THE CEO’S UNPLANNED HEIR

ISABELLA "We need to talk, Bella." The fork stopped halfway to my mouth. Candlelight flickered between us, and somewhere behind Jeff a waiter was uncorking a bottle, the pop swallowed by the low hum of other people's conversations. I looked up, expecting the usual — a joke, that lazy grin he wore when reservations ran late. Instead, Jeff was watching me the way you watch something you've already decided to throw away. "About what?" He turned the stem of his wineglass in slow circles before he answered. "I don't think I can do this anymore, Isabella." "Wh—what exactly are you talking about?" "This." He gestured between us, like our two years fit inside that small space. "It isn't working. Can't you see that?" I laughed. Not because it was funny but because it couldn't possibly be real. "Jeff, we're fine." "We are not. Don't play dumb." "We've had a rough couple of months, that's all." My voice climbed, urgent, like volume could fix it. "My mom's been sick, work's been insane, I know I haven't had much time for you, but—" "Right there." His jaw tightened. "I'm always last on your list. Your job. Your mother. The hospital. Everything comes before me." "That isn't fair." He rubbed a hand over his face, the same gesture he made when he was building up to something he'd already rehearsed. "Even tonight. We planned this three weeks ago." Three weeks. I'd cancelled twice — once when the hospital called, once when Maxwell moved a meeting I couldn't miss. But I'd shown up tonight. I'd curled my hair for tonight, put on the one dress that didn't smell like a hospital waiting room. Didn't that count for something? "I'm trying, Jeff." Quieter now. "If you weren't so selfish, you'd see that. What do you want from me? to put everything else aside just for you?" He looked away, and that hurt worse than shouting would have. Because I understood, in that silence, that his mind was already made up. "Bella. Even when we tried to get intimate at my place, something was off. I don't want to have to ask my own girlfriend for sex." There it was. The thing I'd been too afraid to say out loud, even to myself. I stared at the wine I hadn't touched. Something had been wrong. Not with him. Not really with us. With me. I was tired down to the bone, the kind of tired that lived in my teeth and the backs of my eyes. When I wasn't working, I was at the hospital, counting the drips on my mother's IV line like they'd tell me something. When I wasn't at the hospital, I was doing math I hated — dialysis costs against a paycheck that never stretched far enough, falling asleep some nights with my laptop still open on my chest. Sometimes Jeff kissed me and all I could think about was whether my phone was about to ring. Sometimes he touched me and I felt nothing, because I was already somewhere else, drowning. But I loved him. I thought I did. "You're unbelievable." My voice shook. "You're a f*****g loser, Jeff. My mother is in a hospital bed fighting for her life, and all you care about is what you're not getting in bed?" Tears burned. I grabbed my purse and stood so fast my chair screeched against the floor, loud enough that the couple at the next table stopped talking. "f**k you, Jeff." I didn't wait for a response. I walked, heels striking the polished floor loud enough to announce my humiliation to the whole restaurant, waiting — for him to say my name, to chase me, to grab my hand and take it all back. He didn't. Cold air hit me outside like a slap. The valet gave me a pitying look I didn't have the energy to acknowledge. Two years, and Jeff hadn't even gotten out of his chair. "Fuck." My voice cracked. "I'm such a fool." I kicked off my heels and stood barefoot on the pavement, the concrete rough and freezing under my feet, pulling up a cab app that found nothing. Jeff was supposed to drive me home. He'd promised. Apparently promises had a shelf life now too. My vision blurred. I wiped it clean before it could turn into anything more. I didn't have time to cry over him. Not tonight. Maybe not ever, if I was being honest, there wasn't room left in me for it. My phone buzzed. Maxwell Blackwood: Is the gala setup confirmed? Tomorrow. The ninth gala I'd built for him in two years — vendors, guest lists, decor, security, seating, a hundred details that didn't care that my life had just come apart at a dinner table. I could fall apart later. My mother needed me. My job needed me. I slid my heels into my bag, straightened my dress, and walked. ***** The next evening, I stood beneath a chandelier worth more than everything I owned, smiling at people I barely noticed. The charity gala was in full swing, but my mind was still sitting at that dinner table with Jeff. The main event had begun properly, and I had to fake smiles, greet guests and attend to anything that needed my attention. I had accepted champagne from the waiters who passed in front of me, and I was already on my fourth glass. I hadn't seen Maxwell since the event officially started, but I was sure he was somewhere around, looking around like he always did. My phone suddenly vibrated in my hand. The hospital. “Good evening, Miss Isabella. We just wanted to let you know that your pending bill is currently $40,000. If nothing is done about it, we will have to suspend your mother’s dialysis by next week”. I stared at the screen. What the actual f**k? My life was really falling apart. The soft jazz playing around me suddenly felt like an echo in my ears. The laughter, the clinking of champagne glasses, the conversations happening around me—all of it seemed to fade into the background. Forty thousand dollars. Where the hell was I supposed to get forty thousand dollars? I instantly walked up to the waiter and asked for another glass. No, in fact, the whole bottle. A bottle of Casamigos in one hand and my phone in the other, I needed somewhere private to excuse myself to. The only place I could immediately think of was the emergency stairwell. I needed to be alone. I pushed the door open and stepped inside, finally away from the noise and the people. I leaned against the wall behind me, gradually slipping down until I was sitting on the cold floor. My knees were pulled close to my chest. The $600 dress Maxwell had bought me for this evening was probably getting ruined beneath me, and honestly, I couldn't bring myself to care. He bought me a new dress anytime we had a charity arrangement. He always insisted that I looked the part whenever I represented Blackwood Industries beside him. I stared at the bottle in my hand before gulping down as much as I could. The burning sensation travelled down my throat, but I welcomed it. Maybe if I drank enough, I wouldn't have to think. Not about Jeff. Not about my mother's hospital bill. Not about the fact that I had absolutely no idea where I was going to find $40,000. I took another gulp. Then suddenly, the door opened slowly. I froze. My eyes lifted toward the doorway. It was Maxwell. My billionaire boss. He had followed me.