Chapter 34: Complications
Dr. Hayes’s knock on my study door came precisely at two o’clock, as scheduled. I appreciated punctuality in my associates, especially when their work was as delicate and crucial as his.
“Come in,” I called, setting aside the quarterly reports I’d been reviewing. Numbers were important, but maintaining my wife’s psychological state took priority over everything else.
“Adrian,” Dr. Hayes said, settling into the chair across from my desk with his medical bag. “I’ve just finished Calla’s session.”
“And?”
“Her body is adapting faster than anticipated.” He pulled out a small notebook filled with his precise handwriting. “The current compounds are losing effectiveness. She’s showing signs of increased awareness, memory fragments surfacing in her dreams.”
I leaned back in my chair, considering this development. “How significant are these fragments?”
“Difficult to say. She reports nightmares but can’t remember the content upon waking. That suggests the suppression protocols are still functional, but the underlying memories are fighting to surface.”
“Recommendations?”
“I’ve administered a stronger dose today, but we’re approaching the limits of what’s safe for long-term use.” Dr. Hayes met my eyes directly. “We may need to consider alternative approaches if her resistance continues to build.”
Alternative approaches. The clinical euphemism for methods I’d hoped to avoid. Chemical dependency was elegant, sustainable, easily explained as medical treatment for trauma and depression. More aggressive techniques carried risks—both to Calla’s health and to the perfect facade I’d constructed around our marriage.
“How long before the current adjustment takes effect?”
“She should be fully compliant within the hour,” Dr. Hayes assured me. “But Adrian, I need to stress that we’re entering dangerous territory. Much higher dosages could cause permanent cognitive damage.”
“And if we reduced the frequency instead of increasing the strength?”
“Her natural resistance would reassert itself more quickly. The nightmares suggest her subconscious is already fighting the suppression. Give her too much time between treatments, and she might recover memories we’ve worked very hard to bury.”
Memories we’ve worked very hard to bury. Indeed. The process of erasing Calla’s attachment to Alaric, her desperate search for Nathaniel, her growing awareness of my true nature—all of it had required months of careful calibration.
“Continue with the current protocol for now,” I decided. “But prepare contingency options. If her resistance increases further…”
“Understood.” Dr. Hayes packed up his supplies with efficient movements. “I’ll have alternative compounds ready by next week.”
After he left, I returned to my reports, but concentration proved elusive. Calla’s growing resistance was a problem that required careful management. Too much force would break her completely—and a broken Calla was useless to me. Too little, and she might recover enough awareness to become genuinely dangerous.
The balance was delicate, requiring constant adjustment and monitoring.
I was deep in consideration of possible solutions when shouting erupted from the front of the house. Female voices, raised in anger and what sounded like accusation. The commotion was loud enough to carry through the study’s heavy doors, which meant it was significant enough to require my attention.
What now?
I rose from my desk with irritation, straightening my tie as I prepared to handle whatever crisis had invaded my carefully controlled domain. Household staff were trained to manage disruptions quietly, discreetly. For something to escalate to this level…
The scene in the foyer was worse than I’d anticipated. Sabrina Keats stood in the center of the marble floor like an avenging angel, her blonde hair disheveled and her designer dress wrinkled as if she’d traveled here in haste. Thomas and two other security personnel surrounded her, but she was ignoring their attempts to escort her out.
And there, hovering at the edge of the chaos with that dreamy confusion that meant Dr. Hayes’s latest dose was taking effect, stood Calla.
Damn.
“Sabrina,” I said, my voice cutting through the commotion like a blade. “What are you doing in my home?”
She turned toward me with wild eyes, her composure completely shattered. “Adrian, darling. I saw the interview. You and your little pet playing house for the cameras.”
I descended the stairs slowly, noting Calla’s bewildered expression as she tried to process this unexpected intrusion into her medicated peace.
“You need to leave,” I said quietly. “Now.”
“Not until we talk,” Sabrina replied, her chin lifting in the kind of defiance that had once been amusing but was now simply inconvenient. “Not until you explain why you replaced me with this pathetic creature.”
The insult toward Calla made something dark stir in my chest—not protectiveness, exactly, but possessive irritation at someone daring to diminish what belonged to me.
“Calla,” I said without taking my eyes off Sabrina, “please go to the sitting room. I’ll handle this.”
My wife—because that’s what she was now, legally and practically—looked confused but obedient. The medication was working beautifully, keeping her calm and compliant even in the face of obvious hostility.
“My study,” I said to Sabrina once Calla had disappeared. “Now. Before you embarrass yourself further.”
Sabrina’s smile was sharp with triumph, as if being granted a private audience was exactly what she’d been hoping for.
The moment my study door closed behind us, she was on me—fingers clawing at my shirt, body pressing against mine with frantic hunger. Once, that urgency would have lit my veins on fire. Now it only scraped at me, hollow and unwanted, like a ghost clinging to flesh.
“I’ve missed you,” she whispered against my neck, her breath hot, hands fumbling at my tie. “Missed this. Missed us.”
I should have pushed her away immediately. Should have maintained the professional distance that the situation required. But there was something satisfying about her desperation, about the way she debased herself for my attention.
“Sabrina,” I breathed, the name rasping out of me. Her hands slid over my chest, igniting sparks where her fingers traced. I should’ve stepped back, but when her lips found my jaw—warm, wet, insistent—I leaned into the heat instead of away.
“You miss it—I know you do,” she murmured, hand slipping down with practiced ease. Bitterness bled into her tone, her voice shaking with both need and scorn. “That fragile little thing could never give you what I can.”
Frigid little mouse. The description of Calla was so wildly inaccurate that I almost laughed. If Sabrina had any idea how passionate my wife could be when properly motivated…
She kissed me harder, hands tugging, clawing, as if she could drag an answer from me with every desperate touch. I let her continue, silent, detached, while she unraveled at my feet.
“Why did you dump me?” The words cracked through her kiss, her breath ragged, her eyes wet with a grief she couldn’t mask. “What did she have that I couldn’t give you?”
Everything, I thought. She had Alaric’s love, Alaric’s child, Alaric’s entire world that I needed to claim.
But to Sabrina, I said simply, “She was what I needed at the time.”
“And now?” Her palm pressed over the hard line in my trousers, stroking slowly, deliberate, every movement sharpened with experience. Her smile was poison-laced sugar. “What do you need now, Adrian?”
Control. I needed absolute control over every aspect of my carefully constructed life. Including the inconvenient remnants of previous entanglements who threatened to disrupt my current arrangements.
“I need you to be reasonable.” My hand clamped around her wrist, halting her touch mid-stroke. “What we had is gone. Dead.”
“It doesn’t have to be.” Her eyes shimmered, wet with tears she refused to let fall. Her voice trembled with desperate bargains. “I could be discreet. Your little wife would never have to know.”
Discreet. The offer had merit, actually. Sabrina knew how to be useful when properly motivated, and her family’s connections could benefit my business interests. Plus, there was something appealing about having both—the perfect public wife and the passionate private mistress.
“That’s an interesting proposition,” I said carefully.
Hope blazed in her eyes. “You’re considering it?”
“I’m considering whether you can be trusted to maintain appropriate boundaries,” I corrected. “Whether you understand that my marriage is not open for negotiation.”
“I understand,” she said quickly. “I just… I just need to know I haven’t lost you completely.”
The vulnerability in her voice stirred that familiar satisfaction. Another woman desperate for my attention, willing to accept scraps of affection rather than face the reality of my indifference.
“Perhaps we could arrange something,” I said, deliberately vague. “Occasional meetings. Business dinners where your father’s connections might prove useful.”
“Yes,” she breathed, pressing herself into me like she could mold our bodies back into one. “Anything. I just… I need to see you sometimes.”
“But if you ever disrupt my home again—if you so much as unsettle my wife or create another public scene—”
“I won’t!” she cut in, frantic. Her hands shook against my chest, her eyes wide with pleading fire. “I’ll be perfect. Invisible. Whatever you need me to be.”
Whatever I need you to be. Again and again, they said it. Again and again, they bent, broke, bled themselves dry just to stay within reach. Each time, it wound tighter around my veins—power, devotion, surrender.
It was a drug, and I was long past pretending I wasn’t addicted.
“Then we understand each other,” I murmured, stepping back at last, tugging my clothes into place as if she hadn’t nearly torn them off. “Thomas will see you out. Quietly.”
She left with tears bright as jewels and promises sharp as barbs, and I stood still until the echo of her heels faded. Then, slowly, I retied my tie, smoothed my hair, and pressed out the wrinkles. Scrubbing away Sabrina, restoring Adrian—the man Calla would see when I walked back into the room.
I found my wife exactly where I’d left her, curled in the sitting room with that peaceful expression that meant Dr. Hayes’s work was progressing perfectly. She looked up when I entered, her eyes soft with medication and trust.
“Is everything resolved?” she asked.
“Everything,” I assured her, settling beside her and noting how she immediately leaned into my warmth. “Just an unfortunate misunderstanding that won’t be repeated.”
“Good,” she murmured contentedly. “I don’t like disruptions to our peace.”
Our peace. Built on lies and chemical manipulation, but peace nonetheless. And now, with Sabrina properly managed and Calla perfectly compliant, I could return my attention to more important matters.
Like ensuring this perfect balance remained undisturbed for as long as I needed it to.