Chapter 8 Make a choice

The sterile scent of disinfectant clung heavily in the air. Machines hummed in a low rhythm, the only sounds filling the dim, private ward of Saint Marlowe Elite Medical Center.

Estelle stirred.

Her fingers twitched against the soft linens before her lashes fluttered open. Her throat burned. Her body ached. A stabbing pain gripped her lower abdomen, and her chest tightened.

Something was wrong.

Her eyes darted across the room, disoriented and glassy, until they landed on the familiar broad figure seated beside her, head bowed and fingers intertwined tightly with hers.

"Nathaniel?" she rasped, her voice hoarse and broken.

His head snapped up instantly. His eyes were bloodshot, dark circles framing them like bruises. He blinked rapidly, standing as he leaned closer.

"I'm here, Estelle." His voice cracked, and he clasped her hand more tightly. "You're okay... you're safe now."

A beat of silence.

Estelle's gaze drifted down to her stomach. Her other hand moved slowly, hesitantly, as if her body already knew what her mind hadn't accepted.

Flat.

No movement.

No flutter.

Gone.

Her breath caught in her throat, and suddenly the silence cracked like shattering glass.

"No..." she whispered.

Nathaniel swallowed hard. "Estelle-"

"No!" Her scream tore from her throat, hoarse and agonized. She pushed herself up despite the wires and pain, yanking at the IV until the monitor shrieked.

"The baby! Where is my baby?!" she sobbed violently, slamming her fists against Nathaniel's chest. "Nathaniel! Where is my baby?!"

He caught her wrists, trembling himself. "Estelle... I'm so sorry. They-they couldn't save-"

"No! No, no, no, no-" she cried, shaking her head violently, as if that alone could undo fate. "She was fine! She kicked this morning! I-I sang to her, she responded, Nathaniel, I-!"

He pulled her into his arms, wrapping her in a tight embrace even as she tried to fight him off.

"I should've protected her," she wept. "I should've held the railing... I should've-why did she do that to me?"

Nathaniel couldn't respond. He just held her as she broke into silent sobs, the sound of heartbreak loud and raw between the steady beeping of the machines. He stared at the ceiling with misted eyes and clenched his jaw hard enough to make his teeth ache.

After several minutes of silent devastation, Estelle sagged against him, weak and drained. Her hand curled into the fabric of his shirt like a lifeline.

"Promise me," she whispered. "Promise me Sheryl pays. Promise me she feels what it means to lose everything."

Nathaniel didn't hesitate. "I promise."

LATER THAT NIGHT - BACK AT THE STATION

Sheryl sat in the corner of the holding cell, her head bowed. The stark light made her bruises look worse-more raw, more real. Her fingers absently touched the cotton pad on her shoulder, eyes dull and unfocused.

The cell door opened.

She lifted her gaze slowly.

Nathaniel entered, dressed in all black, his expression unreadable and his presence thunderous.

"I see the prince has returned," she said dryly. "Shouldn't you be at the bedside of your fragile flower?"

Nathaniel's eyes narrowed. "You pushed her. That's not up for debate anymore."

"I didn't," she said quietly, without emotion. "But no one cares what I say, do they?"

"Because the evidence says otherwise," he snapped. "You grabbed her. She fell. She bled out in front of me, Sheryl. My child... died in her arms."

Sheryl's lip curled bitterly. "And that was your child?"

Nathaniel didn't blink. "Don't start."

"Why not? What if I said I don't believe it was yours?" she challenged, rising slowly. "You believe every tear that falls from her eyes, but you've never really listened to me, Nathaniel. Not once. You used me. You humiliated me. And now you want me to pay for your guilt."

He stepped closer to the bars. "You think this is about me?"

"I think you're playing judge and executioner when all you've ever done is run from your messes!" she hissed.

Nathaniel's fist slammed against the metal bars with a metallic clang that echoed through the cells.

"This isn't a game, Sheryl. Estelle nearly died! My baby is dead! And you-you're still here, mocking everything like it means nothing!"

"I didn't push her!" she screamed. "I tried to pull my hand back, and she wouldn't let go! She slipped-we slipped!"

Nathaniel's chest heaved.

"You expect me to believe that?"

"I don't care if you believe me," she whispered. "But I swear on my own miserable life-I didn't push her."

He stared at her for a long time. Then his voice turned cold, calculating.

"You have two choices."

Her brows knit.

"Leave Serbia. Disappear. Or I will personally see to it that you're convicted-not just for assault, but for the death of my child. I will bury your reputation, your legacy, and every ounce of sympathy you think you deserve."

Sheryl laughed bitterly. "You think banishing me makes you noble?"

"No," he said. "It makes me merciful."

Silence.

Then she stepped forward, hands gripping the bars.

"This city is my home. I was born here. I bled here. I loved here. And you want me to leave because of her?"

"Yes."

Sheryl's eyes shimmered with fury. "You're wrong, Nathaniel. You think this is the end? You think taking Estelle's side makes you the hero?"

She leaned closer to the bars, her voice dropping to a whisper.

"You're already the villain. You just don't know it yet."

Nathaniel's eyes darkened.

He turned without another word.

The chief of police stood waiting just outside. "Sir?"

Nathaniel's voice was cold and final. "Prepare the deportation papers. I want her out of the country in 48 hours. And make sure the press never hears a word about today."

"Yes, Young Master Dravic."

Nathaniel's jaw tightened as he walked out into the night, his mind heavy with grief, anger, and a resolve so bitter it burned.