The door to Dean Nathaniel Sterling's office at St. Joseph's
Hospital opened with a silent, hydraulic sigh. Silas Thorne filled the doorway,
his presence sucking the warmth from the clinically sterile air. He didn't need
to speak; his arrival was a command in itself.
"You're here." Nathaniel Sterling was already on his feet, a
thick manila folder in his hands. He gestured toward the sleek leather sofa
that dominated one side of the spacious office. "Take a look."
Silas sat, the expensive material groaning softly under his
weight. He accepted the file, his face a mask of impassive granite as he
scanned the top report.
"The results are conclusive," Nathaniel began, his voice a
low, serious hum. "Across multiple tests—sperm count, motility, hormone panels,
chromosomal analysis—everything is not just within normal range, it's optimal. By
all accounts, Silas, you're perfectly fertile."
"Hmm." The grunt was noncommittal. Silas's eyes continued to
flicker over the data, but the numbers were just a formality. The only proof
that had ever mattered was growing inside Elara. This was merely about tracing
the origin of a lie.
He closed the file with a soft snap and fixed Nathaniel with
a penetrating gaze. "Is it medically possible that I was infertile then, and am
not now?"
Nathaniel leaned forward, steepling his fingers. "In rare,
specific cases, perhaps. But yours?" He shook his head, his expression grim.
"Silas, you had a catastrophic spinal injury. The paralysis, the cocktail of
experimental hormones and powerful sedatives… the diagnosis of infertility wasn't
a guess; it was a near-certain conclusion. A spontaneous reversal from that
specific set of circumstances isn't just unlikely. It's virtually impossible."
The implication hung thick between them. If the original
diagnosis wasn't a mistake, then it was a fabrication.
Silas didn't blink. He simply pulled his phone from his
inner pocket. On a darkened tarmac in Dubai, Ethan, the head of security of
Silas's, was moments from collapsing into a first-class seat when his phone
vibrated with the specific, dreaded tone reserved for one person.
He answered instantly, fatigue vanishing. "Sir?"
The voice on the other end was like ice cracking underfoot.
"Change of plans. Do not return to Ashbourne. Proceed directly to Italy. To the
Josephine Hospital. There was a doctor there twenty-two years ago. A Dr. Samir.
I want his life excavated. Every patient, every payment, every mistress, every
secret from then until now. I want it all."
"…" Ethan's brain stuttered, a silent scream of exhaustion
echoing in his mind. Italy? Now? But his voice was pure, unwavering steel.
"Understood. I'm on it."
As the line went dead, his partner Ben leaned against the
jet's doorway, a smirk twisting his features. "Looks like you're the teacher's
pet. Another scenic detour?"
Ethan shot him a venomous look. "Shut it. Wanna trade?"
"Not a chance," Ben chuckled, stepping nimbly back into the
cabin. "Try not to get lost out there, brother!"
Back in the office, Nathaniel watched Silas pocket his
phone. He slid a silver cigarette case across the coffee table. "You suspect
the doctor? You think it was deliberate?"
Silas took a cigarette, rolling it slowly between his thumb
and forefinger before lighting it. He took a long, contemplative drag, the
smoke wreathing his head like a crown of shadows. "He was the architect of the
diagnosis. The suspicion is logical."
"But why?" Nathaniel's voice was a whisper. "What motive
could anyone have to make a man like you believe he could never have an heir?"
Silas exhaled a slow, perfect smoke ring. His eyes, visible
for a moment through the haze, were chips of obsidian, cold and utterly devoid
of doubt.
"The oldest motive there is, Nathaniel. Power. To ensure the
throne remained vulnerable. To clear a path for another."
Elara had barely turned the key in the lock of her old
apartment before the door was wrenched open from the inside.
"Start talking. Immediately." Chloe stood there, arms
crossed, a look of ferocious curiosity on her face. She'd seen it all from the
window: the obscenely luxurious car, the towering, impeccably tailored man who
had handed Elara out of it with a possessive grace that was obvious even from
four stories up. "Who. Was. That?"
A helpless smile touched Elara's lips. She held up her left
hand, letting the light catch the breathtaking pink diamond that now graced her
ring finger. "Congratulate me, Chloe. I got married."
Chloe's jaw went slack. First, she was blinded by the rock
on her best friend's finger. Then, she was utterly short-circuited by the
words.
"Married?" The shriek threatened to crack the windows. "You,
Elara 'Five-Year-Plan at Aeternum' Hayes, got married? When? How? To whom?"
"Yesterday," Elara said, her smile deepening, two charming
dimples punctuating her cheeks. "We just signed the papers yesterday."
Chloe sucked in a sharp breath, her eyes wide. "The walking,
talking GQ cover who looks like he owns the city? That's the groom?"
Elara nodded, a blush warming her neck.
Chloe circled her, a predator inspecting its prey. "No
wonder you've been ghosting me. You've been busy landing a man who probably has
a black card for a soul. Spill everything. Where did you find him? How is he
in… you know? And why the insane rush?"
Elara's blush deepened to a crimson. She took a steadying
breath. There was no easy way. "Chloe… I'm pregnant. The baby is his."
Chloe's eyes went impossibly wide. A dozen tropes from her favourite
novels flashed through her mind. "Oh my god," she whispered, connecting the
dots with devastating speed. "Don't tell me… the night you were drugged at Meridian
… it was him? This is literally 'One Wild Night With the Billionaire'! I didn't
know that actually happened in real life!"
Elara nodded, her expression a mixture of acute
embarrassment and dazed wonder.
"HOLY. SHIT." Chloe exploded, before slapping a hand over
her own mouth. She stared, a new, dawning horror in her eyes. "Wait. You have
that look. There's more. There's something else, isn't there? Something even
more unhinged."
Elara sighed, a weary but fond smile on her lips. "You're
going to hear it eventually. It's better it comes from me." She paused,
gathering every ounce of her courage. "My husband… the father of my child… is
Julian's father."
The silence that followed was deafening.
Chloe stared. Her brain visibly buffered, trying and failing
to process the information. Her mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. No sound
emerged. Every single romance novel plot she had ever devoured suddenly seemed
pedestrian, boring, utterly tame.