The days after the wedding passed in a blur.
Headlines screamed her humiliation in every paper, every screen, every whispering crowd that passed her by.
"Heiress Abandoned at the Altar!"
"Daniel Whitford's Affair Exposed by Rival Billionaire!"
"Laurent Family in Ruins. Isabelle Missing After Public Scandal."
The city fed on her pain like vultures over a feast.
Isabelle hadn't left Sebastian's penthouse in three days. Not because she wanted to stay, but because the world outside no longer felt safe.
She stood by the window now, clutching a mug she hadn't drunk from, staring down at the rain streaking the glass. The skyline looked different from up here sharp, merciless, distant.
She used to think height meant power. Now it just made her feel small.
Behind her, the soft sound of footsteps echoed.
"You haven't eaten again," Sebastian said.
She didn't turn. "I'm not hungry."
"You said that yesterday."
"I meant it both times."
He exhaled, quiet but steady. "You can't keep punishing yourself like this."
"I'm not," she whispered. "I'm just tired."
When she finally turned to face him, the man who had destroyed her wedding didn't look like the ruthless billionaire the world feared. He looked concerned. Maybe even guilty.
"I didn't mean for things to go that far," he said. "I only wanted to stop him before he hurt you any more than he already had."
Isabelle's lips trembled. "You didn't stop him, Sebastian. You finished me."
He flinched. The words hit harder than a slap.
"I lost everything that day," she continued, voice shaking. "My name, my family's reputation, my dignity. And now I'm the woman who was left at the altar and rescued by her fiancé's enemy."
"Rescued," he echoed. "You make it sound like a sin."
"Isn't it?"
Their eyes met a war of pain and pride between them.
He took a step closer, but she looked away. "Please," she whispered, "don't make this harder than it already is."
That night, when Sebastian was gone for a late meeting, Isabelle wandered the penthouse.
The silence was suffocating. Every polished surface reflected pieces of a life she didn't belong to glass tables, steel accents, art worth more than she'd ever see again.
On the counter sat a note from him:
There's food in the kitchen. Rest. You're safe here
S.
Safe. The word felt foreign now.
She picked up the note, traced the letters with her thumb, then folded it into her palm. For a moment, she hated him for being calm, for being in control, for having the power to ruin her life and somehow make her feel protected at the same time.
Then she hated herself for missing him when he wasn't there.
Two weeks later, the nausea started.
At first, Isabelle blamed the stress. She hadn't eaten properly, hadn't slept much, hadn't smiled in days.
But when she found herself on the bathroom floor for the third morning in a row, trembling and pale, something in her gut twisted with recognition and fear.
"No" she whispered.
Her fingers fumbled with the small white box she'd bought the night before. She hadn't wanted to believe it enough to even read the instructions carefully.
Minutes felt like hours.
When the result appeared, her vision blurred.
Two pink lines.
The room spun. Her breath hitched.
She dropped the test, hands shaking uncontrollably.
"No, no, no"
Her knees hit the cold tiles, and she pressed a trembling hand over her stomach.
It couldn't be true.
It couldn't.
But deep down, she already knew when it had happened the night before her wedding, the one night she'd let go, the one night she'd let him in.
Sebastian.
Tears stung her eyes. "Oh God"
For hours, she sat in the corner of her room, staring at nothing, trying to think.
She couldn't tell him.
She couldn't tell anyone.
He'd see it as an obligation, as something to possess not protect.
And she couldn't bear the thought of being tied to another man out of guilt or control.
She needed to leave before he found out.
By nightfall, she had packed what little she had a small bag of clothes, a few documents, her phone turned off to avoid his calls.
But when she opened the door, Sebastian was already there, standing in the hallway, his expression unreadable.
"Going somewhere?"
Her breath caught. "Sebastian"
He stepped inside, eyes narrowing as he took in the bag. "You were going to run."
"I need space," she said quickly. "Just for a while."
"Space?" His voice was quiet, dangerous. "From what?"
"From you!" she snapped. "From this! I can't breathe here. Every time I look around, I'm reminded of what happened of what I lost."
He didn't move for a moment. Then, slowly, he said, "You didn't lose everything, Isabelle."
Her laugh was sharp and broken. "Didn't I?"
"You have me."
She froze. The words shouldn't have meant anything but they did.
"Sebastian" she whispered, shaking her head. "Don't do this. Don't pretend this is more than pity."
His eyes hardened. "Do you really think that's all this is?"
"I don't know what to think anymore."
He stepped closer until she could feel the warmth of him. "Then let me make it clear. You matter to me. You always have."
Her throat tightened. "Please, don't"
But he didn't touch her. He just looked at her, eyes filled with something she couldn't name.
And that made it worse.
Because part of her wanted to believe him.
She didn't sleep that night.
By dawn, she had made her decision. She couldn't stay not when her secret grew heavier by the day.
She slipped out quietly while the city still slept. The doorman tried to stop her, but she gave him a soft smile and a fabricated story about visiting a friend.
And then she was gone.
For the next few weeks, Isabelle disappeared.
She rented a small apartment on the outskirts of the city under a false name. The walls were thin, the lights flickered, and the only sound at night was the hum of traffic outside.
But it was quiet. Anonymous.
Safe enough for a secret.
Her mornings became a ritual of survival cheap cereal, morning sickness, loneliness. She avoided mirrors, avoided the news, avoided everything that reminded her of the woman she'd been before.
But no amount of hiding could stop what was coming.
One afternoon, as she left the clinic after her first appointment, a black car parked across the street caught her eye.
Tinted windows. Familiar license plate.
Her stomach dropped.
She froze, heart racing.
The window rolled down slowly and Sebastian's piercing gray eyes met hers.
She turned to run, but his voice stopped her.
"Isabelle."
He stepped out of the car, coat billowing in the cold wind, every inch the powerful man she'd tried to escape.
Her pulse thundered. "How did you find me?"
"I always find what's mine."
She flinched. "I'm not yours."
He walked closer, gaze flicking to the small folder in her hands the one from the doctor's office.
His expression changed. "You're hiding something."
"I'm not."
"Then look at me and say it."
She tried but the words wouldn't come.
Silence stretched between them, filled only by the sound of her unsteady breathing.
Then, realization hit him. His eyes widened, and his voice dropped to a whisper.
"You're pregnant."
Her lips parted, but no sound came out.
He took another step forward, his tone no longer a question. "It's mine."
Tears welled up in her eyes. "Sebastian, please"
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because you'd take control! Because you'd make it your responsibility, your possession!"
"I would have protected you!"
"I didn't want protection!" she cried. "I wanted peace."
He stared at her for a long time, chest rising and falling.
When he finally spoke, his voice was softer broken, even.
"You think I'd ever let you do this alone?"
She turned away, trembling. "You don't get to decide that."
He stepped closer, his hand reaching for hers but she pulled back.
"Don't make this harder," she whispered. "Please."
His jaw clenched. "You can hate me all you want. But you and that child you're mine now. You always were."
Her breath hitched as his words sank in not as a threat, but as a vow.
And deep inside, something shifted.
Fear. Anger. Hope.
She didn't know which one won.
That night, back in her tiny apartment, Isabelle sat in the dark, one hand resting over her stomach.
The city lights flickered outside. The world was still watching but this time, she wasn't sure who she was fighting for anymore.
For herself,
Or for the child that carried the echo of a man she both hated and couldn't stop loving.