Lying on the stark white hospital bed, Isadora stared up at the ring surgical lights overhead. The cold, clinical glow felt almost icy, as though it were leeching warmth from the room.


    Two doctors stood beside her, snapping on theirtex gloves. They exchanged a nce.


    "Miss Vaughan, are you absolutely sure you want to go through with this?" one of them asked.


    "Once we give you the anesthesia, there''s no turning back. Are you certain about your decision?"


    "Procedures like this aremon these days," the other doctor added, "but you should know there are still risks-uterine infections,plications with your fallopian tubes, and in rare cases, future infertility. Please think it through."


    Isadora frowned, her patience thinning. "Do all doctors lecture this much now?"


    The doctors fell silent, slightly awkward.


    Not that they wanted to lecture her. Orders were orders.


    But seeing the woman lying motionless on the table, they could only shrug helplessly. They had followed the director''s instructions to the letter.


    *


    Summit Crest Estates.


    In the bedroom, Victory sprawled on the bed, a silk sheet tossed carelessly across his hips, leaving his back bare, muscles taut beneath his skin—a picture of masculine allure.


    He''d had too much to drinkst night.


    His head throbbed, splitting with pain.


    The phone rang—once, twice, three times—before he finally reached out with a long arm, grabbing it from the nightstand and pressing itzily to his ear.


    On the other end, Finley''s voice sounded urgent. "Victor, where are you?" "What is it?" Victor''s deep, rough voice was thick with sleep and annoyance. He rolled over, slinging a muscr arm over his forehead, eyes still closed. The room was pitch ck, his body draped in shadows, exuding an austere restraint.


    "I just saw Isadora at the hospital."


    At those words, Victor''s eyes flickered. The haze of sleep vanished, reced by sharp, focused intensity.


    "Be clear, Finley. What''s going on?"


    Finley hesitated, swallowing. "She... she''s here for an abortion."


    Victor''s eyes snapped open, dark and stormy, a wildness shing in their depths. His voice turned icy. "When?"


    "She''s just gone into surgery. I''ve told the doctors to stall, but I''m not sure if we can stop it in time."


    Finley couldn''t resist asking, curiosity getting the better of him, "By the way, Victor... is the baby yours?"


    Victor''s jaw clenched. "If anything happens to Isadora, I''ll make sure your hospital pays the price."


    She was already in the operating room and Finley was only calling him now. Did he expect Victor to work miracles?


    Victor threw off the covers, snatched up his clothes, and dressed in a rush before storming out.


    Finley could feel the chill in Victor''s voice, even through the phone. It sent a shiver down his spine, as though a cold draft had crept into the room.


    "I only called because I thought you should know..." he mumbled.


    But the line had already gone dead.


    Staring at his phone, realization dawned on Finley.


    So Isadora really is carrying Victor Fitzgerald''s child.


    A sleek ck Porsche tore down the road like a predator on the hunt. The roar of the wind and engine faded into the background; inside the car, the only sound was Victor''s pounding heartbeat.


    His hands gripped the steering wheel, knuckles white, eyes locked on the road ahead. He floored the gas pedal, weaving through traffic, his jaw set.


    With a sharp twist of the wheel, he ran a red light, a cold smirk ying at his lips. That woman—she never failed to surprise him.


    Momentster, the Porsche screeched to a halt outside the hospital.


    Victor threw open the door, tossed his keys to the waiting valet, and sprinted inside without a backward nce.