Bound By Contract, Claimed By Fate

Beyond Medicine

KATHERINE

“Dominic!” His name tore from my throat as his body slumped forward, lifeless against the chair.

For a moment, I froze. My heart was racing so wildly I thought it might burst through my chest. I had never seen him—this powerful, unshakable man—so helpless. Fear clawed at me, sharp and merciless.

“Dominic, please—” My voice cracked, the tears already welling in my eyes. I grabbed his arm, shaking him lightly, as if that alone could pull him back. Nothing. He was still, his breath shallow and ragged.

Panic surged through me, hot and suffocating. I had no idea what to do, no training for moments like this. I only knew one thing: I couldn’t lose him. Not like this.

“I’ll get help. Just… hold on, please.” The words stumbled out between sobs as I scrambled to my feet.

I flew down the stairs, nearly tripping in my desperation, my vision blurred with tears. The sound of my heartbeat thundered in my ears. When I reached the foyer, thank God, two of his men were just stepping inside.

“Help!” My voice broke, raw with urgency. “Hurry—Dominic just collapsed upstairs!”

Their expressions shifted instantly from casual to alarmed. They didn’t waste a second. One bolted past me toward the stairs while the other whipped out his phone, barking orders to call an ambulance.

I ran after them, my chest tight with dread. By the time we reached the room, they were already at his side, checking his pulse, speaking in clipped, professional tones I couldn’t even process.

“We’re moving him. Get the car—hospital now!” one of them ordered.

My hands trembled as I hovered uselessly at the doorway, watching them lift his body with practised care. My heart twisted at the sight—Dominic, the man who always seemed untouchable, now so pale, so vulnerable in their arms.

I stumbled forward, clutching his hand for one last second before they carried him out. It was warm, but faintly, as if his strength was slipping away.

“Please,” I whispered, my voice breaking as tears slid down my cheeks. “Don’t you dare leave me.”

And then they were rushing him out, their voices fading against the sound of my sobs as I followed them into the night.

I followed them all the way to the hospital, my chest tight with dread. The ride there felt endless, yet I barely remembered how we got inside. Everything blurred into flashing lights, hurried footsteps, and the sharp smell of antiseptic. Dominic was rushed straight into the ICU, leaving me stranded in the waiting area with nothing but the echo of my own heartbeat.

Adrian and Bianca arrived not long after. Adrian’s eyes locked on mine the instant he walked through the doors, and before I could react, he was striding quickly toward me.

“I got your text,” he said breathlessly, his face tense. “Where is he?”

I folded my arms, trying to steady myself, though my hands trembled. “He’s in the ICU,” I managed, my voice clipped but shaky. The weight of those words nearly crushed me.

Bianca lingered behind him, her presence sharp and cold. I glanced at her briefly, raising my brows in acknowledgement. “Hi, Bianca.”

She didn’t respond. Not a single word. Just a look that could cut through glass.

I almost laughed—almost. But the heaviness in my chest wouldn’t allow it. I didn’t care what she thought of me, not tonight. My husband was behind those doors, and his life was the only thing that mattered.

I drew in a shaky breath and sank back into the hard plastic chair, my eyes never leaving the closed ICU doors.

“I’ll be right back,” Adrian said, leaving me and Bianca.

“Oh, looks like you’re not handling this well, sister,” Bianca said, her voice dripping with scorn.

I shot her a cold look, my patience already stretched thin. “Save your mockery for another day, Bianca. I don’t have the time—or the energy—for this right now.”

Without waiting for her response, I turned and walked out of the room, my heels echoing against the sterile hospital floor. My chest felt tight, every step heavier than the last.

“Mrs Beaufort?” a voice called, calm but firm.

I stopped in my tracks and glanced toward the man in the white coat. The doctor. His eyes swept the room before settling on me.

“Erm… that would be me,” I said quickly, my throat dry.

“Please,” he said, gesturing toward the hallway, “come with me to my office.”

My stomach dropped, a knot of dread twisting tighter with each word. I followed, praying silently that whatever news he carried wasn’t the one I feared most.

My heels clicked softly against the tiled floor as I followed the doctor down the long corridor, every step echoing the panic thundering inside my chest. The sterile scent of antiseptic clung to the air, but nothing could mask the weight of dread pressing down on me.

Through the glass of the ICU, my eyes caught sight of him—Dominic. Lying still. Too still. Machines beeped in a steady rhythm, wires running across his chest and arms like cruel reminders that he was no longer in control. A man as strong and untouchable as him reduced to this fragile state—it twisted something deep inside me.

I slowed my pace, my hand pressing against the glass as if I could will him awake. My heart clenched painfully. For a moment, I forgot every harsh word exchanged, every wall we had built between us. All I saw was my husband—broken in a way I didn’t know how to fix.

“Mrs Beaufort,” the doctor called gently, pulling me from my thoughts.

I inhaled sharply and forced myself to move, trailing after him until we reached his office. He gestured for me to sit, his face heavy with the kind of concern that made my stomach churn.

I sank into the chair, my fingers twisting in my lap. “Is he… is he going to be okay?” My voice cracked despite my best effort to hold steady.

The doctor leaned forward, folding his hands together. His hesitation sent another jolt of fear through me. “Physically, his vitals are stable for now. But…” He paused, his eyes flickering with something darker—uncertainty.

“But what?” I pressed, my chest tightening.

He exhaled slowly. “We ran every test available—cardiac scans, blood work, neurological exams. Everything comes back normal. Medically speaking, there is nothing wrong with him. And yet…” His words trailed off, as though he struggled to find the language.

“And yet what?” My voice rose, desperate.

The doctor’s gaze met mine, steady but weighted. “Whatever is happening to your husband… it isn’t something our instruments can detect. It’s as though his body is fighting an illness that doesn’t exist in any medical records.”

I froze, my pulse ringing in my ears.

He sat back, his voice low, almost reluctant. “Mrs Beaufort… I’m afraid whatever this is, there may be no cure.”