Chapter 3

The horror didn't stop there.

I kept my eyes closed, breathing shallowly, listening.

"There's one more thing, Alistair," Izzy said, her tone businesslike.

"While he's under for whatever palliative care you eventually provide for his back, I need you to perform another procedure."

A pause. I could almost feel Dr. Finch's unease.

"What kind of procedure, Isabella?"

"A vasectomy. A quiet one. Untraceable, if possible."

My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic bird trapped in a cage.

Dr. Finch sounded shocked, his professional calm finally cracking. "A vasectomy? Without his consent? Isabella, that's highly illegal, unethical..."

"The Rossi family has been very generous to this hospital, Alistair. And to you personally, over the years. Consider it a continuation of that generosity."

Her voice was silk and steel.

"We'll tell him it was a complication from the accident, or perhaps a pre-existing condition we 'discovered'. That he's infertile."

"Why?" Dr. Finch asked, his voice barely a whisper.

"It makes the adoption of Lily cleaner. My daughter. Marcus's daughter."

Marcus. Her ex. Lily's biological father.

"I promised Marcus," Izzy continued, her voice softening slightly, almost a caress, "that our child would have the Rossi name, the Rossi legacy, unencumbered. With Ethan infertile, adopting Lily becomes a natural, compassionate step for us as a couple."

The pieces clicked into place, a horrifying mosaic.

The "accident." The delayed surgery. The vasectomy.

It wasn't just about controlling me. It was about erasing me, replacing me, ensuring Lily, *their* child, inherited everything.

I was a pawn, a placeholder.

After they left, I lay in the dark, the sterile smell of the hospital choking me.

The physical pain was immense, but it was nothing compared to the agony of this betrayal.

They performed the surgeries a day later. I was wheeled into the OR, feigning grogginess.

Dr. Finch wouldn't meet my eyes.

When I woke up, Izzy was there, stroking my hair.

"It's done, my love. The doctors did their best with your back. We'll know more soon."

She didn't mention anything else.

Later that night, she fell asleep in the chair again, her expensive handbag on the bedside table.

Her phone lay beside it, unlocked. She always was careless with her tech.

My hands trembled, but I reached for it.

My fingers, clumsy from medication and disuse, fumbled with the screen.

Messages. Hundreds of them. With Marcus Thorne.

Intimate messages. Video call logs.

A hidden photo album. Password protected.

I tried Lily's birthday, the date Izzy had told me with such maternal pride.

It opened.

Dozens of photos. Izzy, Marcus, and Lily. Laughing. Posing like a family.

At parks, at birthday parties, on a boat. Recent photos.

My stomach churned.

Then, I found the emails with the wedding planner.

Detailed arrangements. Not for Ethan Walker.

But for Marcus Thorne to be the groom.

The venue, the caterer, even the goddamn flowers. All initially booked with Marcus in mind, then hastily updated with my name, only to be, I now realized, switched back.

This had been the plan all along.

I wasn't just being replaced; I was a temporary fix, a stepping stone in her elaborate, cruel game.