Free Web NovelChapter 87: Chapter 87
In the end, Dylan offered no parting words. He simply turned and walked away, his silhouette tense with a cold, simmering fury.
Elise didn’t need to ask where he was headed. He was going to Orchard Residence. After what Quinn had done to Robin, Dylan would never let her off lightly.
Given his ruthless nature, Quinn’s impending ruin was practically guaranteed. Yet, none of it truly mattered to her anymore. Both of them—Quinn and Dylan—belonged to a Chapter of her life she desperately needed to close.
Except, drawing that line wouldn’t be easy.
Her hand drifted instinctively to her lower abdomen, tracing the faint curve beneath her clothes. Now that her pregnancy was out in the open, separating from him would be a bureaucratic and emotional nightmare.
After today’s chaos, Dylan would only tighten his grip, guarding his domain—and her—more fiercely than ever.
"Mommy..." A fragile, slurred whisper broke the heavy silence.
Elise snapped out of her daze and turned to the hospital bed. Robin’s eyes were open, glassy and unfocused.
"Robin," she murmured, leaning over to gently brush her fingers against his pale cheek. "Does your head still hurt?"
"Mm, it hurts," he mumbled, his small rims flushing red as tears welled up. "Mommy... can you hold me?"
Elise’s hand froze. "What’s wrong, sweetheart?"
"I had a horrible dream." His voice trembled, laced with a child’s raw vulnerability. "Someone pushed me... pushed me from behind, and then everything went dark. Mommy, I’m scared."
A sharp, agonizing ache pierced her chest. She knew it wasn’t a dream.
"It’s over now, it was just a bad dream," she lied softly, smoothing his chaotic hair. "You’re safe. But the doctor said you have to rest and stay very still. How about Mommy reads you a story instead?"
He nodded quickly, eager for comfort. "Okay."
Pulling out her phone, Elise found a collection of fairy tales online. Soon, her low, rhythmic voice washed over the sterile room.
There was an innate, maternal warmth to her cadence—a soothing balm that steadily quieted the boy’s racing heart. As the panic receded, Robin weakly reached out, his tiny, pale fingers hooking tightly around her pinky.
Elise paused, looking down at the small hand anchoring itself to her.
"Mommy," he whispered drowsily, "when I hold your hand, the monsters go away."
Her heart melted, a bittersweet ache settling in. "Don’t worry," she promised, smiling tenderly. "Mommy is right here. I’m not going anywhere."
A faint glimmer of relief crossed his face. "Then I’ll be a good boy and get well fast."
"I know you will. Now, close your eyes."
As she resumed reading, the lingering anesthesia and blood loss took their toll. Robin’s eyelids grew heavy, finally fluttering shut.
Yet, even in the depths of sleep, his grip on her finger never wavered. When Elise tried to gently slide her hand away, his small brow instantly furrowed, his knuckles tightening in a panicked reflex.
After a few futile, agonizingly careful attempts, she relented. The trauma had cut deep. He tossed restlessly, whimpering brokenly and murmuring "Mommy" in his sleep. Each time, she would softly stroke his chest and hum a low, familiar lullaby until his breathing evened out.
By the time he finally succumbed to a deep, peaceful slumber, Elise was entirely spent. The sheer emotional toll of the day caught up to her in a wave of exhaustion.
Resting her chin on her free hand, her own eyes grew unbearably heavy, and she drifted off right there against the edge of the mattress.
Through the fog of sleep, a familiar, crisp scent of juniper enveloped her senses. Before she could fully process it, the sensation of weightlessness took over as strong arms lifted her off the chair.
Elise jolted awake, her eyes snapping open to find herself staring directly into a pair of deep, obsidian eyes. For a terrifying beat, her mind stalled. She was cradled against Dylan’s chest.
Seeing her awaken, his expression remained unreadable, utterly composed. "Sleeping like that will wreck your neck, and you’ll catch a chill," he said, his voice a low rumble. "I’m carrying you to the lounge next door."
Her warmth instantly vanished, replaced by an icy armor. "I’m awake. Put me down."
"You need rest. You’re pregnant."
"No." Her tone sharpened into a blade. "I said, put me down."
Dylan paused in the doorway, his gaze boring into hers. Elise stared back, unflinching, her eyes burning with stubborn defiance. "Dylan, I won’t ask again. Set me down." freeweɓnovēl.coɱ
A quiet, resigned sigh escaped his lips. Yielding to her fierce resistance, he carefully lowered her until her feet found the cold floor. The moment she stabilized, Elise pointedly smoothed her clothes and threw a protective glance back at Robin.
"He’s fine," Dylan said softly, anticipating her fear. "Robin is sleeping soundly. I’ve already had Oliver call down Doctor Crane from Obstetrics. She’s on her way."
Elise’s brows knit together. "Why?"
"To check your back." His demeanor hardened with gravity. "You’re only in your first trimester. As the baby grows, the strain on your spine will only worsen. If you’re already in pain, we cannot ignore it."
She bit the inside of her cheek. He wasn’t wrong; she had already intended to see a doctor about the worsening ache. But receiving his calculated care only made the invisible wall between them feel more suffocating.
"My body is my own business," she replied flatly. "You don’t need to play the savior."
A flash of irritation crossed his handsome features. "You are my wife, carrying my child. Ensuring your health isn’t charity; it’s my duty."
A brittle, humorless laugh escaped her. "How touching, Mr. Bennett. But you’re a man with an empire to run. I can manage a minor ache without wasting your precious time."
His jaw tightened, the atmosphere turning suffocatingly heavy. "Resent me all you want," he grated out, "but the reality remains. We are married. As your husband and the father of this child, I am fulfilling my obligations."
Elise pinched the bridge of her nose, fighting a rising headache. The most infuriating part was his absolute, unassailable logic. He was right.
Before the argument could escalate, Doctor Crane and a postpartum rehabilitation specialist arrived, cutting the tension. With Mrs. Lander back in the room to watch Robin, Elise was escorted to the adjacent lounge.
She lay on the examination bed, staring at the ceiling as the specialist gently palpated her lower back.
"There’s some notable pubic symphysis separation," the specialist noted thoughtfully, "along with a likely mild lumbar disc herniation. Nothing critical, but typical for a body that has previously undergone the trauma of childbirth." Jotting down some notes, she looked up with a professional smile. "When did you have your first child?"
In an instant, the room turned deathly cold. The air itself felt brittle, on the verge of shattering.
Elise’s gaze flickered to Dylan before she slowly, painfully closed her eyes.
"Five years ago," she whispered, the words scratching at her throat. "An emergency C-section."
Blind to the suffocating atmosphere, the doctor continued probing. "And what were their birth weights?"
Elise’s breath hitched completely. Her fingers violently clamped around the crisp hospital bedsheets, her knuckles turning stark white. But before she could force the painful truth out, a low, gravelly voice cut through the quiet.
"They were twins," Dylan said. His throat bobbed with an agonizing tightness, his eyes locked entirely on her pale face. "A boy and a girl. Born a week before full term. The boy was 2,308 grams. The girl was 2,556 grams."
Elise’s eyes flew open. She stared at him, her heart hammering against her ribs in sheer disbelief. He remembered. Down to the exact, agonizing gram, he had memorized the weights of the children they lost.
The specialist, entirely misreading the heavy silence, offered a warm smile.
"Twins? A boy and a girl? How wonderful! Carrying twins naturally compounds the physical toll on the mother’s spine. But given your exceptional genes, Mr. and Mrs. Bennett, I’m sure they are absolutely beautiful children."
The innocent praise struck like a physical blow. Elise’s eyelashes trembled violently as a phantom blade pierced her chest. Beautiful. Yes, they would have been breathtaking.
Beside the bed, Dylan’s hand slowly closed into a tight, trembling fist, his gaze burning into hers with a raw, unspoken torment.
Elise looked back at him, her defenses completely shattered. Then, a faint, phantom smile touched her lips—a hollow, devastating expression that carried a thousand times more grief than any tear.
"The babies came too early," she whispered, her voice cracking beneath the weight of a five-year-old ghost. "By the time the emergency surgery was over... neither of them was breathing."
The fragile, tragic smile remained fixed on her face, completely empty. Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears as she looked through him.
"Even now... I still don’t know what my children looked like."
