Shattered Vows

Liam pov

I couldn't wait any longer. Standing outside, listening to nothing, not knowing if she was safe... it was unbearable. I'd barely known her before. Twice, at most. The wedding — I had congratulated her politely. The dinner — she'd been dizzy, and I helped her without thinking. She wouldn't remember me. Not really. And that made this... easier, in a way. But also harder. Because now, in this room, I needed her alive, and I couldn't just wait.
I pressed my hands to the doorframe. My jaw tightened. Enough.
I stepped inside.
Both of them froze. Mira's eyes narrowed, alert and precise. Isabella shrank back, gripping the blanket around her like it could save her from me. Good. She should be wary.
"She's fine," Mira said. Calm, professional, precise.
"Then tell me what's going on," I said, my voice low and cold, but with an edge of impatience. I didn't bother softening it. I didn't have to. My concern was obvious, even if my tone wasn't warm.
Isabella flinched. She didn't know me — at least, not as me. She had no idea I was the same man she had seen twice before. That gave me an advantage, but it also made this delicate. I had to be careful with her fear. Not because I feared her anger, but because she needed to survive.
"Talk," I said again. Sharp, direct, controlled.
Her hands clutched the blanket tighter. Her eyes darted to me, wide, terrified, confused. I hated that I caused that. Hated that my presence alone made her shrink. But I couldn't care about that. Not now.
I wasn't here to be liked. I wasn't here to be trusted — not yet. I was here to make sure she was safe. And if I had to be cold, impatient, even terrifying to do that... so be it.
Because no one else would.

I could feel Mira's eyes on me, sharp and measured, as I stood there, cold and tense. My jaw ached from clenching it, and my hands itched to grab her, shake some sense into her. She looked small, fragile, but she didn't belong to anyone — not really — and that only made me more impatient.
"She's fine," I muttered, though my tone carried more edge than reassurance.
"She's not fine," Mira said, leading me out the door her voice calm but firm. "Liam... you need to chill. Let me handle this for a moment."
I stared at her, annoyed. My fingers itched at the doorframe. "I'm not waiting anymore. Something's wrong with her — I saw it. She's in pain."
"She might be pregnant," Mira said, and my stomach tensed at her words. "Or she could be miscarrying. You don't get to force this — but she needs real medical attention. Now."
I wanted to argue, to insist that I could handle it, that I knew what was happening, but the truth cut sharper than my irritation: I didn't. I had no idea.
"She won't accept it," Mira added, her gaze steady on me. "She's afraid. She hates the thought. But that doesn't make it any less real. You need to step back — with me — and let her get proper care."
I ran a hand through my hair, jaw tight. My instincts screamed at me to barge back in, to confront her, to demand answers. But I also knew Mira was right. My coldness, my impatience... it wasn't helping. At least, not right now.
I exhaled sharply. "Okay but we're going to our personal hospitals" I said, though my voice carried more tension than agreement. "Let's go."
Mira's hand brushed against mine as she guided me toward the door, and I felt a strange flicker of... relief? No. Not relief. Control. A plan forming. I wouldn't let this spiral into chaos. I couldn't.
Isabella's fear burned behind that door, and I hated that I was leaving her, even briefly. But if she was in danger — if this was about her life, not her anger at me — then I had to follow Mira.
Because I was cold, yes. Impatient, yes. But I wasn't careless. And I wasn't about to let her suffer unnecessarily.

I walked beside Mira, my eyes fixed straight ahead. Isabella's fear didn't make me soft. I didn't care that she flinched or trembled. What bothered me was the complication.
I had thought she married Marco out of love. That's what everyone made it seem like. She had to act like a good, loving wife, smiling, flattering him, obeying him. That made sense — until now.
Now she was scared. Afraid of him. Afraid of what would happen next. And she didn't expect him to come for her.
I frowned. If she really loved him, she wouldn't be like this. He wouldn't be like this. He would come for her, not because he cared, but to protect his image, his ego. That was the only reason.
Whatever had brought her to him in the first place, it didn't matter to me. Greed. Ambition. Money. Status. That's what she was in it for. That explained everything. All the smiles, all the acts, all the obedience. She chose him because it suited her. Not because of love.
I didn't care about her fear. I didn't care about her pain. I cared about the problem. Someone who should have been his "wife" hiding from him? That was messy. Complicated.