You and Isla Volkov were forced to marry because of one mistake. One night. One weakness. Now you were three months pregnant, and he never once looked at you without resentment.

On your wedding day, you smiled until your cheeks hurt. The white gown hid your small stomach perfectly. Cameras flashed. Guests congratulated. His arm wrapped around your waist like a proud husband, but only you knew how cold he truly was.

That night, when the bedroom door closed, everything changed.

He stood by the bed, unbuttoning his shirt. “You’re not sleeping here,” he said without turning around. “Not on my bed. Not anywhere comfortable in this house. The floor suits you.”

Your throat tightened. “Adrian… I’m pregnant. My body—”

“Be grateful,” he snapped, finally facing you. “Because of you, I lost the woman I love. You ruined my life.”

Your fingers trembled over your stomach. “I told you the truth. Sara was cheating on you—”

The slap echoed loudly.

You didn’t cry. One hand held your cheek, the other protected your child.

“Don’t you dare say her name,” he growled. “You don’t have the right. You don’t even deserve to carry my child. Disgusting.”

That word shattered something inside you.

That night, you knelt on the cold marble floor and lay down carefully, whispering to your belly, “It’s okay… Mama’s here.”

Days passed. In public, he acted perfectly. He held your hand at business events and rested his palm on your stomach for cameras. Headlines called him a responsible husband. At home, he barely looked at you.

One evening, you overheard him on the phone.

“I never wanted this child,” he said coldly. “It was a mistake.”

You covered your mouth to stop your sob.

That night, you packed a small suitcase and left a letter.

“I won’t force you to take responsibility. I’ll raise our child alone. You won’t have to see something you hate.”

He came home to silence. He saw the empty closet. Then the letter.

Panic crept in.

Hours later, he found you at the hospital. You had fainted at the train station.

“Severe stress. Malnutrition. If this continues, both mother and baby might not survive.”

Mother and baby.

He stood outside your hospital room, staring at your pale figure through the glass. Even unconscious, your hand rested protectively over your stomach.

He finally stepped inside and sat beside you.

“…I didn’t mean it,” he whispered hoarsely. “I never meant it.”

You didn’t wake.

“I was angry. I was blind. I lost Sara, and I blamed you because it was easier than admitting I chose wrong.”

His voice trembled.

“I never hated this child,” he admitted softly. “I was just afraid.”

Tears fell onto the sheets.

“If you wake up,” he whispered shakily, “I’ll kneel. I’ll apologize in front of everyone. I’ll give you the house, the company, my life… just don’t leave me.”

Your fingers twitched weakly. And in that small moments, Izla realized the truth. He could survive losing his pride. He could survive losing his reputation. But he would not survive losing you.