Chapter 3 - The Doctor’s Verdict
Up in the West Wing Master Suite—a sprawling chamber of velvet drapes, mahogany furniture, and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the estate gardens—the atmosphere was thick with anxious tension.
Dr. Hayes, a trusted family physician who had treated three generations of Sterlings, closed his medical bag with a soft snap. He turned around, wiping his stethoscope with an antiseptic wipe, looking at Julian with a solemn, exhausted expression.
Elena lay propped up against a mountain of goose-down pillows, wrapped in warm wool blankets, a cup of chamomile tea resting in her trembling hands. Her tears had slowed, but the terror in her dark eyes remained entirely un-dissipated.
“Well, Julian,” Dr. Hayes said quietly, walking over to the fireplace where Julian stood staring into the flames. “She’s exhausted, malnourished, and suffering from acute physical shock. The bruising on her arms indicates she was roughly handled. As for the baby…”
Julian’s fists clenched at his sides. “Tell me.”
“Miraculously, the child is holding on,” Dr. Hayes sighed, shaking his head. “She experienced severe Braxton Hicks contractions brought on by the trauma and the fall, but with absolute bed rest, proper nutrition, and zero stress, she should carry to term. However, I must emphasize: if she had remained on that cold marble floor for another hour, or if the stress continues… we would be having a very different conversation.”
Julian closed his eyes, a heavy wave of guilt washing over him. He had brought Victoria into this house. He had trusted her porcelain smile and her high-society pedigree, never once suspecting the venom hidden beneath her tailored suits.
“Thank you, Doctor,” Julian said, his voice thick with emotion. “Ensure she has round-the-clock nursing care. Put two guards outside this door. Nobody gets in without my written authorization.”
“Consider it done,” Dr. Hayes said, gathering his bag and heading toward the door.
Julian turned away from the fire and walked over to the edge of the oversized bed. Elena shrank back slightly against the pillows, clutching her blanket to her chin, her eyes wide with a mixture of reverence and lingering fear.
“Mr. Sterling… I… I’m so sorry,” Elena whispered, her voice barely a breath. “I didn't mean to make a mess in the foyer. Miss Vance… she told me if I didn't pack my bags and leave the estate tonight, she would make sure I never saw the sun again. She pushed me… and the tray slipped…”
Julian pulled up a velvet chair, sitting down close to the bed, resting his forearms on his knees. He looked at the young woman—at the faded maid's uniform, the raw bruises on her wrists, and the gentle curve of her belly where his child was growing.
“You have nothing to apologize for, Elena,” Julian said, his tone softening into a gentle, reassuring warmth she had never heard from him before. “You are safe here. No one will ever touch you on this property again. I give you my word.”
Elena blinked, a fresh tear escaping her eye, but this time it wasn't a tear of fear. It was a tear of profound, overwhelming relief.
“Why… why did you help me?” she asked softly. “To you, I was just… staff.”
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Julian reached out, his large, calloused hand gently covering her trembling fingers resting on the blanket.
“Because that child you are carrying isn't just anybody’s, Elena,” Julian said, his slate-gray eyes locking onto hers with absolute, unshakeable truth. “That is my child. And the moment I figure out how this happened behind my back, the people responsible are going to learn what happens when you cross a Sterling.”
