Dying, I Left His Ruthless Bed

Isabelle POV

The air in the Cameron family's private clinic didn't smell like healing; it smelled like expensive lemon polish and impending death. I sat on the edge of the leather examination table, my fingers digging into the paper sheet beneath me, waiting for Dr. Alistair Finch to stop polishing his glasses and look at me.

He was the family's Consigliere of medicine, a man whose loyalty to the Cameron bloodline outweighed any Hippocratic Oath.

"Isabelle," he finally said, his voice devoid of inflection. He didn't call me Mrs. Cameron. To the family, I was just a vessel that had failed its purpose. "The ultrasound confirms our fears. There is no heartbeat."

The world tilted on its axis. My hand flew to my flat stomach, to the only thing that had made the last three years of this cold, forced marriage bearable.

"And," Finch continued, ruthless in his efficiency, "the reason for the fetal demise is your body's inability to sustain it. The tests came back, Isabelle. It's Stage IV gastric cancer. It's terminal."

A double death sentence.

I didn't cry. Tears were a luxury for women who had a future. Instead, I reached for my phone with trembling fingers, needing a distraction from the hollow ache spreading in my chest. The screen lit up, and the first notification was a news alert from The Milan Gazette.

"Power and Beauty Reunited: Kade Cameron and Carla Shaw spotted at Malpensa Airport."

I swiped it open. There he was. Kade. My husband. The Underboss of the New York outfit. He looked devastatingly handsome in his black suit, a dark god walking among mortals. And clinging to his arm, smiling like she owned him, was Carla Shaw-the daughter of our rival family, the woman his mother always said he should have married.

The caption read: A love that defies family lines.

A bitter laugh bubbled up in my throat, tasting like bile. While I sat here dying, carrying his dead child, he was parading his mistress across Europe.

"We need to perform a D&C immediately to remove the... tissue," Dr. Finch said, handing me a clipboard. "Sign here."

I signed my name. I signed away my motherhood, my hope, and my life.

The operating room was a freezer. I lay on the narrow table, staring up at the blinding surgical lights. Through the thin walls, I could hear two nurses whispering.

"Did you see the photos of Kade and Carla? God, they look perfect together," one giggled. "Audie says Kade has been waiting three years to get rid of the 'burden' so he can be with his true love."

The burden. That was me.

Dr. Finch loomed over me with a syringe. "I'm going to administer the anesthesia now. You'll wake up in recovery."

"No," I whispered.

Finch paused, his brows knitting together. "Excuse me?"

"No anesthesia," I said, my voice gaining a terrifying clarity. "I want to feel it."

"Isabelle, that is madness. The pain will be-"

"Do it," I commanded, channeling the authority of a Mafia Queen I had never been allowed to be.

I needed the pain. I needed to scour the love for Kade out of my veins with fire and steel. I wanted to remember this moment, every scrape, every cramp, so that I would never, ever be foolish enough to love him again.

The next twenty minutes were an eternity of white-hot agony. I bit through my lip, tasting copper, but I didn't scream. I let the physical torture kill the girl who used to wait up for Kade's car to come up the driveway. By the time it was over, I was hollowed out, sweating and shivering, but my mind was crystal clear.

Thirty minutes later, I stumbled out into the marble corridor. My legs felt like lead, and the hospital gown offered no protection against the chill. I needed to get back to the estate, to curl up and die in peace.

But peace was not something granted to women in this life.

The elevator doors at the end of the hall slid open with a soft ding, and a storm stepped out.

Kade.

He was still wearing the same suit from the photos, but the air around him crackled with violence. He saw me instantly. His eyes, usually the color of cold steel, were burning with a rage so intense it nearly knocked the breath out of me.

He crossed the distance in three long strides, grabbing my shoulders. His grip was bruising, his fingers digging into my flesh like talons.

"Who gave you the balls to kill my child?" he roared, shaking me.

My head snapped back, dizziness swamping me. He thought I had done this on purpose. He thought I had aborted a healthy heir. Of course he did. Why would he assume anything else of the woman he despised?

"Kade, you're hurting her," a soft, melodic voice chimed in.

I looked past Kade's shoulder. Carla Shaw stood there, pristine in a white dress that cost more than my life was worth. She looked at me with faux pity, her hand resting possessively on Kade's arm.

The tableau was perfect. The King, his Queen, and the broken, discarded vessel.

Something inside me snapped. The last tether of loyalty, of fear, of love-it all disintegrated.

I looked up at my husband, meeting his murderous gaze. I was dying. I had nothing left to lose.

A broken, bloody smile stretched across my lips.

"Looks like I made the right choice," I whispered.

Kade's face contorted, the veins in his neck bulging as his grip tightened enough to snap bone. I welcomed his hatred. It was the only honest thing he had ever given me.

Isabelle POV

His fingers tightened around my arms, digging into the fresh bruises from the IV lines. Kade's face was inches from mine, a mask of beautiful, terrifying fury.

"You think this is a game?" he snarled, his voice vibrating through my chest. "You killed a Cameron heir."

"I tried to tell you," I gasped, the pain from the surgery-performed without a single drop of anesthesia-throbbing in my womb like a second heartbeat. "I called you. Two hours ago. I texted you."

Kade released one of my arms only to rip his phone from his pocket. He tapped the screen violently and shoved it in my face.

"Show me," he commanded.

I blinked, trying to focus through the gray haze clouding my vision. The call log was open.

Today.

10:00 AM – Elder Cameron

09:15 AM – Carla Shaw

08:30 AM – Matteo

Nothing. My name wasn't there. The text thread was empty.

"You deleted it," I whispered, looking up at him. "Or she did."

I shifted my gaze to Carla. She stood just behind him, her expression a perfect portrait of concern, but her eyes-cold, blue chips of ice-glinted with triumph.

"You're lying," Kade said. The verdict was final. In the Mafia, a liar was worse than a thief; a liar was a liability.

"I have my phone," I stammered, reaching for the pocket of my thin hospital gown, desperate to prove I wasn't the monster he painted me to be. "Let me show you-"

"Kade, please," Carla interrupted, her voice soft and trembling. She placed a manicured hand on his bicep. "Don't do this here. She's... she's clearly not herself. The grief makes people say crazy things."

Her touch seemed to burn him, but not in the way it burned me. He didn't pull away. He leaned into it.

"She isn't grieving, Carla," Kade spat, his eyes never leaving mine. "She's gloating."

Suddenly, Carla let out a sharp gasp and doubled over, clutching her stomach. "Oh god. Kade... it hurts."

The transformation in my husband was instantaneous. The demon who wanted to strangle me vanished, replaced by a protector. He turned to her, his hands-the hands that had just bruised me-gentle as they supported her waist.

"Carla? What is it?"

"The stress," she whimpered, leaning her full weight against him. "My stomach... I think I need a doctor."

Kade didn't hesitate. He didn't look back at me. He didn't ask if I, the woman bleeding into a hospital pad, needed help. He scooped Carla up into his arms, holding her against his chest like she was the most precious thing in the world.

"I've got you," he murmured to her.

I watched, frozen, as he carried the daughter of our enemy down the hall. He walked straight toward the double doors at the end of the corridor-the entrance to the OB/GYN wing. The same wing where I had just left my dead child.

He was taking his mistress to the place where I had lost everything.

The elevator dinged behind me, but I couldn't move. I stood alone in the freezing corridor, the silence ringing in my ears louder than any scream.

I don't remember the drive back to the estate. I only remember the cold.

The Cameron mansion was silent, a mausoleum of marble and gold. I barely made it up the grand staircase, my legs trembling with every step. By the time I reached the master suite, my stomach lurched violently.

I stumbled into the bathroom, falling to my knees before the toilet just as the retching started.

It wasn't bile. It was blood. Bright, red, arterial blood.

It splashed against the pristine white porcelain, a gruesome contrast to the luxury surrounding me. The cancer was eating me alive, gnawing through my stomach lining, punishing me for surviving the surgery.

I dry-heaved until there was nothing left, then collapsed onto the Persian rug. The room spun. Darkness clawed at the edges of my vision.

I must have passed out.

I woke to the rough sensation of a tongue on my cheek. Fluffy, my white ragdoll cat, was purring anxiously against my neck. I groaned, trying to push myself up, but my arms felt like water.

"Pathetic."

The voice came from the doorway.

I froze. Slowly, I lifted my head. Kade was standing there, still in his suit, though his tie was now undone. He loomed over me, staring at the blood on my lips and the splatter in the toilet bowl with detached disgust.

He didn't rush to help me. He didn't call for a medic. He just watched, as if I were a bug squashed on his expensive floor.

"Kade..." I rasped, the metallic taste of blood coating my tongue. "Help me."

He crouched down, but he didn't reach out. His steel-gray eyes scanned my face, searching for the lie he was convinced was there.

"Save the performance, Isabelle," he said, his voice devoid of warmth. "Carla told me everything. How you threatened her. How you planned this."

"I'm dying," I whispered, the truth slipping out in a desperate plea.

Kade stood up, towering over me once more. He adjusted his cuffs, his face hardening into stone.

"A traitor's tears are just as cheap as her blood," he said coldly. "Clean yourself up. You look disgusting."

He turned and walked into the bedroom, leaving me lying in the wreckage of my own body.

Isabelle POV

I didn't know how I managed to stand. Perhaps it was the adrenaline, or maybe it was the sheer, unadulterated hatred burning through the fog of my pain. I wiped the blood from my mouth with the back of my hand, leaving a crimson smear across my pale skin, and dragged myself into the bedroom.

Kade was pacing by the window, his silhouette framed against the sprawling Cameron estate grounds. He turned as I entered, his eyes narrowing not with concern, but with calculation.

"Why did you come back?" I asked, my voice a broken rasp. I leaned against the doorframe, my legs trembling under the weight of my own body. "If I'm such a liar, such a burden... why are you here?"

"Because I know how your mind works, Isabelle," he said, his tone clipped and professional, as if he were addressing a subordinate rather than his wife. "You saw Carla at the clinic. You saw me help her."

"I saw you choose her," I corrected him. "Over your dead child."

He crossed the room in two long strides, stopping just inches from me. The scent of his cologne-sandalwood and cold steel-filled my lungs, making me nauseous.

"Don't twist this," he warned, his voice dropping to a dangerous octave. "Carla is a Shaw. If word gets out that the Underboss of the Cameron family was seen intimately assisting a woman from a rival clan, it compromises everything. My position. My authority."

He reached out, gripping my chin and forcing me to look up at him. His fingers were warm, a cruel contrast to the ice in his gray eyes.

"You are not going to run to my grandfather," he commanded. "You will not go to Elder Cameron and spin some sob story to undermine me. Do you understand?"

A dry, humorless laugh bubbled up in my throat, tasting of iron. "You think I care about your politics? You think I care about the Shaw family's honor?"

"You should," he sneered, releasing me with a shove that sent me stumbling back against the dresser. "Because that's the only reason you're in this room. You seem to forget, Isabelle. You weren't a bride chosen for love. You were collateral. A debt payment from your father to mine three years ago. You have no rights here. And you certainly have no right to judge Carla."

Collateral.

The word hung in the air, stripping away the last shred of dignity I had clung to. For three years, I had tried to be a good wife. I had tried to turn this prison into a home. But to him, I was just a receipt for a paid bill.

Something inside me snapped. It wasn't a loud break, but a quiet, final severance.

"You're right," I whispered. The pain in my womb seemed to dull, replaced by a strange, hollow calm. "I have no rights. So let's end this."

Kade scoffed, turning away to adjust his cufflinks in the mirror. "Stop the dramatics. I'm not in the mood for your games."

"It's not a game, Kade."

I opened the top drawer of the nightstand. My hands shook, not from fear, but from weakness, as I pulled out the manila envelope I had hidden there months ago, back when the cancer diagnosis first came in. Back when I thought I might have a choice.

I tossed the document onto the polished mahogany surface. It landed with a soft thud.

"Divorce papers," I said. "I had them drawn up a while ago. I never had the courage to give them to you. Until now."

Kade stared at the papers, then looked at me, a flicker of genuine surprise cracking his mask. Then, his expression hardened into something ugly.

"Is this your play?" he asked, his voice dripping with disdain. "You threaten to leave, hoping I'll beg? Hoping I'll chase after you?" He laughed, a cold, sharp sound. "You're delusional. If you think this will make me forget your betrayal, you're wrong."

"Just sign it," I said, pushing a Montblanc pen toward him. "Sign it, and I disappear. No Elder Cameron. No scandal. Just... gone."

He looked at the pen, then at me. For a second, I thought he might actually do it. I thought he might set me free.

Then, his phone rang.

The shrill ringtone cut through the tension like a knife. Kade pulled it from his pocket, and the moment he saw the screen, the cruelty vanished from his face, replaced by urgent concern.

"Carla?" he answered, turning his back to me.

I couldn't hear her words, but I heard the fear in her voice through the receiver.

"Slow down," Kade said, his voice gentle-the voice he used to use with me. "Where are you? ... Okay. Stay there. Don't move. I'm coming."

He hung up and grabbed his suit jacket from the bed. He didn't even look at the divorce papers. He didn't look at me. He was already halfway to the door.

"Kade," I said, my voice barely a whisper. "The papers. It will take one second."

He paused in the doorway, glancing back over his shoulder. His eyes were impatient, his mind already miles away with another woman.

"I don't have time for your tantrums, Isabelle," he snapped. "We'll deal with your little rebellion when I get back. Stay here."

And then he was gone.

The silence that followed was deafening. I stood there, staring at the empty doorway, realizing that I didn't even rank high enough to be divorced. I wasn't a wife to him. I was furniture. I was a possession he expected to find exactly where he left it.

"No," I said to the empty room.

I picked up the pen. My hand trembled as I uncapped it. I didn't need his permission to die. And I certainly didn't need his permission to leave.

I signed my name on the line. Isabelle Dawson. Not Cameron. Never again Cameron.

I left the papers on the nightstand, right next to his wedding ring, which I pulled off my finger and dropped with a clatter.

I didn't take much. Just a small duffel bag with a few changes of clothes-the cheap ones I had bought myself, not the designer silk he had draped me in. I walked over to the chaise lounge where Fluffy was sleeping and scooped the white cat into my arms. She meowed softly, nuzzling into my chest.

"We're going, Fluffy," I whispered, burying my face in her fur to hide the first tear that escaped.

With my free hand, I dialed the only number I had left.

"Izzy?" Addisyn's voice was groggy, confused. "It's late. Is everything okay?"

"Addy," I said, staring at the bloodstain on the Persian rug one last time. "Come get me. Please."