Isabela Walker POV

The world tilted dangerously as the penthouse bedroom spun around me.

Kason dragged me inside, his grip bruising, and hurled me onto the bed like a ragdoll.

He didn't stop moving. He tore through my clothes, ripping drawers out of the dresser and dumping their contents onto the floor.

"Where is it?" he shouted, kicking through a pile of silk and lace. "Where is the wire? Where is the phone?"

His paranoia was a living thing, consuming him.

He thought I was a spy for the Paynes.

He thought I was recording him.

He marched over and grabbed the front of my shirt.

With a sharp tear, the fabric ripped.

"Strip," he ordered, his eyes wild. "I need to check you."

"No!" I kicked out, my heel connecting hard with his shin.

He roared in anger and lunged at me.

His weight pinned me to the mattress, crushing the air from my lungs.

His hands were everywhere, rough and searching.

It wasn't sexual. It was an invasion.

He was checking for a wire, but he was taking everything else in the process—my dignity, my autonomy, my space.

My hand flailed blindly against the nightstand.

My fingers closed around the heavy brass base of a lamp.

I didn't think.

I swung.

*Crack.*

The lamp connected with the side of his head with a sickening thud.

Kason slumped off me, rolling onto the floor with a groan.

I scrambled backward, pressing myself into the corner of the room, clutching the lamp like a weapon.

My breath came in ragged gasps, my heart hammering against my ribs.

I had just assaulted a Made Man.

I had just assaulted the Underboss.

If he wanted to, he could kill me legally under the laws of the Outfit.

Minutes ticked by in agonizing silence.

Kason groaned and sat up.

He touched his head. His hand came away bloody.

He looked at me.

His eyes were cold. Dead. The fire of his rage had been replaced by something far worse: ice.

He stood up slowly, swaying slightly.

Without a word, he walked to the bathroom.

I heard the cabinet open.

He came back with a glass of water and a small blister pack.

He threw them onto the bed in front of me.

"Take it," he said.

I looked at the packet.

It was a morning-after pill.

And a pack of daily birth control.

"I didn't..." I stammered, my voice trembling. "We didn't..."

"I don't care who you've been with," he said, his voice devoid of emotion. "Hadley. The driver. The mailman. I don't care."

He leaned down, his face inches from mine, the scent of copper and expensive cologne filling my nose.

"But I will not have you dragging a bastard child into this house to threaten Dalia's position. You will not trap me with a pregnancy, Isabela."

Something inside me finally broke.

It wasn't a snap.

It was a disintegration.

The last tiny, foolish piece of hope that had survived the basement, the boutique, and the slap... it turned to ash.

I picked up the pill.

I swallowed it dry, feeling it scrape down my throat.

"Happy?" I asked.

"Ecstatic," he said.

He walked to the door.

"You are confined to this room. Guards will be outside. No phone. No internet. No contact with the outside world."

He slammed the door, and the heavy click of the lock sealed my fate.

I sat on the ruined bed.

I looked at the calendar on the wall.

The date was circled in red ink.

*The Payne Wedding.*

Two weeks.

I stood up and walked to the calendar.

My hands were steady now.

I ripped the page off the wall.

I tore it into tiny pieces, letting them flutter to the floor like snow.

He thought he had trapped me.

He thought he had won.

But he had made one fatal mistake.

He had forgotten that a canary born in a cage eventually learns to pick locks.

And I was done singing.

Isabela Walker POV

Pain wasn't a stranger to me, but this was different. It was a beast I didn't recognize.

It had started as a dull ache near my navel before migrating sharply to my right side, feeling like someone was twisting a rusty knife inside my gut with every breath I took.

I was curled on the bathroom floor of the penthouse, cold sweat matting my hair to my forehead.

The door banged open.

Kason stood there.

He looked down at me, huddled against the cold tiles, and his lip curled in disgust.

"Get up," he barked.

I tried to push myself up, my arms trembling, but a fresh wave of agony washed over me. I let out a pathetic whimper.

"I said get up, Isabela. I don't have time for your theater."

He crossed the room in two strides and grabbed my arm.

He hauled me to my feet with a grip that bruised.

My vision blurred, swimming in sickening tilts.

"It hurts," I gasped, clutching my side. "Kason, something is wrong."

"I know what's wrong," he sneered, dragging me toward the bedroom door. "You think you can trap me? You think getting pregnant is going to secure your spot in this house?"

I froze, despite the pain radiating through my core.

"What?"

"Don't play dumb. You missed your period. You're throwing up. You're clutching your stomach."

He shoved me toward the elevator.

"We're going to the clinic. Now."

"No," I cried, stumbling as my legs gave out. "I'm not... it's not that."

"I won't let you ruin Dalia's life with a bastard child," he said, his voice cold and final. "We are getting rid of it."

The ride to the clinic was a blur of nausea and terror.

Kason drove like a madman, his knuckles white on the steering wheel.

He didn't look at me once.

He didn't see the sheen of fever glistening on my skin, or the way my teeth chattered despite the heat.

He only saw a problem he needed to erase.

We arrived at the private facility the Family used for bullet wounds and off-the-books surgeries.

He dragged me inside.

"Fix it," Kason ordered the doctor on duty. "She's pregnant. Terminate it."

The doctor, a gray-haired man who had stitched up Kason's father more times than I could count, looked at me.

I was doubled over, gasping for air.

"Mr. Oneal, she looks feverish," the doctor said, his brows knitting in concern.

"She's hysterical," Kason corrected sharply. "Just do it."

He turned and walked out to the waiting room, unable to even watch the cruelty he was inflicting.

The doctor helped me onto the table.

He pressed his hand to my abdomen, specifically the lower right quadrant.

I screamed.

It was a raw, animal sound that tore through my throat.

The doctor's face went pale.

"Get the gurney!" he shouted to a nurse. "Prep OR 1! Now!"

"What?" I whispered, darkness creeping into the edges of my vision.

"Your appendix," the doctor said urgently, checking my pulse. "It's about to burst. If we don't operate in five minutes, the sepsis will kill you."

The doors swung open.

They wheeled me out into the hallway.

Kason was standing there, checking his watch.

He looked up, annoyed.

"Is it done?"

The doctor stopped the gurney.

He looked at the Underboss of the Oneal family with zero fear, only fury.

"She isn't pregnant, you blind fool," the doctor spat. "She has acute appendicitis. You dragged a dying woman across the city and almost killed her."

Kason's phone slipped from his hand.

It hit the floor with a crack.

He looked at me.

Really looked at me.

He saw the gray pallor of my skin. The sweat. The agony.

"Bella?" he whispered, the old nickname slipping out like a ghost.

I looked at him through the haze of pain.

I didn't feel relief that he knew the truth.

I didn't feel love.

I felt nothing.

"You wanted it dead," I whispered, my voice raspy. "You wanted me dead."

Then, finally, the darkness took me.