Chapter 17
1424 Words
Isabella’s POV
I barely slept.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw different futures.
A nursery painted in soft colours.
A courtroom.
Ryan holding a child who looked like him.
Me alone in a house too large for silence.
Me not alone.
That last possibility unsettled me most because I did not know what shape it wore.
At six-thirty, I gave up pretending rest might come and climbed from bed.
Rain had cleared overnight. Pale morning light spilled across the room, soft and almost innocent. It made the world look gentler than it was.
I showered, dressed in simple black leggings and an oversized cream jumper, then stood in front of the mirror brushing my hair while my stomach twisted itself into knots.
I still looked the same.
No visible change.
No glowing motherhood.
No magical certainty.
Just me.
A woman whose marriage had imploded less than two weeks ago and who was now going to hear the heartbeat of a child conceived inside it.
A knock sounded.
Maria entered carrying toast and tea.
“You must eat.”
“I might be sick.”
“Then be sick with something in your stomach.”
I accepted the toast because resistance with Maria was ceremonial, never successful.
She studied me for a moment.
“You are frightened.”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
I blinked. “Good?”
“Only fools are calm before important things.”
Then she kissed my forehead and left.
At nine-forty-five, Adrian arrived exactly on time.
Of course he did.
I found him in the entrance hall speaking quietly with my father. Both men turned as I descended the stairs.
My father’s eyes softened immediately.
Adrian’s darkened.
“You look pale,” he said.
“What a romantic thing to say.”
“You also look beautiful, but fear seemed more urgent.”
My father handed me a travel mug.
“Tea.”
“I’m not twelve.”
“You are nervous.”
“Everyone is conspiring against me.”
“Yes,” he said calmly. “For your wellbeing.”
Adrian opened the door.
“Shall we?”
The drive to the clinic was quiet at first.
Not awkward.
Intentional.
The kind of silence that allowed breathing.
London moved around us in morning motion—traffic, umbrellas, cyclists risking death casually.
I watched it all through the window until Adrian spoke.
“You don’t have to talk.”
“I know.”
“You also don’t have to be brave.”
I looked at him.
“That feels suspiciously wise.”
“I outsource wisdom. I just deliver it.”
I smiled despite myself.
Then looked down at my hands.
“What if something is wrong?”
He answered without pause.
“Then you deal with what is real, not what is feared.”
“And if everything is fine?”
“Then you deal with what is real, not what is feared.”
I huffed a laugh.
“That was annoyingly efficient.”
“I’m very talented.”
The clinic was discreet to the point of secrecy. Private entrance. Calm reception. Soft voices and expensive neutrality.
A woman in navy greeted me by name and led us upstairs.
Adrian moved to follow.
She smiled politely. “Only if Miss Moretti would like company.”
I hesitated.
This should have been Ryan.
That thought struck so sharply I nearly doubled over beneath it.
Adrian saw something change in my face.
“I can wait outside,” he said quietly.
I swallowed.
“No.”
One word.
But it meant more than I wanted it to.
He nodded once and came in with me.
The scan room was dim, warm, quiet. Machines hummed softly. The sonographer introduced herself with practiced gentleness.
I lay back, jumper lifted, pulse pounding.
Cold gel touched my skin.
I stared at the ceiling.
Then the woman smiled.
“There we are.”
I looked at the screen.
At first I saw nothing but shapes and grainy light.
Then movement.
Tiny.
Impossible.
Real.
My breath caught so hard it hurt.
“There is your baby.”
My eyes filled instantly.
I did not wipe the tears.
I couldn’t move.
The sonographer adjusted settings.
“And there is the heartbeat.”
The room filled with rapid, rhythmic sound.
Fast.
Strong.
Alive.
Something inside me broke open.
Not from pain.
From awe.
I cried silently while the heartbeat continued, fierce and insistent, like the smallest rebellion against everything ugly that had happened.
Beside me, Adrian was completely still.
I turned my head slightly.
His jaw was tight. Eyes fixed on the screen.
For once, he looked stripped of polish.
Human.
The sonographer spoke gently through measurements and dates, but I barely heard her.
All I could hear was that heartbeat.
When it ended and tissues were offered, I laughed shakily through tears.
“Sorry.”
“No need,” she said kindly. “It’s a lovely heartbeat to cry over.”
Afterwards, she left us a moment alone while printing images.
I sat upright slowly, wiping my face.
“I didn’t expect…” My voice failed.
Adrian handed me water.
“No one expects reality to feel that large.”
I took it.
Then looked at him.
“You cried.”
“I absolutely did not.”
“There was moisture.”
“The room was emotional.”
I laughed again, softer this time.
Then the laughter faded.
“This changes everything.”
“Yes.”
“I don’t know if I’m ready.”
“You don’t need readiness today.”
“Then what do I need?”
He considered.
“Honesty. Support. Sleep. Probably carbohydrates.”
I stared at the image in my hand.
Tiny blur. Whole universe.
“What about Ryan?”
The question hung heavy.
Adrian did not flinch.
“What about him?”
“Does he deserve to know?”
He leaned back against the counter.
“That depends what question you’re actually asking.”
I frowned.
“I asked one.”
“No. You asked three.”
He counted on his fingers.
“Does he have a moral claim? Perhaps. Will telling him help you? Unknown. Can he be trusted not to weaponise the information? That one concerns me.”
I looked away.
Because it concerned me too.
Back in the car, I held the scan photo the entire journey home.
At one set of lights, Adrian glanced over.
“You’re smiling.”
“I am not.”
“You are.”
I looked at the reflection in the window.
He was right.
Small. Fragile.
But real.
When we reached the estate, my father was waiting in the library pretending to read.
He stood before I’d crossed the threshold.
“Well?”
I handed him the photo.
Matteo Moretti took it like priceless art.
His expression changed so completely I nearly cried again.
He sat down abruptly.
“Oh,” he said softly.
I had never heard wonder in his voice before.
“He has your nose,” Adrian said.
My father looked murderous. “It is a blur.”
“Strong blur.”
I laughed.
My father stared at the image for another long moment before looking up at me.
“And you?”
“I’m… happy.”
The word felt terrifying and true.
He nodded slowly.
“Good.”
Then, more carefully:
“And Ryan?”
The happiness thinned at the edges.
“I still don’t know.”
My father placed the scan down.
“If you tell him, he gains access.”
“That’s cynical.”
“That’s experience.”
“He’s still the father.”
“He is still the man who betrayed you, lied publicly, and is currently drowning.”
I flinched.
“Don’t.”
My father’s eyes softened.
“You pity him.”
“I remember him.”
“Memory is not evidence.”
Before I could reply, Bianchi appeared in the doorway.
“Apologies.”
No one in this house ever truly apologised.
“What now?” I asked.
He held a folder.
“Cole Enterprises has called an emergency board vote.”
Adrian straightened slightly.
My father remained unreadable.
“On what?” I asked.
Bianchi looked at me.
“Whether Ryan Cole remains CEO.”
Silence filled the room.
Then my father said mildly, “Well. Consequences do keep busy.”
I looked down at the scan photo in my hand.
A heartbeat in one palm.
The collapse of a man in the other.
And somehow both belonged to me now.
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