"Doctor West, I have the results that you asked for." The voice cut through the sterile silence of the office. Dr. West looked up, his piercing gaze landing on the younger doctor, who hesitated at the threshold, an envelope clutched in his hand.
"Come in, put it down here," Dr. West commanded, his tone allowing no room for argument as he gestured to the clutter-free expanse of his mahogany desk. The other doctor complied, laying the envelope down as if it were fragile cargo.
"Though, why did you ask me to run the test without the other party?" The inquiry was tentative, almost fearful of breaching some unspoken protocol.
Dr. West's fingers grazed the envelope, his expression unreadable. "Well, I didn't want the young lady to have hopes."
The words hung heavy in the air, like a thick fog that refused to dissipate. They were sentences that passed with the finality of a guillotine's blade, leaving behind an oppressive silence. As Dr. West tore open the envelope, his hands steady despite the tremor of consequence, the office felt colder and more clinical than ever before. The stark white walls seemed to close in on him as he extracted the single sheet of paper, his eyes scanning the lines quickly, devouring each word with an urgency that matched the gravity of the situation. A fierce determination, honed over years of experience and practice, now replaced his usually calm demeanor. This was a life-altering revelation, one that would require all his strength and resilience to navigate.
Just then, his phone chimed-a discordant sound against the hush of anticipation. It was the message he had been waiting for-the name he needed to see flashing on the screen. Without ceremony, Dr. West stood up abruptly, his chair scraping back with a harsh screech.
"Excuse me," he uttered, the words more like an edict than a courtesy.
With swift movements, he shrugged off the white coat that signified his profession, revealing the stern resolve of his posture. There was no second thought, no hesitation, as the man who took no bullshit charged towards the door. Each step was laden with purpose, a testament to the urgent call he could no longer ignore.
His life, or perhaps the lives of others, hung in the balance, and he was propelled forward by a force that was as inexorable as it was unseen. The echo of his footsteps resonated through the empty hallways, a harbinger of the tumult that lay ahead.
When Doctor West arrives at the knight's mansion, he doesn't want to talk to anyone. The last time, he was told we would talk about it. But no one came to him. "I'm here for Cathleen." He said so, and Xavier frowned.
Was he one of her clients? He thought. Why would she be sleeping with old men? Xavier then chuckled. Anyway, she's also sleeping with my father for all I fucking care! he thought again. Xavier's eyes traveled to his father, and the man didn't say anything. A sly grin appeared on Xavier's face. He was not surprised that his father knew Cathleen was a prostitute and would let her do as she wished, even in their matrimonial home. But then who was he kidding because he was sleeping with Olivia every fucking chance he got?
The wheels of Cathleen's suitcase groaned against the hard floor, a dirge for her attempted departure. Cathleen's fingers tightened around the handle, each click of the retractable handle echoing in the palatial foyer like a clock counting down the final moments of her resolve.
Xavier's shadow loomed before she saw him rise-a specter of dominance and suppressed rage. His eyes, glacial chips of blue, fixed on her with a predator's intensity. "Cathleen Knight," his voice, a low growl, reverberated off the walls, "if you dare set your foot outside this house, you will not like the consequences."
Her body froze in place, her chest rising and falling with jagged breaths as she gauged the space between them. Not just physical distance, but the gaping void of comprehension that grew wider with every venomous syllable he uttered. The atmosphere crackled with the electric charge of an impending tempest, waiting to unleash its fury upon them both.
"I thought I was clear, for better or worse. Wasn't I?" He advanced, each step deliberate and seismic. Although he had never struck her, his presence alone was a form of intimidation-towering over her, a statue come to life, his height used like a weapon to forge chains from the vows she had once whispered with hope.
His words hung heavy in the air, like a toxic perfume that smothered her senses. For better or worse, the vow twisted into a shackle around her spirit, one she had not noticed until it grew too tight to breathe.
At that moment, Cathleen saw the full spectrum of Xavier's coldness-the frost that could burn as surely as any flame. Yet, now there was more; a possessive glint sharpened his gaze, revealing the lengths he'd go to keep her tethered to his side. It was more than possession; it was an assertion of his will, a silent declaration that he could bend the world, or her, to his desires.
Her sharp tongue, usually ready with a retort that could slice through any tensions, lay still behind sealed lips. Cathleen, who strategized like a general and fought battles with words as her weapons, found herself grappling with a fear that threatened to paralyze her very steps. This new side of Xavier, a man sculpted from ice and ambition, held her captive without chains-an invisible force field that left her doubting the wisdom of taking even one more step toward freedom.
The suitcases, which were symbols of her escape, became monoliths at her feet. They were both her armor and her Achilles' heel-a testament to her readiness to flee and her hesitation in the face of his oppressive might. As they stood facing each other, the air thick with unsaid threats, the mansion seemed to shrink, the walls closing in, whispering of family, love, betrayal, and the violence that sometimes wore a disguise as subtle as silence.
"Cathleen West, let's go home." Doctor West announced, shocking both Xavier and Cathleen at the same time.