Chapter 62: Secrets
Isabella started slightly, pulling her hand away from her belly. "Who is it?"
"It’s me," Aaron’s deep, gravelly voice came from the other side. A brief pause followed, and then his voice took on a low, teasing edge. "Are you decent? Or should I prepare myself to see something I’m not supposed to?"
A sudden wave of warmth rushed up Isabella’s neck, blooming hot across her cheeks. She shifted on the window seat, smoothing down the soft fabric of her long house dress.
"I am completely clothed!" she called back, her voice tight with fluster. "You can come in!"
The door swung open smoothly, and Aaron stepped inside.
He filled the doorway, broad-shouldered and tall, his white shirt slightly rumpled at the collar, his blonde hair messy from running his fingers through it all afternoon.
He shut the door behind him, his eyes immediately sweeping over the room until they landed on her, sitting by the dark window.
A slow, easy line touched his lips as he walked toward her. "You’re getting very quick with that sharp tone," he murmured, his voice low in the quiet room. "A few weeks ago, you wouldn’t even speak above a whisper."
Isabella turned her face toward the sound of his heavy footsteps, feeling her heart give a strange, sudden flutter against her ribs. "I enjoy learning new habits," she replied, trying to sound composed despite the heat still lingering on her cheeks.
"Is that so?" Aaron reached the window, towering over her for a moment before he pulled a low wooden armchair over and sat down right beside her.
The air between them changed instantly.
With Aaron sitting so close, the spacious room suddenly felt very small. Isabella could smell the faint scent of rain, cool air, and the deep, woodsy note of his skin.
It was warm, thick, and overwhelming. She felt an odd tightness in her throat, a tiny flicker of something hot and unfamiliar curling low in her stomach.
"How is Freya?" she asked softly, breaking the thick silence before it could swallow her up.
"She’ll live," Aaron said, resting his forearms on his knees as he leaned toward her. "A minor sprain. She has to stay off her feet for a few days, which means she’s going to be absolute hell to deal with."
Isabella offered a faint smile, her head tilting slightly. "You really care about her, don’t you?"
"She’s a pain in my neck," Aaron grumbled, though the edge in his voice was soft, devoid of any real bite.
Isabella rested her chin on her hand, her blind eyes turning toward him. "You still haven’t told me, you know. Who Finn and Freya actually are to you."
Aaron tilted his head, watching the faint yellow light from the bedside lamp catch the curve of her cheek. "They’re Finn and Freya."
"That’s not an answer," she said, a tiny smile pulling at the corner of her lips. "The way those two are with you... the way they act around you. It’s not normal for just anyone. Are they..." She paused, testing the word softly on her tongue. "Are they your children?"
Aaron didn’t answer right away. He leaned back in his chair, folding his arms across his broad chest, a quiet, amused spark in his dark eyes as he watched her.
"What do you think?" he asked smoothly.
Isabella’s eyes widened slightly. She took his evasive answer as a confirmation, a small gasp escaping her lips. "They really are? You’re... you’re a father?"
She leaned forward, her face full of genuine shock, her mind clearly trying to connect the image of this big, dangerous, powerful man with two fifteen-year-old teenagers. "How old were you? You don’t seem old enough to have teenagers! Were you a kid yourself?"
Aaron watched the gears turning in her head, enjoying the rapid shift of expressions on her pale face. He let out a low, rumbling chuckle that vibrated deep in his chest.
"And what about their mother?" Isabella continued, her questions coming out fast and innocent.
"Is she around? Is she fine with... with everything? Would she mind if..." She caught herself, her tongue tying up before she could mention the proposed fake marriage, her cheeks flaring pink again.
"There is no mother," Aaron said, his voice completely deadpan.
Isabella blinked, confused. "What?"
"I made them all by myself," Aaron stated calmly.
Isabella froze, her brow furrowing in deep confusion. "What is that supposed to mean?"
"Well," Aaron leaned closer, his voice dropping into a serious, conspiratorial whisper. "You see, I carried them for nine months."
It took Isabella two full seconds to process what he had just said. When her brain finally caught up, her mouth opened in disbelief.
"Aaron!" She reached out blindly, her hand smacking against his thick, solid thigh.
The impact made a dull ’thud’, but Aaron didn’t even flinch. He just threw his head back and laughed, a rich, deep sound that filled the dark room and made the skin on Isabella’s arms prickle with goosebumps.
"That’s not funny!" she scolded, though her own lips were twitching upward. "I’m being serious! What are they to you?"
Aaron’s laughter slowly subsided, leaving behind a warm, quiet atmosphere. He looked at her hand, which was still resting on his thigh where she had hit him. He didn’t move away.
"It’s a secret," Aaron said softly, his voice turning gentle. "For their safety, and for mine. The less people know about where those two came from, the safer they are. Even in this house."
Isabella felt a quiet weight in his words. She slowly pulled her hand back, tucking it into her lap. "You keep a lot of secrets, Aaron."
"I keep what keeps people alive," he replied simply.
He shifted, resting his elbow on the window frame, bringing his face closer to hers. "Have you eaten?"
"Yes," Isabella nodded softly. "Pyotr brought up a tray. He took very good care of me while you were busy." She paused, her voice softening. "Finn seemed very scared at the field. Is he okay?"
"Finn is fine," Aaron said. "He acts like a tough guy, but he’s attached to his sister. If she gets a papercut, he thinks the world is ending."
"He has so much energy," Isabella murmured, a soft warmth in her tone. "Most boys his age are snobby, or going through some angry phase. Like Freya. But Finn... he’s so bright. He feels like someone who hasn’t lost his innocence yet."
Aaron watched her mouth as she spoke, the soft curve of her lips moving in the dim light.
A quiet, heavy pulse beat in his veins, a sudden, fierce urge rising up in him to reach out, to run his thumb over her lower lip, to pull her off that window sill and feel her weight against him.
He forced his hands to stay still, his knuckles whitening where he gripped his knee.
He was a man used to taking whatever he wanted, but with her, every touch had to be earned, every boundary respected. It was a torture he welcomed, a burning thread pulled tight between them.
"I’m glad they have someone like you," Isabella added quietly, unaware of the storm brewing inches away from her face.
Aaron let out a breath, a faint, dry smile touching his face. "Is that so? I thought I was a monster who didn’t care about life."
Isabella stiffened slightly, her memory instantly flashing back to the day they met... to the crushed bug, her sharp, angry words, and the harsh judgment she had thrown at him when she didn’t know any better.
Her face flushed a deep, embarrassed red. "You... you remember that?"
"I remember every word you’ve ever said to me, Isabella."
The heavy, direct weight of his tone made her heart slam against her ribs. She swallowed hard, trying to keep her posture straight.
"Well... I still stand by my words," she mumbled, doubling down out of sheer embarrassment, turning her face toward the window. "You were very mean that day."
Aaron let out a soft, breathy laugh. "Right."
The playful mood slowly drifted away, settling into a deep, heavy quiet. The rain outside seemed to grow louder, washing against the glass.
Aaron shifted in his seat, his gaze dropping to her hands, which were resting folded in her lap.
"Have you thought about it?" he asked softly.
Isabella didn’t need him to clarify. She knew exactly what he was asking. The atmosphere in the room shifted instantly, pulling her back to the harsh reality of her situation.
She lowered her head, her voice barely a whisper. "Every second since the doctor said it."
"And?"
"I don’t know," she admitted honestly, a faint tremor in her breath. "It feels... strange. I wanted to be free from him. I wanted to start over. And now..." She trailed off, her fingers tightening together. "I feel like I’m trapped all over again."
"You aren’t trapped," Aaron said, his tone low, solid, and absolute. "Whatever you decide to do... whether you keep it or not, you have my support. You don’t have to carry Kian’s shadow if you don’t want to. But you don’t have to throw away a life out of fear, either. It’s your choice."
Isabella felt a lump rise in her throat. She looked toward him, her blind eyes shining with unspilled tears. "Thank you, Aaron. Truly."
"Don’t thank me," he murmured. "I made a promise to your father."
Isabella blinked, caught off guard. "A promise? What promise?"
Aaron offered a faint, secretive smile, leaning back slightly. "That’s another secret."
Isabella let out a soft, exasperated huff. "You are terribly frustrating, do you know that?"
Before Aaron could answer, the sharp, buzzing vibration of a phone broke the quiet.
Aaron reached into his pocket, pulling out his secure device. He looked at the caller ID, his eyes narrowing slightly as he recognized the number of his legal team.
He pushed himself up from the chair, walking a few steps away toward the door to give her space, though his presence still filled the room. He pressed the phone to his ear.
"Speak," Aaron commanded softly.
"Mr. Kazarov," the voice of his head attorney came through the speaker, crisp and formal. "We have an update regarding Mrs. Carter’s divorce petition. Kian Carter has officially retained legal counsel."
Aaron’s eyes darkened slightly. "Who?"
"Arthur Pendleton."
A tiny, sharp glint touched Aaron’s eyes. Arthur Pendleton was a heavyweight, a man who didn’t take cases unless he intended to tear the opposing side to shreds.
"And his response?" Aaron asked.
"He is contesting the divorce entirely," the lawyer reported. "He refused the clean break terms. He isn’t asking for assets or negotiation. He is fighting the entire separation."
A slow, cold smile spread across Aaron’s face. It wasn’t a smile of anger; it was the look of a predator watching a foolish animal walk straight into a trap.
Kian wasn’t letting go. Pride, ego, or possessiveness... it didn’t matter what drove the man. He wanted a fight.
"Good," Aaron said, his voice smooth and lethal. "Come to the estate tomorrow morning. We’ll outline our next move."
"Understood, sir."
Aaron ended the call and slipped the phone back into his pocket. He turned around and walked back to the window, stopping just a foot away from where Isabella sat.
Isabella had heard the murmur of his voice, though she couldn’t make out the details. "Was that... is something wrong?"
Aaron looked down at her pale, exquisite face, the soft light tracing the delicate line of her jaw. The restraint he had been holding all evening flickered, the dark, intense heat in his chest flaring up just for a second before he forced it back under the surface.
"That was my lawyer," Aaron said softly, his voice dropping into a deep, steady register. "He just received Kian’s answer to your divorce papers."
Isabella’s breath caught in her throat. She tilted her face up toward him, her hands gripping the wooden edge of the window seat. "What did he say? Did he sign them?"
Aaron leaned down slightly, bringing his face closer to hers, his dark eyes locking onto her blind ones.
"No," Aaron murmured, his warm breath fanning across her cheek. "He’s fighting it. He just declared war."