Chapter 3
I sat on the edge of our bed—the bed Grayson and I had once shared—staring at my phone. My fingers trembled as I dialed the only person I could trust. The only person who had always been there for me, even when the Montgomery name had turned its back on us both.
"Mom," I whispered when she answered, my voice breaking. "I need you."
I didn't have to explain. Elena Montgomery had always possessed an almost supernatural ability to sense when I was truly in trouble. "I'm on my way, sweetheart. Twenty minutes."
The mansion felt cavernous and cold as I waited. Every surface gleamed with the perfection I'd maintained, every corner filled with memories of the life I'd built with Grayson. Now those memories felt like mocking ghosts, witnesses to my humiliation.
I heard the front door open, followed by my mother's familiar footsteps hurrying across the marble foyer. Before she could reach me, Grayson's voice thundered from his study.
"Isabella! Get in here now!"
My mother found me frozen in the hallway, fear and anger warring inside me. She squeezed my hand. "Together," she whispered, her eyes—so like mine—filled with fierce protectiveness.
We entered the study to find Grayson pacing like a caged animal, his face contorted with rage. Anaya sat perched on the edge of his desk, her eyes red-rimmed with practiced tears.
"What is she doing here?" Grayson demanded, gesturing wildly toward my mother.
"I called her," I said, fighting to keep my voice steady. "After you had me thrown out of my own company."
"Your company?" He laughed, the sound harsh and unfamiliar. "You're pathetic, Isabella. Clinging to something that was never yours."
My mother stepped forward. "How dare you speak to my daughter this way? After everything she's sacrificed for you?"
"Sacrificed?" Anaya's voice dripped with mock sympathy. "Is that what she told you? That she's some kind of martyr?"
"She's obsessed," Grayson continued, his eyes wild. "Coming to the office, harassing Anaya, threatening her—"
"Threatening her?" I gasped. "I never—"
"You're scaring me," Anaya whimpered, one hand protectively cradling her stomach—a gesture I'd seen her practice before. "Please, Grayson, make her stop. Think of our baby..."
The room spun around me. Their baby? The words hit me like physical blows.
"You're lying," I whispered, looking from her to Grayson. "Tell me she's lying."
Grayson wouldn't meet my eyes. "Anaya is in a delicate condition. Your behavior is putting her under stress that could harm our child."
My mother's grip on my arm tightened. "Isabella, we're leaving. Now."
"She's not going anywhere," Grayson snapped. "Not until she understands that her delusions end today."
"Delusions?" My voice rose despite my efforts to remain calm. "I am your wife!"
"A wife I never wanted!" he shouted, his face inches from mine. "A marriage that was nothing but a business arrangement!"
Anaya began to sob dramatically. "Please, stop! I can't take this! The doctor said I need to avoid stress!"
As if on cue, the door opened and a man in a white coat entered. I'd never seen him before.
"Dr. Winters," Grayson acknowledged him. "Thank you for coming so quickly."
"What's going on?" My mother demanded. "Who is this man?"
"Isabella needs help," Grayson said coldly. "She's becoming hysterical."
The doctor approached with a syringe, and terror shot through me. "No! Get away from me!"
"Hold her," the doctor instructed Grayson, who moved with shocking speed.
His hands gripped my arms with bruising force as I struggled. "Mom! Help me!"
My mother lunged forward, but Anaya blocked her path. "It's for her own good," she said, her tears miraculously gone, replaced by a cold smile.
I felt the sharp sting of the needle in my arm as Grayson held me down. "This will calm her hysteria," the doctor said dispassionately.
"No," I whispered as the room began to blur. "Please... I'm pregnant..."
The last thing I saw before darkness claimed me was Grayson's face, his expression shifting from anger to shock—and then to something that looked horrifyingly like relief.
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