The days were slipping by like sand through Isla’s fingers, each one marked by the same routine and the same cold silence. Ever since that night when she’d learned she was pregnant, Dante had kept his distance, leaving her alone in the mansion except for occasional visits from his assistant, Matteo, who had strict instructions to accompany her to every doctor’s appointment and checkup.
“Miss Isla, your appointment is in an hour,” Matteo’s voice came from the doorway, his tone polite but distant.
Isla looked up, forcing a thin smile. “I’m ready,” she replied, though her voice was a mere whisper. Truthfully, she wasn’t ready. She hadn’t been ready for anything in days. Her body felt heavy, her energy depleted, and she could barely stomach any food. Each time she looked at herself in the mirror, she could see the paleness overtaking her face, the dark circles growing more pronounced beneath her eyes.
Matteo nodded and stepped aside to allow her to pass. The hallways felt long and empty as they walked, the silence oppressive. Isla’s mind drifted back to the early days when she and Dante had shared fleeting, almost tender moments. She’d clung to those memories, trying to believe there was more to him than the cold-hearted mask he wore. But now, each day seemed to drive a wedge between them, as though Dante were trying to erase her presence from his life entirely.
Once they arrived at the clinic, Isla sat in the waiting room, nervously tapping her fingers against her lap. She felt trapped, as though the walls were closing in around her. Matteo’s watchful gaze didn’t help-he sat beside her, his eyes constantly flicking around the room, ensuring no one came too close.
“Matteo,” she whispered, glancing at him. “Does… does Dante ever ask about me? Or… the baby?”
Matteo shifted uncomfortably, his eyes darting away. “He is… a very busy man, Miss Isla. But I’m sure he is aware of your condition and ensures you are well taken care of.”
The answer stung, even though Isla had expected it. She nodded silently, her heart sinking. Just as she was about to turn away, Matteo cleared his throat and spoke in a quieter voice.
“If it’s any comfort, I don’t believe he would neglect something he considered important,” he added, as if that could somehow ease the ache in her chest.
The doctor soon called her name, and Isla followed her into the examination room, feeling Matteo’s gaze on her back. She settled onto the table as the doctor began her usual examination, pressing gently on her stomach and asking questions that Isla answered in a distracted daze.
The doctor frowned as she looked over Isla’s recent test results. “You’ve been losing weight,” she remarked, her tone concerned. “Are you eating well, Isla?”
Isla shrugged, unable to meet the doctor’s eyes. “I try… but it’s hard. I don’t feel hungry most days, and when I do eat, I feel nauseous.”
The doctor glanced at her sympathetically. “Stress and isolation can affect your health, especially during pregnancy. You need support and proper rest, Isla. This isn’t something you should go through alone.”
Her words hit Isla like a punch to the gut, and she blinked back the tears that threatened to fall. She nodded, murmuring a quiet, “Thank you,” though her mind was a storm of emotions. Alone. That was exactly how she felt-completely and utterly alone.
As they drove back to the mansion, Isla couldn’t hold back her frustration any longer. She turned to Matteo, her voice wavering but determined.
“Matteo, please… can you ask Dante to see me? Just once? I need… I need to talk to him.”
Matteo’s face softened, and he nodded after a moment of hesitation. “I will pass on the message, Miss Isla. But I can’t make any promises.”
Days passed, and there was no response from Dante. Isla waited, hoping each day would bring him to her door, but it remained firmly shut. She spent most of her time in her room, feeling weaker with each passing day, the isolation draining her spirit.
One evening, as she lay on her bed, staring at the ceiling, she heard a faint knock on her door. Her heart leapt, hoping it was Dante, but when the door opened, it was only Matteo.
He approached her cautiously, carrying a small tray with a glass of juice and a few biscuits. “Miss Isla, you must keep your strength up. The doctor was very clear about your health,” he said gently, setting the tray on the table beside her.
Isla forced a faint smile, reaching for the glass even though her hands trembled slightly. She took a sip, feeling the cool liquid slide down her throat, though it did little to soothe the ache in her chest.
“Thank you, Matteo,” she murmured. After a pause, she looked up at him, her voice barely a whisper. “Did… did Dante say anything?”
Matteo shook his head, his expression sympathetic. “I’m afraid not. He’s been… preoccupied. But I can remind him of your request if you’d like.”
Isla nodded, though she felt a flicker of bitterness deep inside. “If it’s not too much trouble.”
Matteo nodded, offering her a brief, comforting smile before he excused himself from the room, leaving her alone once more.
As the days slipped into weeks, Isla’s health continued to decline, the weight of her isolation and despair eating away at her. She felt like a ghost in the mansion, haunting its empty rooms and echoing hallways. Each day, she hoped Dante would come, that he would step through the door and reassure her, even if just for a moment. But each day, she was met with silence.
One afternoon, Isla gathered the last of her strength and ventured downstairs, her legs shaky as she made her way through the vast, opulent halls. She stumbled into the library, collapsing onto one of the plush armchairs. For a moment, she simply sat there, feeling the emptiness around her.
She buried her face in her hands, her shoulders trembling as she allowed the tears to fall freely. She had tried to be strong, to bear the weight of her situation, but it was becoming too much. The loneliness, the uncertainty, the constant worry for her child-it was suffocating.
In that moment, she realized she couldn’t keep going on like this. She needed to confront Dante, to demand answers and a reason for his absence. She couldn’t bring a child into this world without some assurance of stability, without knowing where she stood.
With newfound resolve, Isla rose from the chair and headed toward Dante’s study. Her steps were slow but determined, and she steeled herself for whatever response he might give. She reached the heavy oak door, lifting her hand to knock, but just as her fist was about to connect, she heard voices from within.
“Sir, her health is deteriorating,” Matteo’s voice filtered through the door, sounding strained. “The doctor is concerned about both her and the baby’s wellbeing. She needs proper care, and frankly, your attention.”
There was a long silence, and Isla held her breath, waiting for Dante’s response.
“I know,” Dante finally replied, his tone colder than she’d ever heard it. “But I have my reasons for keeping my distance.”
“But… don’t you care for her?” Matteo’s voice was tinged with frustration, as though he were barely containing his anger.
Dante’s answer was like a dagger to her heart. “My priorities lie elsewhere, Matteo. This child is important, yes. But Isla? She’s simply a part of the arrangement.”
Isla backed away from the door, feeling as though the floor had been ripped out from under her. She turned and fled down the hallway, her mind racing as Dante’s words echoed in her head.