Chapter 42 Passed out
CHAPTER 42: Passed out
Silas
The silence that followed the thud of her collapsing body was sudden and deafening. I stood over her for a long, frozen moment, my lip curling in a sneer of pure disbelief.
She was playing another performance of hers.
“Get up, Vera,” I barked. “Your theatrics won't save you. Not right now.”
I waited.
She didn't move.
I looked at her. Her chest didn't even seem to rise. There was no movement from her, not even the slightest. A prickling sensation that had nothing to do with my rage began to crawl up the back of my neck.
I stepped forward and nudged her shoulder with the toe of my shoe, but she neither moved, flinched, nor made a sound. She remained limp, like a broken doll discarded on the hardwood.
When I finally knelt, I turned her around to face upward. Her eyes were shut, and she looked too pale under the harsh lights. I pressed my fingers to the pulse point beneath her jaw, the reality set in.
This wasn’t an act. She had passed out.
I cursed under my breath, the words foul and jagged. I straightened, taking a step back to fight an internal battle.
There had to be some force that was bent on mocking me. Now I was put in a position where I had to make an obvious decision to save my wife's murderer…even though the culprit was my wife too.
Muttering a few more expletives, I lowered myself, hooked my arms beneath her knees and scooped her up. I wasn’t prepared to discover how light she was…almost fragile and delicate, like she was supposed to be protected and cared for.
As I moved to place her on the bed, I felt a surge of visceral disgust with myself, because even now, with the stench of her betrayal clogging my throat, the proximity of her skin…that faint lemony of hers, made my own body betray me.
I despised the involuntary reaction of my body…the lingering trace of a desire that should have died the moment I saw that video.
I dropped Vera onto the silk sheets unceremoniously, hating her more for making me do these things and feel this way.
With how much I hated her, I didn't want to touch her, but I couldn't let her die…not yet.
I reached for my phone and dialed my personal physician.
He picked on the first ring.
“Get to the mansion immediately,” I commanded the moment he answered. “My wife just passed out. And—” I looked at the unconscious woman on the bed. “She's pregnant.”
I didn't wait for his response before hanging up.
My phone buzzed with a call from Chauncey. I let it ring out. It began to ring for the second time when I cut the call and switched off the phone.
Now was not a good time to talk to him.
Left alone with the unconscious woman and the silent mansion, I went down to the bar and grabbed a bottle of whiskey and a glass before returning to the room.
When the doctor arrived twenty minutes later, the bottle was barely touched.
He didn’t ask me many questions, sensing the lethal energy radiating off me.
“What happened, sir?” he asked in a hushed, tentative voice as he approached the bed.
Dr Caleb was an old man with stocky build and silver hair. He had been a loyal family physician to the Rutherford's, even before we were born.
“She passed out,” I replied vaguely, my voice a low timbre that told him that I was done explaining.
I retreated to the furthest corner of the room, standing like a dark sentinel in the gloom.
My nostrils flared and my insides twisted as I thought of how Vera had not offered the same grace I had shown her to my wife and child.
I stewed where I stood, watching the doctor work…checking her vitals, peering into her eyes, and administering an IV, while I remained a statue of ice.
Finally, the doctor straightened up, wiping a bead of sweat from his forehead.
“She is stable for now.”
My gaze flicked to the bed. “What happened to her?”
“Mr Rutherford, your wife fainted due to acute stress,” he said. “Her blood pressure dropped suddenly resulting in her heart rate spiking, and that possibly caused the loss of consciousness.”
A muscle ticked in my jaw.
I felt no remorse. And I regretted nothing. Vera owed me more than a few minutes of unconsciousness.
But I remembered the child she carried.
“What does this mean for the baby?”
The elderly doctor’s brows pulled in a frown.
“While this is not good for either the mother or the child,” he sighed, glancing back at Vera, “I must inform you, sir, that at her stage of pregnancy, this level of sustained emotional stress significantly increases the risk of serious complications.”
I crossed my arms over my chest.
“What do you mean?”
“If this continues, her body may not sustain the pregnancy. There's a high risk of a miscarriage. Stress hormones reduce placental blood flow. Consequently, less oxygen reaches the fetus. It’s not immediate, but it compounds. Another episode like tonight could result in fetal loss.”
No matter how much I wanted to make Vera pay, I quickly realised that I didn't wish the child any harm.
“What do you suggest?”
He picked up his briefcase. “Elimination of her stressors. I’ve given her a mild sedative; she will be out all night. I'll call back in the morning.”
“Is that all?” I asked, my voice devoid of any husbandly concern.
“Yes, sir. She needs absolute rest.” He replied. “I'll take my leave now.” He bowed slightly, then left the room.
After the door clicked shut, I slowly approached the bed, my gaze fixed on the woman who had stolen my life and replaced it with a lie.
Chauncey was right. This was a bad idea.
I was a tempest of conflict, but as I watched her chest rise and fall in a drug-induced sleep, a cold steel resolve hardened in my gut.
I could never forgive her.
But I would never let her escape. I would serve her my own kind of punishment…just as soon as she could take it.
When she finally awakened, Vera would learn the ground rules for the hollow, controlled existence that would be her new life.