Chapter 7

The penthouse was quiet when they walked in. The guards remained by the elevator, a silent, muscular barrier to the outside world.

Helena set her purse down on the console table and turned around. Sitting on the sofa in the living room was a man she had never seen before. He was in his fifties, wearing a tweed jacket and holding a leather medical bag.

"Dr. Evans," Dante said, nodding at the man. "Thank you for coming on such short notice."

Helena's stomach dropped. "What is this?"

Dante ignored her, walking over to the doctor. "The test, please."

"Test?" Helena repeated, her voice rising. "What test?"

Dante turned to face her, his arms crossed over his chest. "You want me to believe that you weren't trying to trap me with a pregnancy? Fine. Prove it."

Helena stared at him, disbelief washing over her. "You want me to take a pregnancy test? Now?"

"A blood test," Dr. Evans said, standing up. He looked uncomfortable, his eyes darting between the couple. "It's the most accurate method, Mrs. Velasquez. We can have the results in ten minutes."

"And if it's negative?" Helena asked, her gaze locked on Dante. "If I'm not pregnant, will you sign the divorce papers?"

Dante's jaw tightened. He didn't answer. He just gestured toward the bedroom. "Go."

Helena felt a wave of humiliation so intense it burned her skin. He was treating her like a criminal, demanding evidence of a crime she hadn't committed.

But she knew arguing was useless. The only way out of this nightmare was to go through it.

She walked into the bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed. Dr. Evans followed, setting his bag down on the duvet. He pulled out a small tray, a vial, and a syringe.

Dante leaned against the doorframe, his arms still crossed, watching her like a hawk.

"Please make a fist, Mrs. Velasquez," Dr. Evans said softly.

Helena did. She stared at the abstract painting on the wall as the needle pricked her skin. She didn't flinch. She didn't look at the blood filling the vial. She just focused on the brushstrokes, the chaotic swirls of color that meant nothing.

When it was over, Dr. Evans capped the vial and left the room. Dante remained in the doorway.

The silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating. Ten minutes felt like ten hours. Helena sat perfectly still, her hands folded in her lap. Dante stared out the window, the city lights reflecting in his dark eyes.

A soft knock broke the silence. Dr. Evans stepped back into the room, holding a small slip of paper. He handed it to Dante.

"The results, Mr. Velasquez. Her hCG levels are normal. She is not pregnant."

Dante took the paper. He glanced at it for a fraction of a second, then let his arm drop to his side. There was no apology in his eyes. No relief. Just a blank, stony indifference.

"Thank you, Doctor," Dante said. "Send the bill to Alex."

Dr. Evans nodded, giving Helena a sympathetic look before scurrying out of the room.

Dante walked over to the vanity table and dropped the test result onto the polished wood. He looked down at Helena, his expression cold.

"Happy now?" he asked. "No baby. No trap. Now stop this nonsense and act like a wife."

He turned and walked out, pulling the bedroom door shut behind him. A second later, she heard the click of the lock engaging.

He had locked her in.

Helena sat on the bed, staring at the closed door. She walked to the floor-to-ceiling windows, the city lights glittering below. She tried the handle. It didn't budge. Of course. He would have had them fitted with smart locks he controlled remotely. This wasn't just a room; it was a gilded cage, and he held the only key.

Then she stood up and walked over to the vanity. She picked up the test result. The word "NEGATIVE" was stamped in bold red ink.

She had proven her innocence. She had shown him the truth. And his response was to lock her in her room like a disobedient child.

He didn't care about the truth. He only cared about control.

Helena looked at the paper in her hands. This was his evidence. His proof that she was innocent. And it meant absolutely nothing to him.

She gripped the edges of the paper and tore it in half. Then she tore it again, and again, until it was nothing but a pile of confetti on the vanity. She swept the pieces into the trash can, watching them fall.

She was done playing by his rules. She was done trying to prove herself to a man who refused to see her.

She walked over to the window and looked out at the city. Somewhere out there, a plane was waiting to take her to Berlin. She just had to find a way to get to it.