Chapter 20: Questioning

Thinking of that one night, he forced down his instinctive aversion. His voice was low and sharp as he spoke to Aiden. "Take her for a checkup."

Without waiting for a reply, he turned and walked toward the VIP wing.

In his mind, the thought lingered—he believed they'd slept together, and that left a sense of obligation. It felt like something he owed her, and out of principle, he should at least see her.

Emma caught the subtle shift. His tone was cold, but he was coming with her. That was enough to spark a flicker of satisfaction warmed her chest. She let Aiden guide her into a private room.

The doctor's exam was quick. His verdict—mild hyperventilation brought on by emotional stress. Nothing serious.

Aiden excused himself, leaving them alone.

"Sebastian, don't go." Emma sat up as she saw him ready to leave. She reached for his jacket. "Stay with me... please? I'm scared."

Sebastian studied her face, carefully crafted to look fragile and dependent. It rang hollow.

Another face rose unbidden in his mind—one that held defiance even on the edge of breaking.

He sidestepped her touch without a word, his voice clipped. "Doctor says you're fine. Rest."

The rejection cut deep. Her mask cracked. "You came here for her, didn't you? You like Sophie, don't you?!"

His expression hardened. The ice in his blue eyes was sharp enough to cut. "Watch your mouth."

"Am I wrong?" Her voice rose, wild. She jumped from the bed, bare feet hitting the cold floor, and grabbed his arm with both hands. "You locked me away because of her. She faints and you panic like that. You dare say you don't feel anything for her? You forget that night—it was me!"

Her grip was tight. His thoughts tangled into chaos.

Did he feel something for Sophie?

He didn't know.

What he did know was that her touch repelled him... and the memory of holding Sophie, fever-hot and weightless, did not.

The realization hit harder than he expected.

Across the hall, in the noise of the ER, Sophie stirred.

The sharp scent of antiseptic filled her nose. A needle sat in the back of her hand, cold fluid dripping into her veins.

She moved slightly. Every bone ached as if taken apart and put back wrong. Her head throbbed.

A doctor approached, voice calm. "Awake? How do you feel?"

She tried to sit up, her voice rough. "Where... am I?"

"You collapsed at a celebration dinner. Your boss brought you in." He helped her, flipping through her chart. "Acute gastroenteritis and high fever, compounded by exhaustion. Severe physical strain. I recommend a full exam."

She shook her head. A full exam meant time—and money—she didn't have.

"I'm fine. Just tired. I'll rest for a few days." Her tone left no room for argument.

The doctor didn't push. He only reminded her to take her meds and rest.

She thanked him, removed the IV, and walked out with the payment slip in hand.

Outside the hospital, Aiden waited by the car. His look was unreadable as he opened the door for her.

"Mr. Carter had to leave," he said.

She nodded. No questions.

She leaned against the window, watching the neon lights blur past. A chill settled deep in her bones.

A boss bringing an employee to the hospital—that was already more than enough. She couldn't expect more.

In the weeks that followed, the office shifted.

Sebastian kept his distance. Emma's outburst still echoed in his mind, a thorn he couldn't shake. He hated the loss of control... hated that a subordinate could stir his emotions.

So he drew the line, sharply.

Sophie noticed. There was a trace of something like disappointment in her, but more than that—relief.

The last thing she wanted was entanglement with Sebastian.

Without his "special attention," her work felt lighter.

One afternoon, she sat in the break room with a few secretaries from the executive office, lunch boxes open, gossip flowing.

"Did you hear? That new intern in marketing—apparently some board member's relative—does nothing but fix her makeup."

"Right? I asked her to copy a file once, she said it would ruin her manicure."

Sophie listened quietly, smiling when appropriate.

She'd barely taken a few spoonfuls of spicy minestrone when her stomach twisted violently. A wave of nausea surged.

She clamped a hand over her mouth, her face drained of color, and rushed to the restroom to retch over the sink.

When it eased, she splashed cold water on her face. The reflection in the mirror stared back—pale, drawn.

"Sophie, are you alright?" Rhea, the senior secretary, stepped in, hand on her back.

Others gathered at the doorway, watching.

"You look awful," Rhea frowned. "That reaction... you're not..."

She didn't finish, but the look said enough.

One younger secretary whispered, "Sophie... are you pregnant?"

Pregnant.

The word hit her like a thunderclap. Sophie froze, heart skipping.

Just once. How could that happen?

"No," she said quickly, forcing a smile. "My stomach's been bad. Too much oily food. You know I had gastroenteritis recently."

It was a plausible excuse. Everyone knew about her collapse at the dinner.

The others seemed satisfied, dismissing it as a flare-up.

Rhea wasn't convinced. She took Sophie's hand, voice firm. "Your health matters. You're not fine. Skip the afternoon. I'll tell Aiden to give you half a day off. Go to the hospital."