Chapter 1 - The Manhattan Encounter
The air inside the upscale Manhattan nursery boutique smelled faintly of organic cedar wood, cashmere baby blankets, and the sharp, suffocating scent of pure panic. Seven months had passed since my swift, brutal divorce from Luca Moretti, seven months I had spent teaching myself how to rebuild a life from the shattered pieces of a marriage I once thought was bulletproof. I had mastered the art of quiet survival, finding solace in the rhythmic preparation for a little life that was entirely my own.
I never expected to see Luca standing twenty feet away while I was comparing two minimalist white oak cribs.
“Isabella?”
The sound of his voice hit my spine like an electric shock. My entire body went completely rigid. When I slowly turned around, Luca was standing there in a charcoal bespoke suit, looking almost exactly as he had the last time I saw him—dark hair perfectly styled, sharp jawline, and that commanding presence that used to make me feel safe in a chaotic world.
Except this time, Vanessa Sinclair was clinging tightly to his arm.
Her fingers dug into his sleeve like talons the exact second her eyes dropped to my protruding stomach. The rounded, unmistakable curve of an eight-month pregnancy stretched against the fabric of my emerald green dress.
Luca followed her gaze.
The color slowly, horrifyingly disappeared from his face, leaving him looking as though he had just been struck by lightning. He stared at my stomach, his lips parting slightly as his brain scrambled to process the impossible geometry unfolding before him.
“How far along are you?” he breathed, his voice cracking slightly.
There was no point in lying, nor any energy left to hide the truth. I lifted my chin. “Eight months.”
I watched the brutal calculation happen in real-time behind his dark eyes. Seven months divorced. Eight months pregnant. The math didn't require an accountant; it was a devastating verdict written in plain sight.
Then his gaze slowly lifted, locking onto mine with desperate intensity. “Is the baby mine?”
I had imagined this exact confrontation in my mind a thousand times during my loneliest, darkest nights. In some versions of my fantasy, I slapped him across his arrogant face. In others, I broke down in tears, telling him how many nights I had spent staring at the ceiling wondering if I should call him.
Instead, I calmly rested one hand beneath the heavy, protective weight of my belly.
“The dates aren’t complicated, Luca,” I said softly.
He looked as if I had driven a dagger straight through his chest anyway. “You should have told me.”
A dry, bitter laugh escaped my lips before I could stop it. “You made it abundantly clear you didn’t ever want to hear from me again.”
His brow furrowed in genuine confusion. “What does that mean?”
“The message you sent after the photographs.”
“What message?” he demanded.
May you like
I stared at him, my patience thinning. “The one officially ending our marriage. The one telling me there was nothing left to discuss, and that you wanted me completely out of the townhouse before you returned from your business trip.”
Luca’s jaw dropped. “Isabella... I never sent you any message.”
