Gilded Love Affair

Clara’s POV

The ultrasound gel was cold against my belly. My ankles were swollen, my back ached constantly, and the baby hadn't been moving as much as she should.

Dr. Morrison pressed the wand harder against my skin. She wasn't smiling anymore. I watched her face, watched the way her eyebrows pulled together as she stared at the screen.

"Is something wrong?"

She didn't answer. Instead, she picked up the phone and called someone. A minute later, another doctor came in. Dr. Lucy. The specialist they only brought in when things were serious.

Dr. Lucy took the wand from Dr. Morrison and moved it across my belly in silence. They whispered to each other. Words I couldn't quite catch.

"Mrs. Sinclair." Dr. Morrison finally turned to me. Her voice had gone flat and professional. "The baby's heartbeat is strong, but she's measuring small."

My throat went tight. "What does that mean?"

"Intrauterine growth restriction," Dr. Lucy said. "We need to monitor you twice weekly now. And your blood pressure is elevated. "

I pressed my hand against my belly. The baby shifted slowly. Not the strong kicks from a few weeks ago. Just a lazy roll that made my stomach ripple.

"We need to inform Mr. Sinclair," Dr. Morrison said, already reaching for her phone. "He's listed as the primary contact for all medical decisions."

Of course he was. Julian controlled everything about this pregnancy, even though he hadn't shown up to an appointment in over a month.

"I can tell him myself."

"Hospital protocol," Dr. Morrison said, not looking at me. "High-risk pregnancies require immediate family notification."

She made the call. Not to Julian, but to someone on his team. I sat there listening to her recite my medical information like I was a lab report. Growth restriction. Twice-weekly monitoring. Possible early delivery if conditions deteriorate.

They printed ultrasound photos before I left. My daughter's profile, her tiny nose and chin visible in the grainy image. But all I could see were the numbers in red.

The car was waiting outside. Black Mercedes, tinted windows, a driver who never spoke. I climbed into the back seat and stared at the photos in my lap. The tears started before I could stop them. Quiet tears that just kept coming.

The elevator opened directly into the penthouse. I heard voices immediately. Male voices talking over each other, that particular rhythm of business discussion.

I stepped out and froze.

The dining room had been transformed. Papers and laptops covered the table. Julian stood at the head in his shirtsleeves, his tie loosened, pointing to something on a presentation board. Six men in expensive suits sat around him, taking notes on tablets.

And in the chair to his right, where I should have been sitting if this were a real marriage, was Vivian Vance.

She looked perfect. Slate gray Armani pantsuit tailored to fit her exactly. Blonde hair pulled back in a sleek ponytail. Minimal makeup that somehow made her look more beautiful. She had a pen in one hand and was making notes on a document, nodding along as Julian spoke. When he paused, she picked up the thread without missing a beat, discussing market projections and quarterly targets like she'd been doing this her whole life.

I stood there in my oversized maternity coat, hospital bracelet still on my wrist, ultrasound photos crumpling in my hand. A stranger in my own home.

Nathan Cross, Julian's chief of staff, noticed me first. Something flickered across his face before he smoothed it away. He leaned toward Julian and murmured something.

Julian's eyes met mine across the marble floor. For a second, neither of us moved. Then his jaw tightened and he straightened.