Chapter 7 Treat her properly

The heavy metal doors of the precinct clanged shut behind Sheryl, her hands cuffed tightly, her body bruised, blood drying at her temple and shoulder. Her heels echoed hollowly across the cold floor as two officers led her away, her chin lifted in defiance though her eyes shimmered with unspoken rage.

Meanwhile, Nathaniel sat rigid in the back of the ambulance, clutching Estelle's hand. The back of her hospital gown was soaked in blood, and her skin was deathly pale. Her breathing was shallow, wheezy. Nathaniel stared at her face-so fragile, yet twisted in pain-and a cold fear seized his chest.

"Estelle," he whispered hoarsely, brushing damp strands of hair from her forehead. "Don't you dare leave me now. Please, hold on."

Her fingers twitched weakly in his grip. That was all he needed. He tightened his hold as if his strength could anchor her to life.

The medic's voice interrupted the silence. "BP dropping-she's losing too much blood. We need a crash unit on standby."

The ambulance roared through the streets toward Marinova Grand Medical, the most elite and private hospital in Serbia. Its emergency entrance lit up as the vehicle screeched to a halt. The doors flung open, and another team of medics rushed out with a fresh stretcher.

"Let's go! She's hemorrhaging! Move, move!"

Nathaniel stepped out, his hands streaked with Estelle's blood, numbness crawling up his spine as he watched her get wheeled through the sliding glass doors. He wanted to follow, but a nurse barred his way.

"Please, sir. Let us do our job. We'll keep you updated."

He could only nod. As the emergency doors slammed shut, he stood rooted for a second before pacing the hallway like a caged lion.

His phone buzzed. A message from his secretary:

Dario: Sir, I am ten minutes away with Miss Estelle's essentials. I'll handle the admission paperwork.

Nathaniel typed with quick fingers: Good. Make sure her room is guarded. Nobody gets in or out without my permission.

Ten minutes felt like ten hours. Finally, the doors to the ER opened, and a surgeon stepped out, mask dangling from one ear, exhaustion etched in the lines around his eyes.

"Young Master Dravic," he bowed slightly. "The patient has been stabilized. However..."

Nathaniel stepped forward, his stomach twisted. "However?"

The doctor looked up, sympathy swimming in his gaze. "We couldn't save the baby. The impact was too severe. There was internal bleeding, and the placenta detached prematurely. I'm sorry."

Nathaniel's breath hitched. He swallowed the rising burn in his throat and simply nodded. "Thank you, doctor. When can I see her?"

"She's being moved to the VIP recovery suite in Wing C. You may see her shortly."

Moments later, he watched as Estelle was wheeled past him again. Her face was pale and still. He followed behind until she was tucked into the soft white sheets of the private room. Monitors beeped quietly, tracking her vitals.

He approached, slowly, reverently, and sat by her side. Gently, he took her hand again and whispered, "I failed you... I should have protected you. I will never forgive myself."

Estelle remained unconscious.

He kissed her fingers, stood, and walked out. Two guards stood at attention at the door. "No one enters. Not even the nurses without clearance."

"Yes, sir."

With his expression hardened, he exited the hospital and stepped into a sleek black car waiting at the entrance. The driver silently drove him straight to the police station.

Inside the station, the air was thick with tension. The precinct chief stood as soon as Nathaniel entered.

"Young Master Dravic, welcome. We've been expecting you."

"Take me to her."

The chief nodded and led him through a secured hallway to the holding cells. Behind the bars sat Sheryl, a white bandage wrapped around her head and her arm in a makeshift sling. She was slumped against the wall but looked up the moment she heard the footsteps.

Her lips curved in a bitter smirk.

"Shouldn't you be with your beloved? Or has she finally kicked the bucket?"

Nathaniel paused. That word again. Beloved. It crawled beneath his skin, twisting something deep and unsettled in his gut.

He squared his shoulders and stepped forward. "Did you push her?"

Sheryl snorted. "Oh please. Even if I say I didn't, would you believe me? You've already made up your mind. For what it's worth, I wish I had. At least then I wouldn't be suffering like this for nothing."

She gestured to her bandaged head and bruised shoulder. "Estelle grabbed me first. I tried to break free. We both fell."

"The baby died," Nathaniel said, his voice low. Cold. "Estelle wants to press charges. I told her... I didn't want to."

"Bullshit," Sheryl snapped. "You never wanted to protect me. Don't act like you're doing this out of decency. You're just hiding behind her tears to play the righteous knight. And Estelle is too lost in her shitty subconsciousness to think about pressing charges. You, are the one with the intention of doing that."

He clenched his fists. "You should be thankful I'm trying to end this quietly. Since you want to play the victim so badly, fine. This goes to court."

Her eyes widened. "What? You've got to be kidding! I didn't push her! Didn't you see it!? I'm fucking innocent!"

Nathaniel opened his mouth to speak but his phone rang. Taking it out, he answered the call on seeing who the caller was.

"I'll be back for you." He muttered as he turned to leave. Just as he left the corridor, he glared at the chief police officer, "why is her injury not properly treated?"

"Uh- ab- about that... you master, we thought you wanted her to suffer so we just used-" the officer stuttered.

Nathaniel's gaze darkened as he let out an exhale, "I'll handle my affairs myself and in my own way. Get her treated properly."

"Y- yes sir."