Chapter 25 GET A GRIP OF YOURSELF (Ethan’s POV)
Get a Grip of Yourself
Ethan’s POV
The moment I closed Demilia’s door behind me, I didn’t move.
I stood there, hand still on the doorknob, forehead lowered, breathing slowly through the storm clawing inside my chest. I could hear her inside...her soft, shaky breaths, the tiny shift of her weight on the bed, the muffled sound of Lena's whisper.
Everything about her was louder now, and much sharper.
More dangerous to me than any enemy I had ever faced.
“Dammit…”
I finally pulled my hand away and walked down the hallway, each step heavier than the last.
She looked better this morning. Less pale, less fragile, and that was a good sign.
But it wasn’t natural. Her sudden improvement wasn’t magic.It wasn’t luck either.
It was because of the treatment I ordered, quietly without her knowledge.
Because she would never accept help from me willingly…not after the damage I caused.
I exhaled sharply. I didn't have time to think about that. I had bigger fires to put out.
I reached the end of the hallway and stepped into my study, closing the door.
“Call Dr. Riven,” I ordered the wall intercom. “Right away, sir,” a voice responded.
My fingers drummed on the desk...slow, tight, controlled. The control was fake though, because I was just trying to put on a strong exterior. A thin layer of ice over a volcanic panic.
By the time I sat down, the screen embedded in my desk lit up. Incoming secured call from Dr. Riven. I hit the accept button immediately. His face appeared...serious, calm, too calm.
“Mr. Blackwell,” he greeted, nodding. “You requested an immediate update?”
I didn’t waste time.
“What did you put in her food?” I asked coldly.
Dr. Riven took a slow breath. He knew better than to play games.
“Herbal compounds,” he said. “Completely harmless. Designed to ease the uterine spasms and stabilize her blood pressure.”
My jaw clenched, waiting for more details.“And?”
“And her immune system was collapsing under stress. The illness is more complicated than the standard early-pregnancy conditions. Something is attacking the placenta.”
I froze, that was unbearable. Every muscle in my body went rigid.
“Explain.”
“She’s carrying a rare inflammatory response,” he continued. “It’s causing partial rejection.”
Rejection? How? The word echoed like a gunshot with no meaning.
My vision tightened for a second. I inhaled slowly… very slowly… forcing myself not to break through the screen and strangle the messenger.
“So?” I said, voice dangerously calm. “Is the baby safe?”
He hesitated without saying anything. Hesitation meant fear, and if I'm concerned, fear meant danger. I leaned forward. “Dr. Riven. Answer me now.”
His throat bobbed. “At the moment… yes. But the window is small. If she experiences one more severe episode like yesterday…”
My heart stopped for half a beat.
“…she risks miscarriage.” My breath left me like someone had punched me in the lungs.
Miscarriage? The word tore through me violently. I gripped the sides of my chair so hard the leather creaked.
Not this child that she cherished so much. Not after everything. Not after what I now knew...
what I found in my father’s archive, what she still didn’t know about herself, about her bloodline,
about her value, about why she was chosen.
Not after the years I spent looking for her.
“I want her monitored every second,” I said, voice low and dangerous. “If she so much as sneezes wrong, I want to know.”
“Yes, Mr. Blackwell.”
“And increase the herbal dosage.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And...” I paused, swallowing the heat rising in my throat.
“And keep everything confidential. She must never know you’ve treated her.”
Dr. Riven nodded. “Of course. Patient confidentiality...”
“No.” I cut him off. “Not confidentiality, fear.”
He blinked. “Fear?”
“Yes,” I said coldly. “Fear of me."
“Very well,” he whispered.
“And one more thing.” My voice lowered. “I want you to run a toxin analysis.”
His brows shot up. “You suspect poisoning?”
I stared at the desk, jaw locking tight.
“I don’t suspect,” I said. “I know something.” Because Demilia didn’t just fall ill, not the regular type. It was targeted, well timed, too precise for a mistake to occur.
Too coincidental after Drake’s reappearance, after Adrian’s sudden interest, after Vanessa started wandering around again. Someone wanted her weak, wanted her vulnerable, wanted the baby gone.
“Check for every toxin,” I ordered. “Every drug. Every herb. Every foreign element.”
Dr. Riven nodded quickly. “I’ll start immediately.”
“Good.”
I hung up before he could say another word. The silence that followed was suffocating, too suffocating for my liking. My hands trembled slightly.
Not from fear actually, but from rage. Someone dared to touch what was mine.
My jaw hardened. I stood abruptly, moving to the wall where the security screens displayed live footage from every corner of the mansion.
I scanned each one carefully. From the hallway, to the kitchen, to garden, servant quarters, my office, then her room. There she was, sitting on her bed with her head bowed, and hand on her stomach. My chest tightened painfully. She had no idea she wasn’t alone. No idea someone wanted the life inside her gone.
No idea that I...
“Dammit,” I whispered under my breath, turning away.
I couldn’t think like that.
I refused to to admit the thought that was creeping in. I walked to the bar cart but didn’t pour anything. I didn’t trust myself not to break the glass in my hand. Instead I pressed both palms against the counter, leaning forward, breathing slowly. Her face flashed through my mind.
Very pale, confused, and scared. She thought I drugged her. She thought I controlled her meals to torture her. She didn’t know I controlled her meals because I was terrified something...someone...would hurt her. Very terrified more than I can remember.
The word made me sick. I don’t feel fear. I destroy the things that try to scare me.
But this one... This was completely different. This wasn’t business.This wasn’t rivalry.
This wasn’t family legacy or power or bloodline obsession. This was...
No. No, it wasn’t that. It couldn’t be twgat I'm thinking it is. Love is for the weak. Love turns strong men into fools. Love makes you lose control. And I refuse...absolutely refuse...
to lose control because of a woman who flinches when I breathe near her. Yet my hands still shook, and my vision still blurred. My heart still reacted like a wild thing every time she whispered my name. I slammed my palm against the bar counter.
“Get a grip man.”