Chapter 4

The next morning, as I woke up, I found the door locked from the outside. Panicked, I began calling Brinda.

“Mom… Someone locked me inside. Please open the door.”

For a few agonizing minutes, there was only silence. Then, the sharp, rhythmic click of Brinda’s designer heels echoed down the narrow hallway, stopping right outside.

“Stop screaming like a wild animal, Izzy,” Brinda spat, her voice dripping with disdain. “You’re acting as if you don't know exactly why you're in there.”

“Mom, what is the meaning of this?” I gasped.

“To teach a useless, barren freeloader her place,” she sneered, leaning closer to the grate. “Three months you’ve been married to my son, living under his roof, burning through his money, and for what? You can’t even do the one job a woman from your background is good for. You’re infertile, Izzy. A broken vessel.”

The irony of her words burned through me. If only she knew that her precious, golden son was the one who couldn't reproduce, and that it was my super fertile body that his son was breathing inside my womb. But I had to swallow the truth. I couldn't let her know.

“Let me out, Brinda,” I demanded, dropping the facade of calling her 'Mom'. “This is unlawful. You can’t keep me here.”

“I can do whatever I want in my own house,” she barked. “Julian left you in my care to learn how to be a proper, obedient wife. Consider this a week of reflection. Don't worry, a servant will drop off water once a day. If you're lucky.”

With a harsh slam, the viewing window shut, and the sound of her heels faded away.

Panic, cold and suffocating, flared in my chest.

The water is once a day. My baby. I couldn't starve, and I couldn't be locked in this freezing, unventilated room. My phone!

I dialed Julian’s number. It rang for a long time before he finally picked up.

“What is it, Izzy?” his voice came through, loud and incredibly impatient. In the background, I could hear the faint, distinct sound of jazz music and the clinking of champagne glasses. Clara's text flashed in my mind: enjoying our third honeymoon.

“Julian, you have to help me,” I cried, “Your mother... she locked me in the servant quarters! She’s keeping me trapped without food. Please, tell her to let me out!”

There was a heavy sigh on the other end, and when he spoke, his voice was entirely devoid of the warmth he had used just the night before.

“Are you seriously calling me during an international business merger to complain about my mother?” he scolded, his tone sharp and irritated. “Izzy, I told you to put effort into winning her over, and instead you’re creating hysterical drama.”

“I’m not lying, Julian! I am locked in! She called me infertile and—”

“Enough!” he snapped, cutting me off harshly. “My mother would never do something so archaic. You’re probably just throwing a tantrum because I asked you to stay there. Stop trying to manipulate me into coming home early. You couldn't even give me good news about a pregnancy last night, and now you're stressing me out with these ridiculous lies? Grow up, Izzy. Keep your head down, serve my mother, and I’ll deal with you when I get back in seven days.”

The line went dead.

For the next seven days, my life became a living hell. Brinda kept her promise; the door remained locked. A silent maid passed a single bottle of water and a bowl of stale rice through a small slot at the bottom of the door once a day, ignoring my pleas.

I didn't call Liam. Not yet. I needed the Waltons to commit this crime fully.

On the morning of the seventh day, the heavy iron locks on the door suddenly rattled. The door swung open, but it wasn't Brinda.

Standing in the doorway, his tall, imposing figure casting a long shadow across the room, was Liam Vance. Behind him, two of his towering personal security guards stood, having completely bypassed the estate's security.

"Izzy," Liam breathed, his voice cracking with a mixture of horror and rage as his eyes fell upon my frail, blood-stained form.

Before he could step toward me, Brinda came rushing down the hallway, her voice shrill.

"What is the meaning of this?! Who allowed you into my home? This is private property, Mr. Vance! You can't just—"

Brinda stopped dead in her tracks as she looked past Liam and into the room.

Her jaw dropped, her face turning a sickly shade of pale as she saw me slumped on the floor, surrounded by the blood staining my clothes.

"Oh, my god..." Brinda whispered, stepping back in genuine shock.

Liam didn't even look at her. He strode into the filthy room, dropping to his knees without a second thought for his expensive suit, and gently scooped my fragile body into his arms.

"I've got you," Liam whispered fiercely against my hair, his chest heaving with emotion. "I'm so sorry I'm late."

I pressed my weak face into his shoulder, my voice a barely audible rasp as I looked past him at a trembling, terrified Brinda.

"Let's go, Liam," I whispered.

He pulled me into his arms and rushed out. While he was placing me in his black SUV, Julian was coming back from his honeymoon with Clara.

He caught a glimpse of me, and his face turned pale. “Izzy… what happened to you? Why are you bleeding so much? And this man…What is he doing here?”