THE TYRANT'S CONTRACT WIFE

Chapter 8: The Doctor's Knock

The digital clock on the bathroom wall flipped to 7:45 AM.

Elena was on her knees, her hands trembling as she meticulously checked every square inch of the pristine marble floor. She had already wrapped the box and the wrapper of the digital pregnancy test into a tight ball, burying it deep inside the inner lining of her trench coat pocket in the bedroom closet. Now, she was looking for any microscopic stray piece of plastic or foil she might have dropped during her panic the night before.

If a single piece of evidence was left behind, the meticulous mansion maids would find it. And anything they found went straight to Killian Sterling.

Satisfied that the room was clean, Elena stood up, her knees aching. Her stomach immediately churned, reminding her of the tiny, volatile secret growing inside her. She leaned against the sink, gripping the edge until her knuckles turned white, forcing her breathing to slow down. Not now, she prayed, squeezing her eyes shut. Please, do not make me throw up right now.

Ding-dong.

The heavy, resonant chime of the front doorbell echoed from the grand foyer downstairs, cutting through the silence of the house like a gunshot.

Elena’s eyes snapped open. Her heart leapt into her throat. He was here. Dr. Harrison, the trusted Sterling family physician, had arrived.

She walked back into her bedroom, her feet feeling like blocks of lead. She had dressed in a simple, long-sleeved cream knit sweater and dark trousers—clothes meant to look casual but chosen specifically because the loose fabric would hide any nervous trembling of her body.

A sharp, firm knock rattled her bedroom door.

"Madam," Marcus’s deep voice boomed from the other side. "Dr. Harrison has arrived and is setting up in the morning parlor. Mr. Sterling expects you downstairs immediately."

"I'll be right down, Marcus," Elena called out, her voice barely steady.

She took one last look in the mirror. She looked ghostly pale, her amber eyes wide with raw, animal terror. She pinched her cheeks hard to force some color into them, bit her lip until it stung, and then turned the doorknob.

Descending the grand, sweeping staircase felt like walking toward a firing squad.

The morning parlor was a bright, sun-drenched room, but the atmosphere inside was clinical and tense. Killian was already there, standing by the floor-to-ceiling windows with a crystal glass of water in his hand. He had already discarded his suit jacket, wearing only a crisp white button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, revealing the powerful contours of his wrists.

Seated at a small table in the center of the room was an older man with silver hair and a kind, professional face—Dr. Harrison. Beside him sat a younger woman in medical scrubs, quietly organizing rows of glass vials and a sterile needle kit.

The sight of the glittering silver needle made Elena’s breath catch.

"Ah, you must be Elena," Dr. Harrison said, rising politely from his chair with a warm smile. "Killian has told me so much about you. Congratulations on the marriage, my dear."

Elena forced her lips to curve into a polite, graceful smile, though her hand instinctively tightened against the railing. "Thank you, Dr. Harrison. It's a pleasure to meet you."

Killian didn't say a word. He merely turned his head, his sharp, storm-grey eyes locking onto her. He tracked her slow movements across the room, his gaze settling on the slight stiffness in her shoulders. He set his water glass down on a side table with a soft clink.

"Sit, Elena," Killian murmured, his low baritone smooth but commanding. He walked over, placing a hand on the back of the chair opposite the doctor. "Dr. Harrison is just going to do a basic physical exam and draw some blood for the family insurance panels. It will only take a few minutes."

As Elena sat down, Killian stepped behind her chair. He placed both of his large hands on her shoulders. To the doctor and the assistant, it looked like a sweet, comforting gesture from a protective husband. But to Elena, his grip felt like a heavy, golden cage. His palms were warm, sending a wave of heat through her sweater, but his fingers pressed down with a subtle weight—a silent warning reminding her to play her part.

"She was a bit dizzy at dinner last night, Doctor," Killian added casually, his fingers brushing against the side of her neck as he adjusted her collar. "Make sure to run a comprehensive panel. I want to ensure my wife has everything she needs."

"Of course, Killian. We’ll test for everything—iron levels, metabolic functions, and standard hormone baselines," Dr. Harrison said, nodding to his assistant.

The young assistant nodded, pulling a blue rubber tourniquet from her kit and snapping it tightly around Elena's right forearm. The cold friction of a sterile alcohol wipe swiped across the crook of her elbow, sending a shiver of pure panic straight down Elena's spine.

The needle was lifted. The protective cap was pulled off.

Elena looked at the glittering silver tip, her mind screaming. In less than twenty-four hours, the blood in that vial would sit in a lab, and the results would show a massive spike in hCG hormones. Her secret pregnancy would be exposed, the contract would be broken, and her mother would be thrown out of the Sterling clinic.

She had to stop it. She had to create a distraction right now, or her life was over.