Chapter 65 - 64 Luck On My Side
EMILY
The sharp smell of medicinal alcohol clings stubbornly to my skin.
Thick, pristine white gauze wraps tightly around both of my palms. The estate doctor spent twenty minutes meticulously cleaning the dirt from my torn blisters before applying a generous coat of cooling antiseptic ointment. The sharp, biting pain from my training session is finally gone. A dull, pulsing ache replaces it, but it is entirely manageable.
In those twenty minutes, all I thought about was the conversation I had with Alistair in the bathroom. He probably won’t understand just how much his support means to me. Since my mother passed away, I’ve never had anyone sincerely root for me and support my dreams. And now, Alistair is doing exactly that. Even if he’s doing it only because I’m carrying his heir, he has still done more for me than anyone in my life right now.
I stand in the center of the massive master bedroom. The heavy velvet curtains are drawn open, revealing the dark Asuir night sky outside the glass balcony doors.
Alistair stands a few feet away. He watches me inspect my newly bandaged hands. He has discarded his charcoal suit jacket. His crisp white dress shirt stretches taut across his broad shoulders and chest. His normally immaculate dark hair falls slightly out of place, giving him a less severe, more approachable look.
"Let me make my position absolutely clear," Alistair says. I know he’s about to do that thing where he is nice to me one minute and then absolutely mean the next. His voice is a steady, resonant baritone that easily commands the large room. "Your primary role in this arrangement is to ensure a safe pregnancy. I expect you to prioritize your physical health and avoid unnecessary physical trauma."
I drop my bandaged hands to my sides. I nod once, acknowledging the terms of our contract. "I understand completely."
"However," he continues. He takes a slow, deliberate step forward. The polished leather of his shoes makes no sound on the thick carpet. "I have no interest in restricting your personal freedom. You are an autonomous adult. You are not a prisoner in this house. As long as your actions do not jeopardize the child or interfere with a healthy upbringing, you will meet absolutely no opposition from me."
I stop breathing for two full seconds.
I stare at his handsome, serious face. My entire life has been defined by people trying to control me. Thomas Vance viewed me as a convenient bargaining chip to be traded for corporate investments. Julian Thorne saw me as a naive, predictable fool to be manipulated. My own stepmother locked me in a dark, mildewed room to starve me into submission.
Alistair Wolfe just looked me in the eye and validated my right to exist as a free, independent person.
A massive wave of profound gratitude crashes over me. It hits me with such force that my knees feel slightly weak. A tight knot forms in the back of my throat. Moisture pricks the corners of my eyes. I bite down hard on my lower lip to keep it from trembling.
Alistair stops walking. He tilts his head. A distinct, deep crease forms between his dark eyebrows. "Why are you looking at me like that?"
I blink rapidly to clear my vision. I force a wide smile. "I’m just incredibly thankful. You treat me like a human being with actual rights. That is a very rare experience for me."
Alistair studies my face. He clearly does not know how to handle raw emotional vulnerability. He shifts his weight, looking genuinely puzzled by my intense reaction to a simple statement of basic respect.
"I also have some good news," I say. I change the subject quickly before the atmosphere becomes too heavy. "I successfully resolved the entire situation with Silas Hunt."
Alistair goes perfectly still. The relaxed posture vanishes. "You did what?"
"I handled it." I lift my chin.
"How exactly did you manage that?" He crosses his arms over his chest. His eyes narrow. "Silas Hunt is a volatile, unpredictable street thug. You are a medical student with bandaged hands."
I give him the complete breakdown. I describe the ridiculous, tense encounter outside Bordeaux 101. I detail Silas showing up in his black SUV to harass Dr. Aris. I explain the exact terms I negotiated using the doctor’s influence as leverage. I tell him about the demand for medical records and the ironclad promise to leave Aunt Cherry and her daughter completely alone.
Alistair listens in absolute silence. He processes the information with clinical precision, absorbing every tactical detail. When I finish the story, he lets out a short, breathy scoff.
"You have a ridiculous amount of luck on your side," he says. He shakes his head slowly. "If Dr. Aris hadn’t been your lunch companion, that confrontation would have ended very differently."
"Luck favors the prepared." I grin sheepishly. My cheeks stretch with the movement.
The mention of my lunch date at Bordeaux 101 triggers a sudden, urgent memory. I snap my fingers. The sudden movement pulls painfully at the medical tape securing my bandages. I wince, but push past the discomfort.
"The money." I turn my back to him and walk over to the heavy mahogany desk positioned near the window. "I need to give you something."
I pull open the top drawer. I extract a sheet of thick, cream-colored stationery. I pick up a heavy, gold-plated fountain pen. The thick layers of gauze on my hands make holding the sleek metal barrel incredibly awkward. I grip the pen tightly and write out a formal IOU document. I clearly document the exact sum of one million dollars. I explicitly write down my promise to repay the principal amount plus the standard bank interest rate.
I turn around and hold the paper out to him.
Alistair takes the stationery. His dark eyes scan my messy, scrawled handwriting. The corner of his mouth twitches upward. He looks highly amused.
"You wrote me a formal, interest-bearing contract for a restaurant tab." He looks up from the paper. "What do you actually need a million dollars for again?"
"I didn’t have enough cash for lunch." I shift my weight from one foot to the other. "Asking you for exactly twenty thousand dollars felt incredibly petty. It seemed silly to bother you for such a small transfer. Plus, like I told you on the call, I need funds for the upcoming school semester. I have to cover tuition, expensive medical textbooks, and laboratory fees. I figured it would be much more practical to borrow a lump sum all at once."
"Your logic is perfectly sound." Alistair folds the heavy paper in half with crisp precision. He slips the document into his trouser pocket. "But a million dollars is a highly excessive amount for textbooks and a plate of truffle risotto."
Warmth creeps up the back of my neck. I look down at my white sneakers, but I don’t see the need to hide anything from him. "I’m going to use the rest of the funds to start a small business."
"A business." He arches a single dark eyebrow. "What kind of business?"
I look up and flash him a playful smile. "That is a strictly guarded secret. You will find out when I become your direct corporate competitor."
Alistair actually lets out a low, quiet sound of amusement. It is a rare, genuine reaction that transforms his usually stoic face.
I stand there in the center of the room. I look at the man standing in front of me. His towering height and broad shoulders usually intimidate everyone he meets. Right now, he just looks incredibly reliable and solid. A deep, anchoring sense of respect settles permanently into my bones. He is my fake husband, but he is a vastly better partner than anyone I have ever known.
*Husband.*
The word echoes loudly in my brain.
A sudden, incredibly vivid memory crashes into my skull like a runaway freight train. The other day. The urgent, chaotic phone call that challenged me to think on my feet. Alistair needed a distraction to get rid of a woman, who I later found out was named Naya Zone. Leo told me she was a persistent and aggressive admirer who had strong connections.
*Husband, I love you!*
I had said those exact words right into the phone receiver. I called him honey. I told him to come home early so I could cook for him. I acted like a completely obsessed, hopelessly devoted wife. I laid the affection on thicker than wet cement.
The memory acts like a lit match dropped directly into a pool of gasoline.
Extreme heat explodes across my cheeks. A violent, stinging blush rushes all the way up my neck and saturates the tips of my ears. My entire face turns into a burning furnace in less than three seconds. The embarrassment is absolutely suffocating. I drop my gaze to the floor instantly. I want the marble tiles to open up and swallow me whole.
Alistair steps closer. His polished leather shoes enter my downward field of vision.
"Why is your face entirely red?" he asks. He leans in slightly. He inspects my brightly flushed skin with an analytical gaze. "Have you been drinking?"
"No." I squeak. My vocal cords betray me completely. The word sounds like a dying mouse. I clear my throat aggressively and try again. "I’m not drunk. I haven’t had a single drop of alcohol."
"You look like you have a severe fever."
"I’m...I’m just overheated." I spin around quickly. I actively avoid looking anywhere near his handsome face. "The temperature in this room is absolutely ridiculous. The heating system must be broken. I need some fresh air right now."
I march straight toward the glass balcony doors. I slide them open with my bandaged hands, ignoring the friction against my palms. I step out into the cool, dark Asuir night and pray the breeze hides my complete and utter humiliation.