was dead. Divorce was inevitable.

Suppressing a triumphant smile, Sophia drew a sharp breath, her joy barely contained beneath a mask of sympathy. “Isabella, you mustn’t despair,” she cooed, her voice dripping with false concern as she clasped Isabella’s hand. “This loss doesn’t mean you’ll never be a mother.”