Chapter 3 - The Doctor in the HouseThe morning sun broke over the crashing waves, flooding my room with golden light that did little to warm the heavy, oppressive atmosphere of the estate. By 8:00 a.m., there was a sharp, authoritative knock at my door.
Before I could answer, the door swung open, and a tall, silver-haired man in a tailored charcoal suit stepped inside. He carried a sleek leather medical case and looked at me with an expression of profound clinical disdain.
"You must be the new help," he said smoothly, his voice dripping with condescension. "I am Dr. Harrison Sterling. I handle the medical needs of this household—though I must say, Mr. Vance's sudden decision to hire an unqualified nursing student to manage Chloe's recovery strikes me as highly irregular."
I crossed my arms, standing my ground beside the small writing desk. "I'm a senior nursing student with clinical rotation experience in pediatric trauma and emergency triage. And given that Chloe was found locked in a wire crate with untreated wrist contusions and signs of severe psychological distress, I'd say your previous medical management of this household leaves a lot to be desired, Doctor."
Dr. Sterling's face flushed a mottled pink. He snapped his medical case shut with a sharp click. "Watch your tongue, young lady. You are entirely out of your depth. Chloe suffers from a rare, volatile neurological disorder accompanied by severe self-harm episodes. My protocol required strict isolation during her acute flare-ups to prevent her from injuring herself or others. Mr. Vance authorized it."
"Isolation is one thing," I snapped, stepping forward, my temper flaring past my professional restraint. "A dog crate in a damp, freezing warehouse is abuse, not medicine. If you ever sign off on putting a child in a cage again, I won't just report you to Marcus Vance—I'll report you to the state medical board."
Before Dr. Sterling could sputter a reply, the connecting door to Chloe's room clicked open.
Chloe stood in the doorway, wearing a pale blue silk robe that swallowed her small frame. Her dark hair was brushed smooth, framing a face that was still pale and drawn, but her eyes were wide and alert. She looked from the angry doctor to me, then slowly walked across the carpet and slipped her small, cold hand into mine.
My heart melted instantly. I looked down, offering her a soft, reassuring smile, before turning my attention back to the doctor.
"We need to run a complete blood panel," I told Dr. Sterling, my voice dropping back into a calm, professional register. "Check for electrolyte imbalances, dehydration markers, and baseline inflammatory proteins after her confinement."
Dr. Sterling glared at me, his professional ego severely bruised. "I will handle the medical directives, Miss Williams. You are here to wipe her nose and keep her quiet."
"Actually," a deep, cold voice echoed from the doorway, "she is here to ensure my daughter recovers."
Marcus Vance stepped into the room. He had changed into a sharp navy suit, his tie knotted to perfection, but the dark circles under his eyes betrayed a sleepless night. He looked at Dr. Sterling with a gaze that made the older man take an involuntary half-step back.
"Doctor," Marcus said slowly. "Did I hear Miss Williams correctly about the blood panel?"
"Mr. Vance, it's entirely unnecessary—"
"Order the tests," Marcus interrupted, his tone leaving zero room for argument. "And update your protocols, Sterling. If I ever find my daughter locked in anything smaller than a proper bedroom again, you won't have to worry about your medical license, because you won't have hands left to hold a stethoscope."
Dr. Sterling paled significantly, grabbed his medical case, and scurried out of the room without another word.
Marcus watched him leave, then turned his slate-grey eyes down to us. Chloe instinctively shrank back behind my leg, her fingers tightening around my thumb.
Marcus knelt down slowly, bringing himself down to her eye level. He didn't try to force her to come to him. He just looked at her with a quiet, devastating vulnerability that completely shattered the image of the ruthless mafia boss.
"Hey, pumpkin," Marcus whispered, his voice cracking slightly. "Are you hungry? Mrs. Gable made pancakes. Real ones. With strawberries."
Chloe stared at him for a long, agonizing moment. Then, very slowly, she peeked out from behind my skirt and gave a tiny, hesitant nod.
Marcus exhaled a breath he seemed to have been holding for years. He looked up at me, a silent, heavy expression passing between us.
May you like
Thank you, his eyes said.
I'm not doing it for you, my eyes replied. I'm doing it for her.
