Bound By The Billionaire's Golden Leash

The private clinic smelled of expensive lavender and antiseptic. It was quiet, the kind of quiet that money bought to hide its sins.

Eveline sat on the crinkly paper of the exam table. The room was freezing.

Dr. Aris, a woman with a face as sharp as her needles, snapped on a pair of latex gloves.

Vance stood by the door, arms crossed. A sentinel.

"What are we testing for?" Eveline asked, her voice small.

"Standard panel," Dr. Aris said, tying a rubber tourniquet around Eveline's upper arm. "Lipids, iron, liver function. And Beta-hCG."

The pregnancy hormone.

Eveline tried to pull her arm back. "I have the right to refuse."

"Actually," Vance spoke up from the door. "Under the terms of the Horn Family Trust, Article 4, Section C: The beneficiary must maintain 'optimal physical health' to receive stipends. Refusal to comply with medical directives issued by the Trustee constitutes a breach of contract."

He recited it like a robot.

"It means," Vance clarified, "you refuse the test, you lose the money. Your mother loses the house."

Eveline slumped. The fight drained out of her.

She watched the dark red blood fill the vial. It looked like life leaving her body.

He's going to find out. And then he's going to make me get rid of it.

"Lie back," Dr. Aris commanded.

Eveline lay down. The cold ultrasound gel hit her lower abdomen, making her flinch.

She squeezed her eyes shut. She didn't want to see the screen. She didn't want to see the tiny flicker of a heartbeat that would ruin her life.

Dr. Aris moved the wand around in silence. The machine hummed.

"Hmm," the doctor murmured.

Eveline's heart stopped. "What? Is something wrong?"

Before answering, Dr. Aris's gaze flickered to Vance, a microsecond of shared understanding that made the hair on Eveline's arms stand up. The doctor's professional mask was back in place instantly, but the shift had been there. She clicked a few buttons, printing out an image. She wiped the gel off Eveline's stomach with a rough towel.

"Get dressed. Wait in the hall."

The next twenty minutes were an eternity. Eveline sat in the plush waiting room chair, her leg bouncing nervously. She Googled "forced abortion laws New York" on her phone, her fingers numb.

Finally, the door opened.

Vance walked out. He held a manila envelope. His face was a blank slate. He didn't hand her the official-looking folder from the doctor's desk, but a single, crisp sheet of paper that had been folded and tucked into his inner jacket pocket.

Eveline stood up. "Well?"

Vance handed her the single sheet of paper.

Eveline grabbed it. Her eyes scanned the numbers frantically until she found the line labeled hCG.

< 5 mIU/mL.

Negative.

Eveline stared at the number. She blinked. Negative?

But the nausea. The missed period. The intuition.

"I'm... not pregnant?" she whispered.

"Apparently not," Vance said. "Stress can cause similar symptoms. False pregnancy."

A wave of relief crashed over her, so powerful her knees buckled. She wasn't pregnant. She wasn't carrying a child into this war zone.

But then, the relief was washed away by a strange, hollow ache.

And then, fear.

If she wasn't pregnant, she had no leverage. And worse-Fulton had no reason to hold back.

"Mr. Horn is downstairs," Vance said. "Let's go."

Eveline crumpled the paper in her hand. She had survived the medical check. But now she had to face the man who had ordered it.