Chapter 8 - The Clear Scan
Six weeks later, the crisp autumn breeze had begun to paint the maples along Gladwyne in fiery shades of red and gold. The violent war with the Moretti syndicate had ended swiftly; after Dominic dismantled Victor’s network, Moretti had sued for peace, relinquishing three major ports to the Rourke family just to keep Dominic from burning down his empire.
Tessa sat in the bright, sunny living room of their estate, wrapped in an oversized cashmere sweater. Her hair was growing back—soft, dark curls like downy feathers covering her scalp. For the first time in eight months, she wasn't wearing a wig or a silk scarf.
Dominic walked into the room carrying a manila envelope that had just been hand-delivered by Dr. Evans's private courier. His face was unreadable, carved from the same hard marble that made grown men tremble across the eastern seaboard.
Tessa felt her heart leap into her throat. ""Is it the PET scan?"" she asked, her voice trembling slightly.
Dominic knelt before her, placing the envelope in her lap. He took both of her hands in his, his thumbs smoothing over the pale scar beneath her collarbone. The chemo port had been surgically removed three days prior; in its place was only a clean, flat suture line that would eventually fade into silver.
""Open it,"" he said softly.
With shaking fingers, Tessa tore open the seal, unfolding the two-page radiology report. Her eyes scanned frantically down the dense medical text, searching past the technical measurements and anatomical terminology until they landed on the bold concluding lines at the bottom of the page:
Conclusion: Complete Metabolic Response. No evidence of residual hypermetabolic malignancy or distant metastasis. Scan is negative for active neoplastic process.
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Tessa stared at the words, her breath hitching in her chest. ""Complete... response?"" she whispered, looking up at him, afraid to believe it. ""Dominic... it's gone. The cancer is completely gone.""
Dominic didn't say a word. He pulled her forward, burying his face into the soft crook of her neck, and the man who had terrified kings and criminals wept against her chest. He held her so tightly that she could feel the fierce, desperate pounding of his heart against her ribs, releasing eight months of silent terror into the autumn sunlight.
