Chapter 2
My fists clenched so tight my nails cut into my palms. Blood beaded on my lip from where I’d bitten it raw.
I used to think Dorian’s care—his constant concern over the babies—meant he loved me.
I mistook the prenatal vitamins, the healer’s meticulous instructions, the way he’d rest his hand on my belly—as signs of love.
Turns out, it was all a lie.
The laughter outside grew louder, voices rising and overlapping in excitement.
“I’m betting two boys, two girls.”
“Nah, I say all four are boys.”
Then came a syrupy female voice, sweet enough to curdle my stomach.
“You’re all betting on boys. I think girls are wonderful! I’ll say three girls and one boy.”
She giggled, then turned coyly.
“What about you, Dorian? Do you prefer boys or girls?”
That voice—I recognized it. Dorian’s beta.
He answered with a careless shrug. “I like both. But boys are probably better. Girls are too delicate.”
Ethan jumped in, laughing, “Come on, man, what’s your bet?”
Dorian chuckled. “Well, if Miranda likes girls, I’ll go with three boys and one girl.”
Miranda.
Of course it was her.
I let out a bitter laugh. They were flirting right under my nose, and I hadn’t even noticed.
Was it because they acted too well… or because I was just that naïve?
Miranda pouted. “Delicate? What’s that supposed to mean?”
Dorian pulled her into his arms, a smirk on his lips.
“Weren’t you the one who chickened out of carrying the baby yourself? You cried through the whole egg-freezing process.”
“It really hurt!” she whined. Then added suddenly, “Oh right—Isabella never cried, did she? Not once during all those injections. She went through IVF for over a year.”
Dorian snorted. “Of course she didn’t cry. Isabella doesn’t feel pain like normal people. She really didn’t shed a single tear. Not like you—tiny scratch and you’re already crying.”
Ethan snickered, piling on. “That’s because Miranda’s got someone to catch her when she falls. Love makes you soft. Poor Isabella? She’s on her own. No room for weakness when you’ve got no one to fall back on.”
“Exactly,” another voice agreed. “Dorian couldn’t stand to see Miranda go through the pain of childbirth, so he came up with this perfect solution. Let Isabella carry the pups instead.”
“I mean, have you seen her belly? Looks like it’s about to explode. God knows what she’ll look like after popping out four kids.”
“Not like Dorian was ever tempted to look at her naked before… now?”
Their voices blurred into disgusting laughter, crude and loud, full of filth and ridicule.
I staggered back a step, my vision swimming. My face had gone ghost-white.
They thought I didn’t feel pain?
Of course I did.
But I endured it—because I believed I was carrying my children. Mine and Dorian’s.
So I took it all in silence. No matter how deep the needles went, no matter how swollen my limbs became, no matter how my teeth shattered blood into my mouth—I stayed quiet.
And what did I get for that? They called me cold. Unfeeling.
I still remembered the day our IVF finally succeeded. Dorian had held my hand so tightly, his eyes full of worry.
“You’ve suffered so much for our babies, Isabella.”
He used to place his palm over my belly and talk to the unborn pups like they could hear him.
“You better behave in there. Don’t give your mom a hard time.”
When I couldn’t eat from the nausea, he’d sit beside me and spoon soup into my mouth one bite at a time.
“You need to eat something. You’ve lost weight since the pregnancy started. Once they’re out, I’m gonna make sure they know how much they owe you.”
So that was it—his concern wasn’t for me. It was for the babies.
I was nothing more than the vessel that carried them.
I closed my eyes, wiped the tears from my face, and scheduled the abortion.
Dorian, this time… I’m the one leaving you.
And the children you’re so eager to meet?
I won’t be giving them to you either.
