A Night With The Ruthless Billionaire

"Nurse," I finally whisper, my voice trembling, "is everything okay?"

Her head snaps up, and I catch a flicker of hesitation in her eyes. "Just relax, Miss Parker. I need to check a few things."

But I can't relax. The air in the room feels thick, suffocating. My hands grip the edge of the couch, my knuckles turning white. I want to ask her again, to demand answers, but fear chokes the words in my throat.

The nurse steps away from the machine, her movements brisk, almost hurried. When she turns back to me, her face is pale, her lips pressed into a tight line.

"Miss Parker," she says slowly, her voice steady but laced with an undertone of worry, "we may have a complication."

The words hit me like a thunderclap. My mind reels, my vision blurs, and for a moment, I forget how to breathe.

"What do you mean?" I manage to choke out, panic clawing at my chest. My hands instinctively cradle my stomach as though I can shield the baby from whatever is happening.

The nurse hesitates, glancing back at the monitor as if hoping it will provide an answer. "Your baby's heart rate…" she begins, but her voice falters. "It's irregular. And there's some… distress."

"Distress?" My voice rises, laced with desperation. "What does that mean? Is my baby okay? Is it..."

"We need to call the doctor immediately," she interrupts, her tone firm but urgent.

She steps out of the room, leaving me alone with the sound of the beeping monitor. My heart pounds wildly, every beat a deafening echo in my ears.

I stare at the ceiling, tears pooling in my eyes. My mind races with worst-case scenarios. Was it something I did? The stress? The exhaustion? I press my hand to my stomach again, willing the baby to be okay, to hold on.

Memories flood back; moments I had tried to bury. The arguments with Alex, the venomous words from Victoria. The weight of everything I've carried these past few weeks is crushing, and now it feels like my body is giving up.

No, I think, blinking away the tears. I can't let this happen.

The door swings open, and Dr. Whitman strides in, his expression calm but serious. The nurse follows closely behind, clutching a clipboard.

"Miss Parker," he says gently, pulling on a pair of gloves, "we're going to run a few more tests to make sure everything is alright."

I nod, unable to form words. My body feels like it's vibrating with fear, every nerve on edge.

As Dr. Whitman examines the ultrasound screen, his brows knit together in concentration. He murmurs something to the nurse, too low for me to hear, and she quickly jots it down.

"Doctor," I finally whisper, my voice breaking. "What's wrong? Please, just tell me."

He looks at me, his eyes softening. "There's some irregularity with the baby's heart rate. It could be caused by stress or other factors, but we need to monitor it closely."

"Is my baby in danger?" The words tumble out before I can stop them, my voice trembling with panic.

Dr. Whitman hesitates, and that moment of silence feels like an eternity. "Right now, it's too early to say. But I need you to remain calm, Miss Parker. Stress can make things worse."

Remain calm. The words feel impossible.

The nurse steps forward, her voice soothing. "We're going to move you to a monitoring room where we can keep a closer eye on you and the baby."

Before I can respond, another wave of nausea washes over me. I clutch my stomach as my body convulses, bile rising in my throat. The nurse rushes to grab a small basin, but I barely make it before vomiting violently.

"Miss Parker!" she exclaims, her voice edged with panic. She steadies me as I heave again, my entire body shaking.

The room spins, and my vision dims at the edges. I can hear the nurse calling for assistance, but her voice feels distant, muffled.

"Emma!"

Alex's voice cuts through the fog, sharp and urgent. I turn my head slightly, and there he is, standing in the doorway, his face a mask of panic and determination.

"What's happening?" he demands, stepping toward me.

"She's experiencing severe stress and physical exhaustion," Dr. Whitman explains, his tone clipped. "We're trying to stabilize her and monitor the baby."

Alex's eyes dart to me, filled with fear. "Emma, I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."

I want to push him away, to tell him to leave, but the words won't come. My body feels too weak, my mind too overwhelmed.

As the nurse helps me lie back down, Alex moves closer, his hand hovering near mine but not quite touching. "You're going to be okay," he murmurs, more to himself than to me.

The beeping of the monitor grows louder, faster, and I see the alarmed look that passes between the doctor and the nurse.

"Her blood pressure is spiking," the nurse says urgently.

"Administer a sedative," Dr. Whitman orders.

"No," I protest weakly, panic rising again. "I need to stay awake. I need to..."

"Emma," Alex says, his voice breaking. "You need to let them help you. Please."

His hand finally finds mine, his grip firm and grounding. I want to pull away, to tell him he doesn't belong here, but his touch is the only thing keeping me tethered.

As the sedative begins to take effect, my eyelids grow heavy. The last thing I see is Alex's face, etched with worry, and the soft sound of his voice.

"You're not alone, Emma. I promise."

The world fades to black, but even in the haze, I hear distant voices.

"She's stabilizing," Dr. Whitman's voice. Calm, controlled.

But then, another voice. Low, urgent. A voice I don't recognize.

"Make sure she doesn't remember. The baby must survive."

The words pierce through the fog, sending a shiver down my spine even in my sedated state. Who was that? Panic claws at the edge of my mind, but I can't fight the pull of the sedative.

In the darkness, a new fear blooms.

What aren't they telling me?

---

I wake with a start, the sterile smell of the hospital room flooding my senses. The room is empty, too quiet. My mind races, fragments of that unfamiliar voice swirling in my thoughts.

The baby must survive.

The door creaks open, and Alex steps inside. But something in his eyes is different - shadowed, almost haunted.

"What did you do, Alex?" I whisper, dread coiling in my stomach.

He doesn't answer, his silence louder than any words.

Alex's silence hangs in the air, thick and unyielding. His eyes won't meet mine, the usual confidence replaced by something I can't quite place - guilt, maybe? Fear? The unease settling in my chest tightens, making it hard to breathe.

"Alex," I whisper again, my voice shaking. "What happened while I was out?"

He finally looks at me, his expression guarded. "The doctors… they stabilized you. The baby." He pauses, running a hand through his hair. "Everything is under control for now."

Under control. The phrase feels hollow, like he's saying it more for his benefit than mine. My mind flashes back to that voice - Make sure she doesn't remember. The baby must survive. The words echo, each syllable like a drop of cold water down my spine.

"I heard something," I say, searching his face for a reaction. "While I was sedated. Someone in the room… they said the baby must survive. What did they mean?"

Alex stiffens, the color draining from his face for a fraction of a second. It's subtle, but I catch it.

"You were dreaming," he says too quickly, his voice tight. "The sedative… it can cause hallucinations."

"No," I insist, my heart pounding. "It was real. I know it was real."

He steps closer, his hands reaching out but stopping short of touching me. "Emma, you need to focus on resting. On getting better. The stress isn't good for you or the baby."

I pull away, the room feeling too small, the walls pressing in. "You're hiding something. I can feel it." My voice breaks, the fear clawing its way up my throat. "What aren't you telling me?"

Before he can answer, the door opens, and Dr. Whitman walks in, his expression unreadable. The tension in the room thickens, the air heavy with unspoken words.

"Miss Parker," the doctor begins, his tone cautious. "We need to discuss the results of your tests."

I nod, my pulse racing. "What did you find?"

Dr. Whitman's gaze flickers to Alex, then back to me. "There are some… irregularities with your pregnancy. The baby's heart rate is still unstable, and we've detected unusual hormone levels that we need to monitor closely."

"Unusual?" I repeat, my voice barely above a whisper. "What does that mean?"

He hesitates, choosing his words carefully. "It's difficult to say at this stage, but we need to keep you under observation. There are… factors that could complicate things."