chapter 175
Elena's POV:
I glanced up at him, then back at the pregnancy book in my lap, watching the way his jaw worked as he waited for my answer.
"About a week," I said softly, placing my hand over his where it rested on my belly. "Dr. Harrison said not to worry, everything will go smoothly."
His fingers tightened almost imperceptibly under mine.
"A week." He repeated the words like a vow, a finality. "Just this one. Never again. I won't put you through this again."
The determination in his eyes, mixed with that lingering fear, made me sigh in exasperation.
---
That evening, I found Sebastian deep in conversation with his grandmother in the drawing room, their heads bent together over what appeared to be a list of medical professionals.
The sight was so absurd I had to bite back a laugh.
"The Royal Hospital has the best maternity ward in the country," Sebastian was saying, his tone brooking no argument. "I've already spoken to Dr. Harrison about reserving the entire wing—"
"I'm not going to the hospital," I interrupted from the doorway, watching as both heads snapped up to look at me. "I hate hospitals."
Sebastian's jaw tightened. "Elena, this isn't about preferences. It's about safety."
"I'm perfectly safe here." I moved into the room, settling beside Lady Margaret on the sofa.
"Safe?" His voice rose incredulously. "What if there's a complication? What if you need emergency surgery? What if—" He cut himself off, pacing to the window like a caged animal.
"What if there's hemorrhaging? What if you need a transfusion? We can't just... magic up an operating room in the middle of Blackwood Manor!"
Lady Margaret's lips twitched, though her expression grew more serious, and she turned to me with unexpected gravity.
"Actually, Elena dear, Sebastian may have a point. The final week is when most complications arise. My own sister..."
She paused, choosing her words carefully. "She insisted on staying home for her third child. Everything seemed fine until it wasn't. If she'd been at the hospital, perhaps things would have ended differently."
The weight of her words settled over the room like a shroud. I'd never heard about Lady Margaret's sister before.
"Grandmother," Sebastian said quietly, and I could hear the gratitude in his voice.
She nodded, patting my hand this time instead of his. "I understand your reluctance, truly I do. Hospitals are dreadful places. But sometimes, my dear, we must choose the lesser evil. A week of discomfort against a lifetime of regret—it's not really a choice at all, is it?"
I felt cornered, overwhelmed by their combined concern.
"I just... I hate the idea of being alone there, surrounded by strangers, treated like a patient instead of a person."
"Alone?" Sebastian moved swiftly to kneel in front of me, taking both my hands in his. "Elena, you won't be alone for a single second. I'll be there. I've already cleared my entire schedule. "
Looking between them—Sebastian's desperate eyes and Lady Margaret's concerned face—I felt my resistance crumbling. They were right, both of them. My comfort wasn't worth the risk, not when our baby was involved.
"Fine," I whispered, and Sebastian's whole body sagged with relief. "But you keep your promise. You don't leave me."
"Never." He pressed my hands to his lips.
"And I want my own pillow," I added, trying to inject some lightness into the heavy moment. "The hospital ones are terrible."
"You can have the entire bedroom transported if you want," he said immediately. "The bed, the curtains, the—"
"Just the pillow will be fine," I interrupted, managing a small smile. "And maybe... maybe it won't be so bad. If you're there."
By the next morning, I found myself propped against my own pillow in a private hospital suite, the sharp scent of disinfectant making my nose wrinkle. The room was unnecessarily large, more like a luxury hotel suite than a hospital room.
Sebastian sat in a chair he'd pulled close to the bed, meticulously peeling an apple. The silver knife moved in precise spirals, creating one continuous ribbon of peel.
"You know I can peel my own apple," I said, mostly to break the suffocating silence.
"I know." He didn't look up from his task. "But I need something to do with my hands."
I watched him work, noting the tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw clenched with each careful movement. "This is going to be a very long week if you're already this wound up."
"I'm not wound up." He finally looked at me, then seemed to realize the absurdity of the statement given that he'd turned apple peeling into an art form. "Fine. Maybe a little."
A knock interrupted whatever response I might have made.
Dr. Harrison peered in, clipboard in hand. "Mr. Vane? I need you to come fill out some additional paperwork. Insurance forms, medical history updates—administrative necessities, I'm afraid."
He looked at me, clearly torn between his promise not to leave and the practical necessity. I shooed him away. "Go. I'll probably nap anyway."
"Five minutes," he said firmly, pointing at me as if I were the one who might disappear. "Don't—"
"Don't what? Run a marathon? I think I'm safe from that particular temptation."
He left reluctantly, and I settled back against the pillows, already bored.
The silence lasted approximately thirty seconds before my phone rang. Unknown number.
I picked it up.
"Hello?"
"Elena!" The voice was high, panicked, barely recognizable through the sobs. "Oh God, Elena, please—please help me!"
My blood went cold. "Scarlett?"
The name came out flat, distant. I couldn't bring myself to say 'Mom' anymore—that word had died the moment she'd demanded my bone marrow, not caring about the risks to her own daughter's life.
There was a sharp intake of breath on the other end, a wounded pause that stretched for a heartbeat.
"I—" She started, then a muffled sound, like someone grabbing the phone.
A man's voice in the background, low and threatening. Then she was back, words tumbling faster now. "I know, I know you hate me, you have every right, but please—he's going to kill me! "
I frowned, trying to make sense of what was happening.
Was this some kind of act? Another manipulation? But the raw fear in her voice seemed too genuine, and that man's voice in the background... This sounded like a kidnapping, or worse.
"Where are you?" I asked tersely, pushing aside my confusion.