Chapter 7: The Wait

What had he made her sign?

The question haunted Arabella as she followed the doctor down the sterile corridor. Her footsteps felt disconnected from her body, each one heavier than the last.

Behind her, Adrian walked in silence.

The sample collection room was small and clinical. A nurse swabbed the inside of Arabella's cheek with so much professionalism, her cheerful demeanor completely at odds with the nightmare unfolding.

"All done," the nurse said brightly. "Results in forty-eight hours."

Forty-eight hours.

Two whole days of not knowing. Of wondering. Of waiting. It felt like two years already.

Soon, it was Adrian's turn. He sat in the chair, opened his mouth, and let the nurse work. His face was unreadable, calm and controlled, the mask of a man who'd learned early how to hide what he felt.

When they finished, the doctor handed them both paperwork. "We'll call as soon as we have the results."

Arabella barely heard him. Her mind was distant. Everything looked like a nightmare.

In the parking garage, Adrian's driver was already waiting. The ride back to his penthouse was silent except for the hum of the engine and the muted sounds of the city outside the tinted windows.

Arabella stared out at the streets, watching people live their normal lives. Going to work. Meeting friends. Existing in a world that made sense.

She envied them. Because how does the world seem so normal… normalcy sounded foreign in her own world.

When they arrived at the penthouse, Adrian unlocked the door and stepped aside to let her in first. The space was immaculate as always, large windows revealing the glittering cityscape, expensive furniture arranged with designer precision.

It felt like a museum. A beautiful one, but cold.

Arabella sank onto the edge of the leather sofa, her hands folded tightly in her lap.

Adrian moved to the window, his back to her. He stood there for a long moment, his silhouette framed against the lights below.

The silence between them felt heavier than it should.

"Adrian," she said quietly.

He didn't turn around.

"What are you thinking?"

A long pause. Then: "I don't know what I'm thinking."

But that wasn't quite true.

Adrian stared at his reflection in the glass, seeing the ghost of the boy he'd been. The child shuttled between a father who never smiled and a mother who loved control and power more than she'd ever loved him.

He'd sworn he would never do that to a child.

He’d never create a life only to fail it the way he'd been failed.

And yet now, all of a sudden, he might be a father to a little girl he'd never met.

A daughter.

The word sat wrong in his chest. Foreign. Terrifying.

What did he know about being a father? His own had been a master class in emotional absence. Present but unreachable. Wealthy but incapable of warmth.

And his mother...

Claudia had fought for custody and lost. But she'd never stopped trying to control him from a distance, her visits filled with lectures about legacy and power and the Whitmore name.

Neither of them had taught him how to love a child.

He’d learned only how to survive one's parents.

Behind him, Arabella shifted on the couch. He could feel her watching him, waiting for an answer he didn't have.

"Did you sleep with someone else?" he answered instead with a question that came out calm. Too calm, in fact.

It sliced through the silence anyway.

Arabella's head snapped up. "No." Her voice was sharp, panicked. "No, Adrian. I swear to you. I never did."

He turned slowly, studying her face. Not accusing her. Just searching. Silently hoping there’s a mistake somewhere that would exonerate him from the likelihood of him being a father in just a few hours.

"Ever?" he asked quietly.

"Never," she said, standing now, emotion surging past control. "Everett was the only man I'd ever been with. I loved him. I trusted him." Her voice cracked. "I would never lie about something like that."

Adrian held her gaze for a long moment.

He believed her.

He exhaled slowly. "Then something else happened."

The weight of those words settled between them.

Arabella's phone rang.

She flinched, then fumbled for it with trembling hands. The hospital.

"Hello?" Her voice was barely audible.

A pause.

"Yes. Yes, we'll be there."

She ended the call and looked up at him, her face pale. "The results are ready."

Adrian's stomach dropped. "Already? They said forty-eight hours."

"They rushed it. Because of Raina's condition." Arabella's hands shook as she set the phone down. "They want us to come now."

Now.

No more waiting. No more wondering.

In minutes, they would know the truth.

Adrian grabbed his keys. "Let's go."

The drive back to the hospital felt surreal. Neither of them spoke. What was there to say?

When they arrived, Everett and Lilian were already in the waiting room.

Lilian sat with perfect posture, legs crossed, lips curved in something dangerously close to satisfaction.

Everett paced, jaw clenched, eyes darting between Arabella and Adrian when they entered.

Arabella's stomach twisted.

The doctor appeared quickly with a clipboard in his hand and his expression was

professionally neutral. "Thank you for coming. Let's step into my office."

No one spoke as they followed him.

The door closed with quiet finality.

The doctor opened the file.

His eyes moved to Adrian.

Then to Arabella.

Then back to Adrian again… longer this time .

Everett shifted sharply in his seat.

The doctor inhaled once, slowly and deliberately.

“Before I explain the DNA results,” he said, his voice carefully measured, “there is something in Ms. Ashford’s medical history that requires clarification.”

Everett’s hand tightened into a fist.

The doctor turned his attention fully to Arabella.

“Ms. Ashford,” he said, “were you ever informed that your pregnancy was not the result of natural conception?”