Chapter 1
After eight tries with IVF, I finally succeeded in getting pregnant.
To protect my baby, I gave up my beloved modeling career.
But five months into my pregnancy, I caught my husband speaking with the underprivileged girl I supported.
"Our baby's almost here. Seriously, look how huge she's gotten—it's disgusting. I can't even sleep next to her anymore," my husband said.
Chelsea cooed sweetly, "Just hang in there a little longer. Thank God you came up with that clever plan to swap out her IVF egg for mine. Otherwise, if I ever got that big, how could I stay a model?"
I couldn't believe it. The man I loved and the girl I treated like a sister had both betrayed me.
I staggered back to my room and dialed a number.
"Ronald, I messed up. I want a divorce. Would you still marry me?" I asked quietly.
"Wait... are you serious?" Ronald Delaney's voice came through, shaky from excitement.
After making the call, the rage and confusion that had consumed me slowly ebbed away, leaving me unexpectedly calm.
"I'm serious, Ronald. I'm going to end the pregnancy. As for the wedding... I hope you can take care of the preparations. I just don't have the strength for it right now..." I murmured.
I hadn't even finished speaking when Ronald interrupted, unable to hide his urgency.
"Absolutely. Whatever you need—just tell me," he said warmly.
After I hung up, my eyes landed on my baby bump.
Every day before, I'd rub it gently, totally thrilled and dreaming about finally meeting my baby.
But now, finding out this child was never really mine—that I was just being used as an incubator—it made me sick to my stomach.
A wave of nausea slammed into me, and I bolted to the bathroom to dry heave.
Soon after, a pair of big, warm hands landed gently on my back.
"Honey, what's wrong? Are you alright?" Gunnar Shepard's voice was filled with concern.
The sickly sweet rose fragrance washed over me, stabbing at my nerves like a thorn. Instantly, I slapped Gunnar's hand away as if I'd touched a live wire.
I whipped around, and the raw hatred burning in my eyes actually made Gunnar flinch.
A flicker of panic flashed in his eyes, but he quickly slipped back into his usual gentle act and asked with concern, "Honey, is it morning sickness again? Let me help you lie down and try to rest up."
His eyes looked so genuinely worried, but if I hadn't already uncovered the truth, I might've totally fallen for his phony concern.
Now that I thought about it, he was just worried something might go wrong with the baby and ruin whatever shady plans he and Chelsea Graham had cooked up.
I dragged myself back onto the bed, forcing my body to cooperate even though every muscle protested.
Gunnar was hovering around, acting all concerned—checking on me, fussing over every little thing. Rage churned beneath the surface, but I smothered it down and, keeping my voice perfectly steady, asked, "Where did you go just now?"
His hand paused for a moment, and a hint of guilt flashed across his eyes.
With his left hand, he offered me a mug of warm honey water—just the way I liked it—and with his right, he gently brushed my hair back from my face. "There was a sudden issue at work. I had to step out and make a phone call," he replied softly, all gentle concern.
I cradled the mug in both hands, saying nothing.
Just then, Chelsea rushed into my bedroom, her hair a mess and her clothes all rumpled.
"Isabella, are you okay? I thought I heard you feeling sick," Chelsea piped up, putting on her most concerned sister voice.
When Chelsea saw Gunnar sitting next to me, her brows immediately furrowed. She gave him a playful slap, acting all annoyed at him—like he'd done something to upset me.
"Gunnar, how could you treat Isabella like that?" Chelsea teased, her tone light with a touch of mock indignation.
But before her hand could even make contact, she eased off and let it drop gently, barely touching him.
Gunnar, quick as ever, smoothly gathered her hand into his palm, making it look completely natural.
A soft blush blossomed on Chelsea's cheeks as she tossed Gunnar a playful look, but then, realizing I was still in the room, she withdrew her hand, shooting me an embarrassed, bashful glance.
Right then, Chelsea's shirt button suddenly came undone, and those red marks on her chest were plain as day.
Without even realizing it, my nails bit into my palms. Grievance and rage flooded me all at once, threatening to drown me.
Trying to steady my voice, I asked with a shaky breath, "Chelsea, what happened to your chest—where did those red marks come from?"
Chelsea's face turned crimson as she panicked, fumbling to button up her shirt. Her eyes dropped nervously, clearly trying to hide her guilt.
Maybe I'd gone a little too hard on her—because Gunnar suddenly snapped back, sounding annoyed.
"Isabella! What's your problem? It's blazing hot—mosquito bites are totally normal for Chelsea, okay?" Gunnar shot back, irritation clear in his voice.