Chapter 4
When Dorian came home, I was in the nursery on the first floor, making final adjustments.
Most of the items in the room—I’d picked them out myself. Some, Dorian had bought.
Four tiny cribs. Four pastel-colored bottles. Rows of baby socks, mittens, and onesies lining the drawers.
The space was warm, soft, and full of love. Every detail had once held my hopes, my dreams.
I used to count the days until the babies arrived—because I thought they were a part of us. A part of our love.
Now, all I felt was the sting of betrayal, slicing through me like a knife to the heart.
Suddenly, one of the pups kicked inside me, as if sensing my unraveling.
I laid a hand on my belly, emotion tearing through me in opposite directions.
For a moment, I just stood there, caught between grief and fury.
Then slowly, I let my hand fall. And with it, I let go of everything that was never mine to begin with.
“Isabella? Why are you crying?”
Dorian’s voice came from behind me. I turned to see him standing in the doorway, frowning slightly.
I wiped my face with the back of my hand. “Nothing. I was just thinking… three more months and we’ll finally meet them. I’m happy, that’s all.”
He didn’t question it. “I can’t wait to meet them either.”
A moment later, he spoke again, like it had just occurred to him. “Ethan’s hosting a yacht party the day after tomorrow. You want to come?”
“How long?”
“Three days.”
One look at him, and I knew he didn’t want me there. That was fine. I had things to take care of, too.
I smiled. “I’ll stay home. It’s too much right now with the pregnancy. You go and have fun.”
The next night, Dorian left for the yacht trip with Ethan and the others.
Right before boarding, he turned around and looked back at me—as if some part of him sensed something wasn’t right.
I stood at the front door, calm and composed, and watched him disappear from sight.
—-
Photos and updates from the trip began flooding social media soon after. Everyone was there.
Later that evening, someone posted a video in the group chat.
They were holding another round of bets—this time, gambling on whose baby would be born first.
“I’ll put down ten million—my money’s on Vivian’s.”
“Ten million on Cecilia.”
“Fifty million. Mine,” another voice said.
The woman turned to the camera with a smug smile.
“Dorian, this time I’m not backing down. Your kid with Miranda can be little siblings to mine.”
The lighting was dim, figures shifting under the glow of string lights—but I recognized that voice instantly.
Lydia.
Dorian’s sister.
The fourth child… was hers.
I stared at the screen, metallic bitterness rising in my throat.
Lydia had always despised me. The feeling was mutual, and I didn’t like her either.
I just never imagined her child would be one of the four inside me.
Dorian… how could you?
How could you be this cruel?
In the video, Dorian let out a low laugh. “I’m putting down a hundred million. First one born will be Miranda’s.”
“Fifty million on Dorian.”
“I’m in for fifty too…”
The room was full of cheering, mockery, excitement.
Every single person in that room knew the truth.
And me?
I was just the vessel. The punchline to their private joke.
“God, I wish I could see Isabella’s face when she finds out she spent nine months carrying my baby,” Lydia giggled in the background. “That would be priceless.”
I couldn’t see her expression—but I didn’t need to.
I knew exactly what it looked like.
Smug. Triumphant.
I stared at the screen with burning eyes—and then I laughed.
Let’s gamble then.
I’m betting this time… every last one of you will lose.
I picked up my phone and made the call. “Is everything ready?”
The pain of the induction was worse than I imagined.
But physical pain was nothing compared to what I felt inside.
When I opened my eyes again, it was over.
I didn’t look at them.
Not once.
I simply called for a same-day courier.
