His Illness Was A Weapon

Alyssa Carter POV:

The bed felt like a tomb, the crisp white sheets a stark reminder of Jackson' s sterile demands. Even in my current state, a dull ache thrumming in my skull from hitting the marble floor, my body instinctively stiffened, trying to avoid wrinkling them. Old habits, deeply ingrained, a prisoner' s reflex.

The door creaked open. Jackson. He stood at the threshold, holding a pristine white towel, carefully keeping his distance. His gaze flickered over me, devoid of warmth, before settling on the untouched sheets. His OCD, it seemed, was still very much a part of him. But I knew better now. It was selective. Only for me.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, his voice flat, formal. It wasn't concern. It was a formality, a prelude.

I said nothing, just stared at the ceiling. The silence stretched, thick with unspoken resentments. I thought of the pills scattered across the floor, the memory of Karma's choking face. And the searing realization that had followed: my own mind, once a sanctuary of logic and empathy, had become a weapon. I was a doctor, trained to heal, yet I had succumbed to a hatred so fierce it had driven me to violence. Was I truly sick? Or had his relentless cruelty finally broken something vital within me?

"Your hospital called again," Jackson continued, his voice cutting through my thoughts. He didn' t wait for my response. "They' ve made your leave of absence permanent. You're effectively fired, Alyssa."

My eyes snapped to his. The cold, calculated cruelty. He wasn't even pretending. "And what about my mother's treatment?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper. He funded that hospital. Her cancer treatment was cutting-edge, expensive, and entirely reliant on his family's philanthropy.

He ignored the question, stepping further into the room, his eyes hard. "You're a liability, Alyssa. A danger to yourself and to others. Especially to my family. And my child." He watched my face for a reaction, enjoying the pain he inflicted.

My chest tightened, a cold vice. "What do you want?" I asked, my voice barely audible.

His lips twisted into a cruel smile. "I've thought this through. We're a prominent family, Alyssa. Scandals are bad for business. For our reputation. So, here's what's going to happen." He paused, letting the words hang in the air, a sword above my head. "You will resign from your position, citing personal health reasons. Officially, you'll declare yourself unable to bear children. A tragic, unfortunate circumstance."

My blood ran cold. He wanted me to publicly admit to being barren. To take the blame for the childlessness between us, when it was his pathological fear of contamination that had made intimacy almost impossible.

"And then?" I asked, my voice rough.

"Then," he continued, as if dictating a business deal, "you will publicly embrace Karma's pregnancy. You will show support, even joy. You will help us raise our son. After all, you're so good with children, aren't you? And you'll have a child to care for, finally."

My mind reeled. He wanted me to raise his bastard child with his mistress, all while publicly admitting I was infertile. My own child, the one I had lost, the one he had never acknowledged, screamed in my memory. He wanted me to become the glorified nanny, the infertile, mentally unstable wife, publicly accepting her replacement and raising her lover's child. The audacity, the sickening cruelty of it, stole my breath.

"No," I whispered, the word a desperate plea, a last stand. "I won't. I'll divorce you. I'll take a quarter of everything, and I'll disappear. But I won't do this."

Jackson' s face hardened, all pretense of negotiation gone. His voice dropped, a chilling calm replacing his earlier anger. "Your mother's cancer treatment, Alyssa. Her experimental drugs. Her top-tier specialists. All funded by the York family foundation. If you refuse, if you cause any more trouble, that funding will stop. Immediately. Her doctors will be informed that the York family can no longer continue their patronage. And you know what that means for her, don't you?"

My breath hitched. My mother. Her fragile life, hanging by a thread, dependent entirely on his family' s immense wealth and influence. He knew my weakness. He knew my one unbreakable boundary. My mother was my everything.

"You wouldn't," I choked out, tears finally blurring my vision.

"Oh, I would," he said, his voice as cold and sharp as a surgeon's scalpel. "And don't even think about running to Blaise or my parents. I've already ensured they're out of contact, on an 'urgent business trip' to Europe. You're alone, Alyssa. Completely alone."

The air was sucked out of the room. My world, already shattered, crumbled completely. My mother. Her frail smile, her unwavering love. How could I sacrifice her for my pride? I couldn't. I simply couldn't.

My shoulders slumped. A suffocating wave of defeat washed over me, heavier than any physical blow. "I'll do it," I whispered, the words tasting like ash in my mouth. "I'll do whatever you want."

He nodded, a triumphant gleam in his eyes. "Good. The press conference is tomorrow morning. Be ready."

I lay there, staring at the ceiling, my body numb, my soul screaming. The humiliation, the self-loathing, the utter despair. I was a puppet, my strings being pulled by a monster. I had spent my life as a healer, someone who took control of shattered minds. Now, my own mind was shattering, and I was utterly, horrifyingly powerless. Tomorrow, I would step onto that stage, a walking corpse, and declare myself barren, a broken woman, all for the sake of my mother. The betrayal was complete. The control, absolute.