Chapter 178

Chapter 178

Vincent walked out in a black bathrobe, his hair still dripping wet.

He caught me frowning and a satisfied smile flashed in his eyes.

He came over and sat on the edge of the bed, his large hand skillfully pressing against the small of my back, gently kneading it.

"You're up?" He leaned down and kissed my forehead, his voice carrying the lazy ease of someone completely content.

"Thanks to you." I shot him a cold glare and pushed his hand away. "The European division team from Starlight Entertainment is coming in for a meeting today, and I can barely move."

"Push the meeting back." Vincent made the call without a second thought.

He pulled back the covers and scooped me up in his arms.

"What are you doing?" I startled and instinctively grabbed the collar of his bathrobe.

"Breakfast." Vincent carried me steadily out of the master bedroom. "You can't get out of bed, so I'm carrying you to the dining room."

"Put me down. I can walk on my own." I said through gritted teeth. With so many servants and bodyguards around the estate, being carried out like this — where would I put my face?

"No." Vincent's tone was firm, leaving no room for argument. "I told you. I'm keeping you close."

He carried me down the hall, ignoring the servants who kept their heads down to hide their expressions, and walked straight down the stairs.

I buried my face in his chest and gave up fighting entirely.

The dining room table was laid out with a full spread for breakfast.

Vincent set me down carefully on a cushioned chair.

"The head of the Corleone family, and this is what's on your mind all day?" I glared at him with a mix of annoyance and exasperation.

Vincent let out a soft laugh, braced both hands on the back of my chair, leaned down, and caught my lips in a slow, teasing bite.

"Around you, I can't help myself."

He pulled out the chair beside me and sat down, completely ignoring the waiting servants, and picked up his plate.

He cut a small piece of Beef Wellington and held it out to me on a fork.

I was too hungry to argue. I leaned forward and took a bite.

He fed me patiently, one bite at a time, until I'd gotten through most of the steak.

A servant brought over a steaming bowl of cream of mushroom soup.

The rich scent of cream and truffle drifted through the air.

Vincent scooped up a spoonful, blew on it gently, and brought it to my lips.

I leaned in — and the moment I did, that smell, which should have been appetizing, suddenly turned thick and nauseating.

My stomach lurched violently. Acid shot up my throat.

My face went pale. I shoved his hand away, clamped a hand over my mouth, pushed back my chair, and bolted for the bathroom on the first floor.

"Elena!" Vincent's expression shifted instantly. The spoon clattered against the bone china bowl with a sharp crack.

He came after me in long strides.

I hunched over the sink and brought up everything I'd just eaten.

My stomach cramped. Cold sweat slid down my forehead.

Vincent wrapped his arms tightly around me from behind, his hand moving urgently up and down my back, his voice edged with rare panic. "Get the doctor. Tell Bark's people to get here now."

Ten minutes later, the family physician from the medical team rushed into the master bedroom with his bag.

I was propped up against the headboard, pale-faced.

Vincent sat on the edge of the bed, gripping my hand, his dark eyes filled with a mix of fury and fear — like I'd been diagnosed with something terminal.

The doctor ran a full blood draw and instrument tests. The few minutes waiting for results made the air in the room feel impossibly heavy.

"Mr. Corleone. Miss Elena." The doctor looked at the readings on the monitor, adjusted his glasses, and his expression shifted from grave to surprised. "Congratulations. Miss Elena isn't sick. She's pregnant — based on the progesterone levels, approximately four weeks along."

The room went completely silent.

I froze.

My hand instinctively moved to rest on my flat stomach.

Growing up in the slums, I'd never let myself think about bringing a life into the world. The news hit me out of nowhere and left my mind completely blank.

Vincent didn't move.

That face of his, always so composed, was now stunned.

He stared at my stomach. His throat moved in a hard swallow. And then something fierce and wild lit up in his eyes — pure, overwhelming joy.

"I'm going to be a father." He murmured it like he couldn't quite believe it, then pulled me into his arms.

But the moment he held me, he went still.

The joy drained away. What replaced it was dread and regret.

He loosened his hold and his gaze dropped to my collarbone and neck, where my shirt had shifted —

They were covered in bruises he'd left the night before.

"Damn it." Vincent's face went white. He slapped himself across the face.

The sharp crack echoed through the room.

I flinched and grabbed his wrist. "What are you doing?"

"I'm sorry, Elena." He turned his hand and held mine, his voice rough, his eyes full of guilt. "Last night — I didn't know you were pregnant. I kept you up all night. I could have hurt you. I could have hurt the baby."

Watching this decisive, ruthless man look like a child who'd done something terribly wrong — something in my chest gave way.

"I'm fine, aren't I? Stop being dramatic."

But Vincent wasn't letting it go. He turned to the doctor, his eyes sharp and cold. "Her body took a bad chill in the Atlantic not long ago. Can she handle a pregnancy?"

"The initial assessment looks fine, but to be safe, I'd recommend a full OB exam at the hospital," the doctor said carefully.

Vincent immediately ordered the cars.

Half an hour later, the convoy pulled up to the top private hospital in central Zurich.

The entire obstetrics floor was locked down by Corleone family bodyguards.

I went through the ultrasound, bloodwork, and a full set of organ function tests.

Two hours later, the chief physician walked over to us personally with the results.

"Mr. Corleone, please don't worry. The care Miss Elena received recently has been very effective. Her physical condition has fully recovered. The uterine environment is healthy. She is absolutely capable of carrying this pregnancy."

At those words, the tension finally left Vincent's shoulders.

He let out a long breath and pulled me close.

We decided to keep the baby.

The private lounge was warm. I leaned against Vincent, holding a cup of warm milk.

His large hand rested over my stomach, impossibly gentle.

"If it's a boy, we'll name him Lyon." Vincent pressed his lips to the top of my head, his voice low and soft. "The heir to the Corleone family should be as strong as a lion."

"And if it's a girl?" I looked up at him.

"A girl..." Something very soft moved through his eyes. "Aurora. She'll be the most cherished princess in all of Europe and New York. I'll give her the best of everything in the world."

Dawn. I smiled. I loved that name.

We stayed at the hospital until the afternoon, and once all the numbers looked stable, we walked out of the building surrounded by bodyguards.