Chapter 3 - The Sanctuary
The gates of the Varela estate swept open without hesitation, welcoming our motorcade into the secluded sanctuary tucked deep within the rolling, wooded hills north of the city. High stone walls, discreet camera towers, and armed guards patrolling the perimeter made the property an impenetrable fortress. To the rest of the world, it was an intimidating symbol of the syndicate’s absolute authority. To me, it had become the only place where I could sleep without locking the bedroom door three times.
As the car came to a stop in the courtyard, Dr. Helen Ross was already waiting beneath the grand portico with her medical bag. Dominic had called ahead.
"Dominic, really, I’m fine," I protested as he helped me out of the vehicle. "It was just a shock. He didn't squeeze that hard—he was just trying to frighten me."
Dominic stopped on the granite steps, turning to face me. The wind ruffled his dark hair, exposing the razor-sharp edge of his jawline. "Frightening you is an unforgivable offense, Clara. And you are carrying the heir to everything I have built. Neither of you will endure an ounce of pain that I can prevent."
Without waiting for my permission, he swept me into his arms, lifting me effortlessly against his chest. I buried my face in his neck, feeling the rhythmic, unyielding thud of his heart. For months, I had lived under the delusion that accepting his protection meant trading one cage for another. But while Ethan had made himself big by making me feel small, Dominic used his immense, terrifying power to create a perimeter around me that no monster could cross.
Inside the master suite, Dr. Ross conducted a thorough examination while Dominic stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, his back turned out of respect for my modesty, though his reflection in the glass tracked every movement.
The cold gel of the portable ultrasound machine sent a shiver through me. A moment later, the room filled with the rapid, galloping rhythm of our baby’s heartbeat.
*Thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump.*
The tension in Dominic’s broad shoulders visibly broke. He turned around, his gaze locking onto the tiny monitor displaying the flickering gray image of the life we had created together. His expression shifted—the ruthless mob underboss vanished, replaced by an awe so raw and naked it made my throat ache.
"Strong and steady," Dr. Ross announced with a reassuring smile, wiping the gel away. "No signs of distress or uterine trauma. The bruising on her neck is superficial, though I’ll leave a topical ointment to reduce swelling. Bed rest for the remainder of the evening, Mr. Varela. Keep her stress levels nonexistent."
"Understood," Dominic said quietly.
Once the doctor was escorted out, Dominic walked over to the bed and sat on the edge of the mattress. He slipped off his watch and cuffs, then leaned forward until his brow rested against mine.
"He called you his wife," Dominic murmured, his voice thick with a dark, simmering emotion.
"I haven't been his wife in half a year," I whispered back, my fingers finding the collar of his shirt. "You know that. The divorce was finalized months before I met you."
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"I know," Dominic said, pressing his lips to the corner of my mouth. "And yet, he looked at you as if he still owned the right to hurt you. That ends today."
***
