Chapter 1

The flames in the fireplace danced in my pupils like some restless omen.

I sat in the eighteenth-century wingback chair in Alex Norston's study, my left hand unconsciously turning the engagement ring on my finger.

Three months ago, when he slipped it onto my finger at sunset beach, I thought it was the beginning of happiness.

Now, I felt this ring had become my shackle.

Over the past month, we had already fought too many times over the same thing.

"Isabella, I thought you could understand me." Alex stood before the floor-to-ceiling window, his back to me.

"Selena's attending physician sent the final assessment report yesterday."

"How is it?" I asked.

"Not optimistic." Alex's tone was flat. "Her muscle function is deteriorating at a rate of 5% per month. Conservative estimates give her no more than twelve months."

Selena Roland—Alex's childhood friend, eldest daughter of the Roland family, the woman who "saved his life" in that car accident seven years ago. Over the past six months, her name had become like a thorn, gradually embedding itself into the seemingly perfect relationship between Alex and me.

"I know a gene therapy specialist in Zurich," I said. "If needed..."

"She wants a child."

Alex cut me off, his voice without a ripple of emotion.

The fire suddenly crackled, sending up a burst of sparks.

I looked at him. For a few seconds, my brain refused to process the meaning of those words.

"We already discussed this last time."

Last time, I had already refused.

"Selena saved my life." He stared at me. "Seven years ago, if she hadn't dragged me from the car wreck, I would have bled to death that rainy night. She only has one year left. This is her final wish. I have an obligation to fulfill it."

Obligation.

"What about our wedding?" I asked, my voice surprisingly calm. "Twelve days from now, St. Patrick's Cathedral. In your eyes, what is that wedding?"

Alex was silent for a few seconds.

"The wedding will proceed as planned." He finally spoke, his tone like soothing a petulant child. "This won't change our plans. It's just IVF. You don't need to overreact."

Overreact.

The man I loved most wanted to have a child with another woman before our wedding.

And my refusal was an overreaction.

I almost laughed.

"You want another woman to carry your child, and I should smile and give my blessing?"

He frowned, clearly impatient with my emotional response. "IVF. No sexual contact, no emotional entanglement involved. You're a scientist, Isabella. I thought you would view this more rationally."

Rationally.

Enough.

Over the past month, he had always viewed my refusal as irrational behavior. If I chose to refuse, I was an impulsive madwoman.

I stared into his eyes, feeling powerless for the first time. For ten years, I had believed time could melt something—like the ice in his eyes, like the distance between us that always seemed to shimmer in and out of existence.

I believed that with my effort and companionship, one day I could truly touch that heart of his, wrapped in layers of defense.

Now I knew.

I would never reach the softest part of his heart.

It had never been open to me.

"What if I don't agree?"

"Isabella, we've been discussing this for a month." Alex straightened his posture, hands sliding into his suit pockets. "You should understand this isn't a multiple-choice question."

"I'm not asking for your consent," he finally said what I had long anticipated. "I'm informing you. This has already been decided."

Then what was this month of arguments about?

If he never intended to ask for my opinion from the start, why did he keep cornering me again and again?

"I don't agree," I said.

Alex's gaze darkened. "Isabella, do you know what you're refusing?"

Of course I knew.

"I said, I refuse." I looked into his eyes and spoke with certainty.

"You love me." He played his trump card. "You won't make this difficult for me."

Love?

"Love is not a reason for you to blackmail me."

I stood and left without looking back.

Behind me, his cold voice rang out. "You'll regret this."

I touched the ring on my hand.

Perhaps.

I should have regretted this long ago.