Chapter 3 - The Doctor’s Verdict
The private medical wing of the Vance Estate in North Shore did not look like a hospital. It resembled a high-end luxury resort, hidden behind twenty-foot stone walls, private security checkpoints, and rolling pine forests.
Dr. Sterling, a world-renowned chief of trauma surgery who had served as the Vance family’s personal physician for over fifteen years, completed the third ultrasound scan inside the soundproof, climate-controlled room.
Claire lay on the high-tech medical bed, wrapped in warm silk robes. An IV line dripped fluids and mild painkillers into her arm, while an ice pack rested gently against her swollen, bruised left cheek.
Arthur sat in a heavy leather armchair beside the bed, holding Claire’s uninjured hand in both of his. The terrifying crime lord who had threatened a man’s life twenty minutes ago was nowhere to be seen; in his place was a father whose eyes were filled with unbearable heartache.
"How is my grandchild, Julian?" Arthur asked, his voice rough with anxiety.
Dr. Sterling turned the monitor screen toward them. He pointed a slender silver pen at a small, flickering pulse in the center of the dark gray image.
"The baby is a fighter, Arthur," Dr. Sterling said with a warm, reassuring smile. "The gestational sac was undisturbed by the blunt force trauma, thanks entirely to Claire’s instincts. She wrapped her arms over her abdomen and took the full impact on her ribcage."
Claire let out a shuddering breath, a tear slipping down her bruised cheek. "The baby... is okay?"
"The baby is doing remarkably well, my dear," Dr. Sterling confirmed gently. "However, you have three cracked ribs on your left side, severe facial contusions, and a mild concussion. You will need strict bed rest for the next four weeks. No stress, no physical exertion, and absolutely no movement that could strain your abdominal muscles."
"She will rest here," Arthur declared firmly, kissing the back of Claire’s hand. "No one enters this wing without my personal clearance."
Dr. Sterling bowed his head respectfully and stepped out of the room, leaving father and daughter alone in the soft, warm quiet of the medical suite.
Claire looked up at her father, her dark eyes filled with remorse. "Dad... I'm so sorry. I should have listened to you three years ago. You told me Grant was ambitious for the wrong reasons. You told me he was shallow."
"Hush, little bird," Arthur whispered softly, calling her by her childhood nickname. "You wanted a normal life. You wanted a life away from the shadows, the bodyguards, and the reputation of my world. There is no shame in wanting to believe in love."
Arthur’s thumb gently wiped away her tear. "The mistake was not yours, Claire. It was mine. I allowed that parasite to believe he could touch my daughter without facing the fire. But I promise you... he will pay for every drop of blood you lost tonight."
Claire gripped her father’s hand tighter, her expression hardening. The gentle, submissive wife who had spent three years trying to please a cold, ungrateful husband was gone, burned away in the freezing rain on the curb.
"Don't just break him, Dad," Claire said, her voice quiet but filled with a new, dark steel. "I want him to watch everything he built disappear. I want him to know it was me who took it."
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Arthur looked at his daughter, seeing the Vance bloodline burning brightly behind her eyes for the very first time. A small, dark smile touched his lips.
"That, my sweet girl," Arthur said, "can easily be arranged."
