Alexander hadn’t expected my defiance.
“Watch your mouth. Isabella is pregnant, she carries a child. Don’t upset her.”
So he did remember that pregnant women shouldn’t be angered. He could still handle them with such care.
Yet when I had been pregnant, he had forced me to dance for three days and nights—just to make Isabella laugh.
When I bled out and miscarried, he had ordered the doctor to deny me anesthesia because I hadn’t been able to keep dancing to please Isabella.
He had said that since I had upset her, I would pay her back in agony a hundredfold.
Emily sneered at me.
“Brother, why waste your breath on a barren hen like her? She’ll never bear children again.”
That wound—my lifelong scar—was now being mocked as a joke.
For the first time, a trace of sorrow flickered across Alexander’s face.
I had no intention of tangling with them any further and walked straight toward the exit.
Seeing me leave, Alexander Hughes made to chase after me at once.
But Isabella Reed let out a pained cry, halting him mid-stride. He turned back in alarm to check on her.
Outside, Thomas Reed approached the moment I stepped out.
He opened his mouth to say, “Ma’am—” but Alexander’s sharp voice cut him off.