ISABELLA'S POV:
The morning sunlight streamed through the large windows of Michael's study, casting intricate patterns on the polished oak desk. Michael sat hunched over a stack of documents, his eyes scanning each page with a mixture of determination and disbelief.
I entered the room quietly, carrying two mugs of freshly brewed coffee. I placed one in front of Michael and sat down opposite him, my hand instinctively resting on my swollen belly. The stress of the past weeks had taken a visible toll on me, but my resolve remained unbroken.
"Morning," i greeted softly, my eyes never leaving Michael's.
"Morning," Michael replied, taking a sip of his coffee. He looked up, his expression a mix of frustration and sorrow. "I can't believe it's Victor Hale."
I reached across the desk, placing my hand over his. "I know. It's a lot to process. How did you find out?"
