Chapter 9
The cold wind outside was the final straw for Margaret. The nauseating wave she'd been fighting all day surged up violently, and she rushed to a nearby trash can, retching uncontrollably.
After an entire day of torment, her body had reached its breaking point. She heaved until she was dizzy, bringing up nothing but bile. Black spots danced before her eyes as she clung weakly to the trash can, barely able to stand.
Just then, a black Bentley pulled up slowly nearby. Richard, having just dropped Jennifer off, had inexplicably found himself driving back to the office.
Upon his return, he immediately spotted Margaret hunched miserably over the trash can.
He watched silently for several seconds, his eyes devoid of compassion. Instead, a wave of disgust washed over him.
This again. Every time he was furious with her, she'd put on this pathetic display, using her suffering to manipulate him into giving in!
He pushed open the car door and walked up behind her.
Margaret heard footsteps and weakly lifted her head. Seeing Richard, her lips trembled, but she couldn't form a single word.
"Margaret, cut the disgusting act," Richard stared at her pallid face, his mouth curling into a cruel sneer. "You think I'll soften because you throw up a few times? The more you do this, the more... repulsive you become to me."
Repulsive. That word completely shattered what remained of Margaret's composure.
Her stomach still churned, but she no longer felt it. She struggled to straighten herself, not looking at him, not even bothering to wipe the mess from her lips.
She simply leaned against the cold trash can and closed her eyes. No arguments. No resistance. No words.
This deathly silence infuriated Richard more than any hysterical crying would have. He would have preferred her tears, her anger—anything but this silent surrender!
He thought of his mother's increasingly impatient demands over the phone, of Jennifer crying about her grievances, and of Margaret's resolute expression when she'd mentioned resigning.
Leave? She could forget about that! Since she was so determined to remain faithful to Matthew's memory, he would force her to acknowledge exactly whose wife she was and to whom her body owed its obligations!
This would shut his mother up once and for all, and crush any lingering hopes Margaret might have!
Without another word, Richard grabbed Margaret's arm and yanked her up, roughly dragging her to the car and shoving her into the passenger seat.
The atmosphere inside the car was suffocating.
Richard started the engine in stony silence, his knuckles white as he gripped the steering wheel, veins protruding from the back of his hand. He pulled out his phone and dialed a number.
"Dr. Bailey," his voice was ice-cold, "I'm bringing my wife to the hospital in fifteen minutes. Arrange the most comprehensive physical examination for her."
The person on the other end seemed to hesitate, which only darkened Richard's tone. "Especially gynecological. I want the most detailed fertility assessment report possible."
Hanging up, he glanced at Margaret beside him. Her eyes remained closed, her long lashes casting shadows on her ashen face.
Richard felt no pity whatsoever. He was determined to tear away her façade of strength and see what, if anything, remained underneath.
---
The private hospital funded by the Neville family was nestled in the suburbs, secluded and heavily secured.
Hospital director Glenn Bailey was already waiting by the elevator with a team of medical staff, greeting them with deferential respect.
"Mr. Neville," Glenn bowed, his face plastered with a sycophantic smile. When his gaze fell on Margaret, half-dragged, half-carried by Richard, his smile faltered momentarily.
How had Margaret's condition deteriorated to this point?
"She's all yours now," Richard pushed Margaret toward Glenn with such force that she nearly fell.
A young nurse moved to help her but froze midway when Richard pierced her with an icy glare, her outstretched hand hanging awkwardly in the air.
"This way, Mrs. Neville," Glenn quickly led the way himself. Margaret was escorted into the hospital surrounded by doctors.
Richard didn't follow. Instead, he sat in the VIP waiting area at the end of the hallway, legs crossed, an unlit cigarette between his fingers, his gaze fixed malevolently on the closed doors of the gynecology examination room.
Minutes ticked by slowly. Eventually, Margaret emerged supported by a nurse. Her suit jacket had been replaced with a white hospital coat.
Cold instruments, humiliating positions—even in her numb state, she understood perfectly. This was his way of reminding her that her body, inside and out, belonged only to him. Whether for bearing children or for pleasure, she was meant for him alone!
Soon, she was taken to the next department. Richard extinguished the cigarette that had grown warm in his hand and followed.
One examination after another proceeded methodically.
During the blood draw, the nurse struggled to find a usable vein among the blue-purple bruises on Margaret's arm. When the needle finally pierced her skin, Margaret didn't even flinch.
The young nurse noticed the angry red mark on Margaret's wrist, then glanced at Richard standing like a prison guard nearby.
With a silent sigh, she whispered, "Mrs. Neville, close your eyes if you're squeamish about blood."
Margaret responded with a weak smile. That fleeting smile only intensified Richard's irritation. She showed more life in response to a stranger than she ever did to him.
"What's taking so long?" Richard snapped impatiently. "How long does a simple blood draw take?"
The young nurse jumped, her hand trembling, nearly dropping the needle.
Throughout the entire process, Margaret remained eerily cooperative. She answered every question the doctors asked.
Richard stood nearby, listening to these exchanges with an increasingly furrowed brow. He'd assumed this was all an act to gain sympathy, her way of defying him.
Then the doctor approached with the test results, his expression grave. "Mr. Neville, Mrs. Neville has multiple shadows and fluid accumulation in her pelvic and abdominal cavities. Her liver... there's also an issue with her liver. Based on her symptoms, this doesn't appear to be a simple gynecological condition."
Richard's heart plummeted. "What are you saying?"
"My recommendation," the doctor continued, braving Richard's darkening expression, "is to immediately perform an enhanced CT scan and check for tumor markers. Her physical condition... I'm afraid it may be far more complicated than we initially thought."