Chapter 6

Desmond yanked Isabella by the arm and started dragging her out. His strides were long and hurried, and Isabella lost her balance, falling hard to the ground. Desmond practically shoved her into the car. Blood was already dripping down her scraped-up leg from hitting the pavement. As the car pulled away, Isabella lashed out, kicking the door furiously. "Desmond, Nora's back! Just let me go, okay?!" Desmond grabbed her roughly, leaned in close, and muttered near her ear, voice cold and low, "After what you did to Nora, you still think I'll go easy on you?" He looked absolutely pissed—lips tightly pressed together, jaw clenched, his whole face stiff with suppressed rage. "Desmond, I just told you—she disappeared on her own! I didn't push her, I swear! I just… I like you, that's all!" "Shut up," Desmond snapped. "Nora was kind and pure. You don't deserve to even talk about her." "Kind?" Isabella let out a hollow laugh. "I used to think Nora was kind too. Now I see her for what she really is—a manipulative little fake." Desmond's hand shot out, gripping her throat. Isabella couldn't get a word out, her breath catching, everything going numb as if the blood in her body had just stopped. She looked at Desmond, not with fear, but with a quiet, almost resigned sadness. Maybe if she just died, all this stuff would finally be over. And in a strange way, some part of her hoped it would be. But then Desmond let go. Her head slammed into the glass beside her and she blacked out for a moment. She barely heard him give an order: "To the police station." Her head snapped up, eyes wide with panic. She started pounding on the window. "Desmond, have you lost your mind? You've got no proof—how can you take me to the cops!" "Proof?" Desmond's eyes narrowed, cold and amused, like he was toying with prey already in the trap. "Nora's all the proof I need. And as for evidence, that's easy to get." Isabella froze. She knew exactly what he meant. He was going to fake it all, whatever it took to throw her behind bars. That's how far he'd go for another woman. A year of loving him, lowering herself like this, and she still meant absolutely nothing to him. Heart aching, Isabella bit back her tears and forced one question out, her voice barely a whisper, "Do you really hate me that much?" Desmond flicked his eyes at her tear-rimmed eyes and looked away, irritated. "Stop the car." The car stopped. Desmond barked, "Get out." Isabella froze, confused. They were in the middle of nowhere—no people, no cars, not even a place to call for help. "What, you'd rather come with me to the cops?" Desmond shot her a glance. That got her moving. She climbed out, and the second the door shut, the car sped off without looking back. She stumbled, nearly falling from the shock, and barely managed to steady herself. Still in a daze, the thought flashed through her head—why did he let her go? But she didn't have time to think it through. A sharp pain shot through her lower belly, making her double over in agony. Something warm trickled down her legs. Wearing a dress, she looked down and saw the bright red blood staining it. Her first instinct was to reach for her phone—but it was gone. She realized with a sinking heart: her phone and bag were still in Desmond's car...