Chapter 3 - Heartbeats in the Dark
The rhythmic, electronic beep of the fetal heart monitor filled Room 402 of the St. Jude Private Pavilion. The sound was the only thing anchoring Emily to reality. *Thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump.* One hundred and forty-two beats per minute. Strong. Steady. Defiant.
Dr. Kenneth Harrison, a silver-haired obstetrician who had served the Vance family for three decades, adjusted the ultrasound wand over Emily’s swollen abdomen. He stared at the monochrome screen with intense concentration before letting out a slow, measured breath.
"The placenta remains fully attached, Emily," Dr. Harrison said, turning the screen slightly toward her. "There is minor uterine bruising from the blunt trauma, and you’re experiencing mild, stress-induced Braxton Hicks contractions, but the amniotic sac is intact. Your little girl is a fighter. However, you cannot endure another shock like this. Your blood pressure is through the roof. If it doesn't normalize by morning, we will have to perform an emergency cesarean section at thirty-one weeks."
"Thank God," Emily whispered, tears slipping silently down her temples and soaking into the thin hospital pillow. She closed her bruised, bandaged fingers over her stomach. "Is she really okay, Dr. Kenneth?"
"She is, my dear. But you need complete, uninterrupted rest," the doctor said, gently patting her shoulder. "I’ve given strict instructions to security outside. No visitors without your explicit consent."
"What about Victoria?" Emily asked, her voice cracking. "They brought her here, didn't they? To the psychiatric wing?"
Dr. Harrison’s expression darkened instantly. He glanced toward the heavy, soundproof door of the room, as if checking for shadows beneath the threshold. "Victoria is in the secure psychiatric ward on the lower level. Julian had her admitted under an emergency civil commitment order. He brought in his own private physician to sign the paperwork."
"His own physician?" Emily’s pulse spiked on the monitor. *Beep-beep-beep.* "Why not you? Why not our family doctor?"
Dr. Harrison hesitated, his eyes betraying a profound, uneasy fear. He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a near-whisper. "Emily... Julian Sterling holds forty percent of the voting shares on this hospital’s board of trustees. He funded the entire new neuroscience wing two years ago. In this building, his word carries the weight of law. Be very careful what you say around the nursing staff."
Before Emily could reply, the door swung open.
Julian stepped into the room, having already changed out of his tuxedo into an impeccably tailored charcoal cashmere sweater and dark slacks. He looked refreshed, calm, and utterly in control. In his hand, he carried a tall vase of rare black baccara roses—her father’s favorite flower.
"Thank you, Doctor," Julian said pleasantly, though his eyes were cold as ice. "I’ll take it from here."
Dr. Harrison stiffened, gave Emily a cautious nod, and stepped out, the heavy door clicking shut behind him.
Julian placed the roses on the bedside table and pulled a plush armchair up to the mattress. He reached out and took Emily’s bandaged hand, stroking the uninjured skin of her wrist. "The doctor told me the good news. Our daughter is safe. You have no idea the weight that lifted from my chest, Emily."
Emily forced herself not to pull her hand away. Every nerve ending in her body screamed at her to recoil, but her survival instinct kept her motionless. She looked down at his wrist. The cufflinks were gone, replaced by a simple leather watch strap.
"Julian," Emily said softly, forcing her voice to sound weak, fragile, and submissive. "Victoria... she looked so hateful. She looked like she wanted me to die. Why would my own sister hate me so much?"
Julian sighed, running a hand through his dark hair, looking the very picture of an exhausted, devoted partner. "Because she has always lived in your shadow, Emily. When your father died, his will left the voting control of Vance Enterprises to you, with me as your trustee. Victoria got a cash trust, but she squandered half of it in bad European investments. She blames us for her failures. When she saw you today, radiant, pregnant, about to become the undisputed queen of both our families... she simply snapped."
"Did she... did she say anything else before the police took her away?" Emily asked, watching his micro-expressions.
"Nonsense. Pure, delusional nonsense," Julian dismissed lightly. "She’s deeply sick, Emily. Don't burden your mind with the ravings of an unstable woman. I’ve already contacted the best psychiatric team in Switzerland. In forty-eight hours, once the storm blows over, I’m having her transferred to a private sanitarium near Zurich. She will be taken care of, but she will never be allowed near you or our child again."
*Switzerland.* The word hit Emily like a bucket of ice water. A foreign sanitarium, thousands of miles away, completely isolated, under Julian's payroll. Once Victoria was placed behind those walls, she would never speak again.
Julian’s phone buzzed sharply against the nightstand. He picked it up, glancing at the caller ID. Emily caught the briefest glimpse of the screen: *CONTRACTOR - ESTATE.*
Julian’s jaw tightened. "Excuse me for a moment, darling. The private security team needs my sign-off on the estate lockdown. Try to sleep."
He kissed her cheek—his lips felt like cold marble—and walked out into the corridor.
The moment the heavy door sealed shut, Emily pushed herself up on her elbows, ignoring the sharp twinge in her side. She looked at the nightstand. Julian had left his leather coat draped over the back of the visitor's chair. And in the silence of Room 402, Emily realized that she was no longer a blushing bride waiting for her groom.
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She was a mother protecting her child from a predator who was sleeping in her bed.
***
