Chapter 108

Chapter 108
Aria’s POV
I never thought Damian would manipulate me when it came to Jessica's treatment. The very idea seemed impossible, unthinkable. Yet as I sat in the hospital's sterile visitor's lounge, the nurse's words echoed in my mind like a death knell.
There was a compatible kidney donor. But the opportunity was missed.
My hands trembled as I replayed the conversation over and over. How could there have been a matching donor without anyone telling us? How could such a crucial chance for Jessica's survival simply slip away?
Unless someone made sure it slipped away.
The thought hit me like ice water, sending a chill through my entire body. No, I couldn't think like that. There had to be some misunderstanding. Some explanation that didn't involve the man who'd promised to help Jessica, who'd made her treatment possible in the first place.
But the nurse's uncomfortable expression haunted me. The way she'd avoided my eyes when I pressed for details. The strange hesitation when I'd asked about protocols and procedures.
Was the nurse lying? Was she trying to create problems between Damian and me?
I couldn't let anger cloud my judgment. Couldn't allow suspicion to poison what little trust remained between us. I needed answers, and I needed them from the source.
I had to find Damian.
The drive back to the estate passed in a blur of conflicting thoughts. By the time I reached the grand entrance, my resolve had crystallized into something sharp and focused. Whatever the truth was, I would face it head-on.
Jennifer greeted me at the door with her usual warm smile, but I barely registered her presence.
"Is Damian in his study?" I asked without preamble.
"Oh no, dear. Mr. Cavalieri left for the Monterosso estate this morning. Some business matter that couldn't wait." She studied my face with concern. "Is everything alright? You look quite pale."
The Monterosso estate. Of course. When important family matters arose, the two patriarchs always convened at Antonio's villa. It could be hours before he returned.
"I'll wait in his study," I said, already heading toward the familiar mahogany doors.
"Aria, you should eat something first. You missed lunch entirely, and—"
"Later, Jennifer. Please."
Damian's study felt different when he wasn't there. Less imposing, perhaps, but somehow more revealing. Without his commanding presence filling the space, I could see the room for what it truly was: a carefully curated display of power and control.
I settled into one of the leather chairs facing his desk, prepared to wait as long as necessary. But as the minutes ticked by, restlessness began to gnaw at me. I stood, pacing to the tall windows that overlooked the gardens, then back to the bookshelf that lined one wall.

I turned to leave, but something caught my eye.
A corner of white paper was sticking out from under one of the books on Damian's desk. I shouldn't look. It wasn't my business to go through his private documents. But something about the way it was positioned, like it had been hastily shoved out of sight, made me pause.
The rational part of my mind told me to leave. To wait for Damian to return and have an honest conversation like adults.
But the nurse's words wouldn't stop ringing in my ears.
Before I could stop myself, I reached for the paper and pulled it free from under the heavy book.
My name was printed at the top in bold letters: ARIA ROSSI - FERTILITY ASSESSMENT.
My heart started pounding. This was my medical file. The results from the comprehensive testing we'd done weeks ago. But why was Damian hiding it in his study instead of giving it to me?
With trembling hands, I opened the document and began to read.
Patient shows excellent reproductive health markers. Hormone levels optimal for conception. No genetic factors that would complicate fertility treatments. IVF success rate projected at 87% based on current health profile.
RECOMMENDATION: Patient is an ideal candidate for in-vitro fertilization.
I read the words again. Then a third time.
Excellent reproductive health. Ideal candidate for IVF. No medical barriers.
But that wasn't what Dr. Ferretti had told me. She'd said there were complications. Hormone irregularities. Genetic factors that made IVF inadvisable.
She'd looked me straight in the eye and told me that the detailed testing showed I wasn't suitable for fertility treatments.
The paper crumpled slightly in my grip as the truth hit me.
Someone had lied.
Either this report was fake, or Dr. Ferretti had given me completely false information about my own medical condition.
My hands were shaking so badly I could barely hold the document steady. I forced myself to read every line, every detail, looking for any indication that this might be outdated or incorrect.
But the date was clear. This assessment had been completed just two days before my appointment with Dr. Ferretti. The same tests she'd claimed showed complications.
Why would she lie about something like this?
Unless... unless someone had asked her to.
The thought made my stomach lurch. I sank into Damian's chair, staring at the medical report that contradicted everything I'd been told about my fertility.
I needed a second opinion. I needed to know for certain whether this document was accurate or whether Dr. Ferretti's assessment was correct.
Twenty minutes later, I was in my car, driving toward a different part of Florence. I'd found the address of a private clinic online, one that had no connection to Damian or his family. If I was going to get the truth, it had to come from someone who had no reason to lie to me.
The Santa Maria Medical Center was smaller than the clinic where I'd been treated before, but it looked professional and clean. I walked to the reception desk with the original medical report folded in my purse.
"I'd like to schedule a consultation," I told the receptionist. "I have some questions about fertility treatments."
She looked at her computer screen. "Dr. Martinez has an opening in about an hour, if that works for you?"
"Perfect."
The waiting room was quiet. I sat in one of the cushioned chairs, my leg bouncing nervously as I rehearsed what I was going to say.
I have this medical report that says I'm an excellent candidate for IVF, but another doctor told me I have complications that make it inadvisable. I need to know which assessment is correct.
It sounded reasonable. Professional. Like I was just a concerned patient seeking a second opinion.
"Aria Rossi?"
Dr. Martinez was a woman in her forties with kind eyes and graying hair pulled back in a practical ponytail. She led me to her office and gestured for me to sit in the chair across from her desk.
"What can I help you with today?"
I pulled the medical report from my purse and placed it on her desk. "I received this assessment recently, but when I went to begin IVF treatments, I was told that more detailed testing showed complications that made fertility treatments inadvisable. I'm confused about the contradiction and wanted to get another professional opinion."
Dr. Martinez picked up the document and began reading. Her eyebrows rose slightly as she reviewed the test results.
"May I ask who performed the initial assessment?" she said, still studying the report.
"Dr. Ferretti at the White Rose Clinic."
"Ah." Something in her tone changed. "And Dr. Ferretti told you that despite these results, you weren't suitable for IVF?"
"She said the comprehensive hormone panels and genetic screenings revealed complications. That my hormone levels showed irregularities that would make successful embryo implantation highly unlikely."
Dr. Martinez looked at me over the top of the document. "Miss Rossi, I have to ask you directly. Are you certain that Dr. Ferretti reviewed the same test results that are documented here?"
"What do you mean?"
"These results are outstanding. Your hormone levels are exactly where we'd want them for IVF procedures. Your reproductive health markers are in the top percentile for your age group." She set the paper down and leaned forward. "Based on this assessment, I would expect any fertility specialist to recommend immediate treatment with an excellent prognosis for success."
The room started to spin slightly. I gripped the arms of my chair.
"So there's nothing wrong with me? Nothing that would prevent IVF?"
"Absolutely nothing. In fact, if these results are accurate and current, you're one of the most ideal candidates I've seen in months." Dr. Martinez's expression grew concerned. "Are you feeling alright? You look a bit pale."
I wasn't alright. I was the opposite of alright.
Someone had deliberately lied to me about my fertility. Someone had looked me in the eye and told me that my body wasn't capable of something that, according to this report, it was perfectly designed to do.
And there was only one person who could have orchestrated that kind of deception.
"Miss Rossi?" Dr. Martinez's voice seemed to come from very far away. "Would you like some water?"
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. She pressed a glass of cool water into my hands, and I took a small sip, trying to calm the nausea that was rising in my throat.
"Can I ask you something else?" I managed to say.
"Of course."
"In your professional opinion, how difficult would it be for someone to... influence another doctor's assessment? To get them to lie about test results?"
Dr. Martinez's expression became very serious. "That would be highly unethical. A violation of medical ethics and potentially illegal." She paused. "But unfortunately, it's not unheard of, especially when there are powerful interests involved."
Powerful interests. Like a man who controlled half of Florence's underground economy. Like someone who could make problems disappear with a phone call.
Like someone who might want to prevent his surrogate from getting pregnant through medical procedures because it served his purposes better to keep her trapped and dependent.
The water glass slipped from my numb fingers, but Dr. Martinez caught it before it could hit the floor.
"I think I need to go," I whispered.
"Miss Rossi, are you sure you're feeling well enough to drive? You look quite shaken."
I forced myself to stand on unsteady legs. "I'm fine. Thank you for your time."
But I wasn't fine. I was anything but fine.
As I walked back to my car on shaking legs, the full scope of Damian's manipulation began to sink in. He hadn't just lied to me about my fertility. He'd corrupted my medical care. He'd used his power and influence to make sure I received false information about my own body, my own health, my own options.
All so he could maintain control over me.
All so he could keep me exactly where he wanted me.
I sat in the driver's seat, gripping the steering wheel with white-knuckled hands as waves of nausea rolled through me. The betrayal felt physical, like a punch to the stomach that left me gasping for air.
How long had he been planning this? Since the beginning? Had he arranged for Dr. Ferretti to lie to me from the very first consultation?
I thought about all the times I'd apologized to him for my body's "complications." All the times I'd felt guilty for not being able to fulfill the contract efficiently. All the times I'd wondered what was wrong with me, why I couldn't be the ideal surrogate he needed.
There was nothing wrong with me. There never had been.
The only thing wrong was the man I'd trusted to be honest with me about something as fundamental as my own fertility.
I started the car with trembling hands and began the drive back to the estate. But with each mile that passed, my nausea grew worse, and my hands shook harder on the steering wheel.
By the time I reached the estate gates, I had to pull over and let the dry heaves wrack my body until there was nothing left to bring up but bitter bile and the taste of betrayal.