Chapter 2 - The OB-GYN Appointment and the First Shadows
By Monday morning, my nerves were stretched to a breaking point. I managed to ship Ethan’s grandfather’s watch through a private courier without speaking to him directly, but his text message continued to echo in my mind. I needed medical confirmation before I could even process what my next move would be. The private OB-GYN clinic on the Upper East Side was discreet, quiet, and catering exclusively to high-profile clients who valued absolute confidentiality.
As Dr. Sterling moved the cold ultrasound wand across my lower abdomen, the rhythmic, rapid whoosh-whoosh of a tiny heartbeat filled the sterile examination room. Tears pricked my eyes before I could stop them. It was real. A tiny, fragile life was growing inside me, completely innocent of the dark underworld, the betrayal, and the cold empire its father commanded.
"Everything looks remarkably healthy, Mrs. Blackwood—or I suppose, Miss Hayes now," Dr. Sterling said gently, handing me a small, black-and-white printout showing a tiny grey speck. "You’re about five weeks along. Given your history and the high-stress environment you've recently navigated, I want you to rest as much as possible. High-stress cortisol levels can be dangerous during the first trimester."
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I thanked the doctor, clutching the ultrasound image tightly in my purse as I walked out into the crisp Manhattan air. But my brief moment of protective warmth evaporated the second I stepped onto the sidewalk. Across the street, parked casually near a coffee cart, was a sleek black town car with tinted windows—a vehicle style I recognized instantly. It belonged to Marcus Vance, a high-ranking enforcer for the Russian-Italian syndicate operating out of Brooklyn, and one of Ethan’s most vicious territorial rivals.
For months, tensions between Ethan’s organization and Marcus’s faction had been reaching a boiling point over shipping docks in New Jersey. Seeing one of Marcus’s surveillance cars stationed outside my private medical clinic wasn’t a coincidence. It was a terrifying realization. If Marcus’s men were watching me, it meant they knew about our divorce. And if they suspected that Ethan and I had spent one final night together before the ink dried, they would quickly calculate the possibility of an heir—turning my unborn child into the ultimate leverage against New York's most dangerous mafia boss.
