Chapter 3 - The Doctor’s Verdict
The private medical suite on the east wing of the Sterling estate smelled faintly of antiseptic and lavender.
Dr. Harrison, a distinguished physician with silver hair and a calm, reassuring bedside manner, closed his diagnostic tablet and adjusted his glasses. He looked across the examination table at Marcus Sterling, who stood by the window with his arms crossed over his chest, staring out into the dark expanse of the gardens.
"Well, Marcus," Dr. Harrison said quietly, lowering his voice so the children resting in the adjoining recovery room wouldn't hear. "Physically, they’re exhausted, malnourished, and suffering from the effects of chronic stress and poor sanitation. The little girl, Daisy, has a mild upper respiratory infection that would have turned into pneumonia within a week if they’d spent another night on the streets. Ethan is resilient, but he’s carrying a weight no ten-year-old should ever have to bear."
Marcus nodded slowly, his jaw tight. "Can we reverse the damage?"
"With proper nutrition, medical care, and a stable environment? Absolutely. Children are remarkably resilient," Harrison replied. He hesitated, tapping his pen against the metal tray. "Marcus... I couldn't help but notice the resemblance. The boy... he has your eyes. Exactly your eyes."
"He’s my grandson," Marcus stated simply, leaving no room for argument or disbelief.
Dr. Harrison raised his eyebrows in quiet astonishment, though he knew better than to pry into the tangled, scandal-ridden history of the Sterling family. "I see. Well, if you need DNA confirmation for legal guardianship or estate documentation, I can run a discrete marker test using their hair samples tonight. Given the corporate vultures circling your board, you’ll want ironclad legal proof before you make any official announcements."
"Run it," Marcus said flatly. "And make sure the lab results go directly to my personal safe, not the corporate registry. I don't want a single person in this house—or on the board—knowing until I'm ready to drop the hammer."
"Understood."
As the doctor packed his medical bag and slipped out through the private service corridor, Marcus walked into the adjoining room.
The bedroom was massive, decorated in muted tones of cream and navy, featuring a king-sized bed that swallowed the two small children. Daisy had fallen fast asleep against the pillows, her breathing now deep and even under the care of a heated blanket and an intravenous saline drip that had gently rehydrated her.
Ethan sat on the edge of the mattress, fully awake, clutching a glass of warm milk that a maid had brought up earlier. He looked up as Marcus entered, his posture instantly stiffening into a defensive defensive crouch.
"You don't have to stay here, Mr. Sterling," Ethan said, his voice cautious. "I can watch my sister. You've already given us food and a place to sleep. We'll leave in the morning before anyone wakes up."
Marcus walked over and sat down in the armchair beside the bed. The heavy velvet fabric groaned under his weight. He looked at the boy—really looked at him—not as a problem to be solved, but as a living piece of Clara that had somehow survived the wreckage he had allowed his father to create.
"You aren't going anywhere, Ethan," Marcus said softly. "This is your home now. Whether you want it to be or not."
"Why?" Ethan asked, his gray eyes flashing with a sudden, raw defiance. "Why do you care? You didn't even know we existed until twenty minutes ago. Rich people don't just pick up stray kids off the street out of the goodness of their hearts. What's the catch?"
Marcus let out a dry, humorless chuckle. The boy was too smart for his own good—a trait he undoubtedly inherited from Clara, who had never let Marcus get away with a single polite excuse during their youth.
"You're right. Men in my position don't do things without a reason," Marcus admitted, meeting the boy's gaze head-on. "The catch is simple, Ethan: I spent my entire life building an empire because I thought I had nothing left to lose. I let my father dictate my choices, I let deceit run my life, and in the end, I built a gilded cage. Your mother paid the price for my cowardice."
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.
"I can't bring Clara back," Marcus continued, his voice dropping into a rough, gravelly whisper. "I can't undo thirty-five years of silence and suffering. But what I can do is make sure that the people who lied to me, the people who drove her away, and the corporate jackals waiting to tear my legacy apart pay for every single tear your mother shed."
Ethan stared at the old man. At ten years old, he didn't understand the full scope of corporate warfare or family betrayals, but he understood one thing: survival. He knew the look of a man who had nothing left to lose, because he saw it in the mirror every morning.
"You want to fight them?" Ethan asked quietly.
"I want to burn their world to the ground and rebuild it with you and your sister standing beside me," Marcus said fiercely. "Are you with me, son?"
May you like
Ethan looked down at his sleeping sister, whose small hand was curled into a fist against the blanket. Then he looked back at the multi-billionaire tycoon who held the keys to a kingdom.
Slowly, deliberately, Ethan nodded. "Tell me what we do first."
