Returning with Triple Treasures: My CEO Husband Is Obsessed novel Chapter 1

"Who does it belong to?"

The ice in the man's voice, seeping through clenched teeth, felt like it could swallow Isabella Carter whole.

After three years as Xavier Moore's executive assistant and three years of marriage, this was the first time he hadn't simply looked right through her.

Isabella reached out, out of habit, to straighten the collar of his dress shirt.

But her wrist was snatched mid-air. Xavier's grip was vicious, as if he meant to crush the bones.

"You're hurting me," Isabella murmured, frowning. The words came out soft, almost like a plea.

Xavier stared down at her. His eyes, always so cold and impenetrable, were now visibly bloodshot.

"My patience is running thin. Tell me who he is now, and then take care of that b*stard."

"Xavier," Isabella said, a faint smile touching her lips, an odd contrast to the storm in his eyes. "Aren't you even going to ask how I got pregnant when you haven't laid a hand on me?"

"I don't care how twisted or desperate you are deep down," Xavier whispered, his face so close she could feel his breath against her mouth, his expression dripping with contempt.

Isabella's smile widened, but inside, everything had gone cold and still.

Three years ago, Xavier's younger brother, Noah Moore, was dying. He needed a specific, rare blood type. Isabella was a match—a universal donor with a Rh-null phenotype, one of the rarest in the world. She agreed to be the permanent, on-call donor, on one condition—Xavier had to marry her.

He did. And for three years, he'd treated their home like a hotel he never checked into. He never looked at her, not really. Still, she asked about his day.

She managed his chaotic life at Moore Group, becoming his seamless, invisible support system.

Whenever Noah needed blood, Xavier would call. For three years, through snowstorms and fevers, she showed up. She never took so much as an aspirin, afraid it might affect a donation.

But this time, she lost.

A week ago, Isabella had attended a high-stakes charity gala on Xavier's behalf. At the hotel, she saw him from across the ballroom. He was kissing a woman—a long, deep kiss that spoke of history, not haste.

She learned the woman was Linda Allen, the daughter of the Allens, old family friends of the Moores. Linda was Xavier's first love, the one he'd known since they were kids.

Moore Group, the empire he'd built from scratch, was rumored to be for her. He'd stayed single all those years, waiting for her to come back.

Isabella had fled. At the gala, she drank herself into a stupor. Someone—she'd never know who—slipped something into her glass. The last thing she remembered was the world tilting sideways.

She woke up five days later in the ICU, her system ravaged by acute alcohol poisoning. The doctors had tried calling Xavier repeatedly. He never came.

It was only today, her second day conscious, that he had finally stormed into her hospital room. He hadn't asked how she was. He'd just thrown a positive pregnancy test report onto her hospital bed.

No matter how shocked she was, no matter how she tried to explain the blackout, the drugging, he just coldly demanded the name of the other man.

"Isabella," Linda said, her tone a perfect blend of pity and disdain. "I never thought you could sink so low. After everything Xavier has done for you... how could you betray him like this?"

"This is between him and me. Get out of my way."

Isabella tried to push past, but Linda suddenly threw her arms around her in a false, desperate embrace, raising her voice to a shrill pitch. "She's trying to run! Someone, stop her! Quick!"

In an instant, Xavier's security team, who had been posted outside, rushed in and surrounded Isabella completely.

"Ms. Carter," the lead bodyguard said, his voice impersonal. "Mr. Moore's orders are clear. You are not permitted to leave until the procedure is completed."

"I am not having any procedure! I'm divorcing him! He has no right to terminate my—"

"Terminate?" Linda cut in with a soft, icy laugh. She leaned closer, her whisper meant for Isabella alone. "Xavier isn't letting you off that easy. It's not a termination. It's a hysterectomy. A cheap whore like you doesn't deserve to be a mother."

*****

In the cold, grey light of early morning, Xavier strode down the sterile hospital corridor. His assistant, Jacob Hall, was waiting for him outside a set of double doors, a somber group of men flanking him.

"Why?"

The single word was low, gravelly, and carried a chill that made the air feel several degrees colder.