Chapter 42: Test results
By eight o’clock the next morning, the rain had stopped, leaving bright sunlight pouring through the balcony glass.
A quiet knock sounded at the door.
Aaron, still sitting in the chair by the bed, raised his head. His dark hair was slightly messy, his jaw covered in faint dark stubble, but his eyes were completely sharp.
He slowly slid his hand out of Isabella’s warm grip and stood up.
He opened the door to find the doctor standing in the hallway, holding a thin leather folder against his chest. The doctor looked nervous, his eyes darting toward the bed where Isabella was still sleeping peacefully.
"Mr. Kazarov," the doctor said in a low voice. "I have the results from the lab. Could I speak with you privately for a moment?"
Aaron turned his head back toward the bed. He gestured to two of his armed guards standing down the hall. "Watch the door. Nobody goes in."
He stepped out into the quiet corridor, letting the heavy door click shut behind him. He leaned his shoulder against the wall, folding his arms. "Speak."
The doctor opened the folder, thumbing through the pages. "Her white blood cell count is slightly elevated, which confirms a mild systemic infection caused by physical exhaustion and prolonged emotional strain. The intravenous fluids have already stabilized her hydration levels, and her liver and kidney functions are completely normal."
The doctor paused. He looked up from the paper, hesitating for a long beat.
"What is it?" Aaron asked, his voice dropping into a dangerous, low rumble.
"Mr. Kazarov... there is something else," the doctor murmured. He pulled the last page from the back of the file and handed it over. "The routine screen we ran alongside her blood work."
Aaron took the paper. His dark blue eyes moved down the printed lines of black text, passing over the clinical terms until they landed on a single line near the bottom.
’HCG Serum Test: Positive.’
The hallway fell dead silent.
Aaron didn’t move at all for a few seconds.
He simply stared at those four letters printed on the smooth white sheet. Five seconds passed. Ten. Twenty.
The paper stayed perfectly still in his large hand. His breathing didn’t even alter, but his broad shoulders went completely rigid under his shirt.
The doctor swallowed hard, clearing his throat quietly. "Given the levels, she is likely around four to five weeks along. It is very early."
Aaron finally looked up from the page. His face was a blank, unreadable mask, but his eyes were so cold and deep they looked almost black.
"Does anyone else know about this?" Aaron asked softly.
"No, sir," the doctor replied instantly. "The lab sent the results directly to my encrypted file. Only you and I have seen this document."
"Good," Aaron said. He folded the paper in half, then in half again, slipping it into the inner pocket of his jacket. "She doesn’t know."
"She would need to take extra care," the doctor said. "And given her state of shock and fever over the last few days, she may not have realized her body was changing yet."
Aaron stared at the closed bedroom door for a long moment. "She’s sick. Her body is weak. She needs to hear this from a proper physician when she is fully recovered and stable. Not today. You will keep this out of her medical file for now."
"Of course, Mr. Kazarov," the doctor bowed his head. "I will prescribe safe, mild vitamins that won’t interfere with her recovery."
By late afternoon, the fever had completely broken.
Isabella woke up to the soft rustle of linen and the faint smell of hot chicken broth. The burning heat in her chest was gone, replaced by a light, pleasant tiredness. She shifted on the mattress, pushing herself up against the plush pillows.
"Don’t move too fast," a deep voice purred from the edge of the bed.
Before she could even respond, Aaron was there. He sat on the edge of the mattress, pulling the tray of soup closer.
He didn’t say a single word about the doctor’s test results.
He didn’t mention the paper sitting in his jacket pocket. But something in him had shifted.
The light, sarcastic teasing from the day before was entirely gone. He was quieter now, his movements slower, his attention locked onto her with a fierce, suffocating intensity that filled the entire room.
He picked up a silver spoon, dipped it into the clear broth, and blew gently on it before holding it up to her lips.
Isabella blinked, her blind eyes turning toward him in utter disbelief. Her cheeks instantly flushed dark red.
"Aaron! I can feed myself! My arms aren’t broken!"
"Sit still and open your mouth, Princess," he said calmly, not moving the spoon an inch.
"You collapsed twenty-four hours ago because you don’t take care of yourself. So now I’m doing it."
"I am twenty-four years old, not a toddler!" she protested, her hands reaching out to grab the spoon from him.
Aaron easily shifted his wrist out of her reach, using his free hand to gently cup her jaw, holding her face steady while he fed her the small spoonful of broth.
"You’re my responsibility," he murmured softly as she was forced to swallow the soup. "Which means you eat when I tell you to eat, and you rest when I tell you to rest."
"You are unbelievable," she huffed, her face burning with embarrassment, though she couldn’t stop her heart from doing that strange, heavy flip in her chest.
He fed her half the bowl before letting her rest.
He personally refilled her water glass every time she took a sip, adjusted her blankets whenever she shifted, and sat right next to her bed for the rest of the evening, watching her with dark, steady eyes every single time she breathed.
He babied her so relentlessly that she felt completely helpless, buried under a heavy mountain of soft velvet and endless care.