Chapter 4

It was Doni’s seed.

A sample taken last night during a routine checkup at the old clinic where Adrian worked part-time.

In truth, Ratih and Doni wanted two different things.

Ratih wanted Adrian to sleep with Amara outright, like a stud for hire, because she considered Doni’s seed useless, while Doni wanted only his own fluid to be used.

At first Adrian wanted to finish quickly by making sure Amara got pregnant naturally, considering that Amara had a particular medical condition that made it hard for her to accept the result of an injection.

But he still had a shred of a doctor’s conscience left, and he wanted to try one more time with an artificial insemination procedure, even if it was a bit risky.

If it worked, Amara wouldn’t have to be touched directly by another man.

If it worked, Adrian could get his money without destroying what remained of the fragile woman’s dignity.

Adrian deliberately hadn’t told Ratih, because Ratih only wanted Amara pregnant the natural way. He drew the fluid from the tube into a special syringe.

Amara lifted her tear-soaked face. She stared at Adrian’s back with a pitiful, pleading look.

“Isn’t there another way? I mean, maybe we could wait until next month. Or we could tell Mom the procedure failed without actually doing it now. I’m scared, Doc. I’m so scared.”

Adrian set the prepared syringe on the silver tray. He turned slowly, leaned his hip against the edge of the exam table, and folded his arms across his chest.

“Wait until next month?” Adrian asked flatly.

“Yes, Doc, I don’t want to do this. I still love Doni, and my heart keeps refusing to let another man touch me.”

“If I’m being honest, Mrs. Pratama, Ratih called me just five minutes before you and Mr. Pratama arrived. She asked whether I’d started the procedure. She doesn’t want to wait, and my father’s debt can’t wait until next month either.”

“But I have a husband, Adrian. How can I let another man touch me while my husband is still alive?”

“Husband?” Adrian asked with a mocking tone.

“Your own husband drove you here, ma’am. Your husband handed you over to me like a package. Your husband even smiled wide as he left you here alone with me. If anyone is sinning here, it’s Mr. Pratama and Ratih. You’re just a victim of their greed.”

Adrian leaned in a little. “And me? I have no other way to save my father except this.”

Adrian’s words slapped Amara awake. It was true. She had no right to talk about loyalty when her own husband was the one betraying her for a position and an inheritance. Doni had sold her cheap, for the sake of a comfortable life.

Adrian straightened up again.

“All right, Mrs. Pratama, now please get on that chair so I can finish quickly. When it’s done, we can both be at peace. I’ll have no more burden toward Ratih, toward Mr. Pratama, or toward you.”

Adrian’s finger pointed straight at the gynecological chair at the end of the room.

Instead of sitting, Amara shook her head weakly. The tears flowed harder down her pale cheeks.

“Please. Don’t be rough, Doc, and please, don’t do anything to me, because I don’t want to cheat on my own husband,” Amara whispered, even as she walked toward the exam chair.

“I won’t be rough if you cooperate, ma’am. I’m only doing this to save my father. So I’m asking for your help, because I’m being forced too.”

Once she was seated, Amara was told to lift the bottom of her dress and sit with her knees slightly apart. But she kept refusing, until Adrian, losing patience, reminded her.

“Mrs. Pratama, I’m asking you. Or would you like me to call Ratih right now and tell her that her daughter refused to be saved? If that happens, most likely you and Mr. Pratama will be told to divorce.”

The threat about her mother always worked to cripple Amara’s resistance.

The image of her mother raging, of Doni fired, of their lives falling apart, haunted Amara’s mind again. She was trapped in a situation with no way out.

Gasping from crying, Amara rose from her seat very slowly. Her slender fingers trembled badly as they touched the hem of her expensive dress. Under Adrian’s unblinking stare, she felt completely humiliated.

Amara climbed the small step in front of the exam chair. She turned and sat on the edge of the chair, covered in cold faux leather.

“Your feet, ma’am. Place them in the supports,” Adrian ordered flatly.

He had already pulled over a round rolling stool and seated himself at the foot of the chair, instruments ready.

Amara shut her eyes tight. She bit her lower lip hard to hold back a scream of frustration. With the last of her strength, she lifted her feet one at a time and set them in the cold iron supports.

The position left her completely exposed in front of Adrian.

The most private part of her, the part she had guarded fiercely for her husband alone, was now on full display to a stranger’s eyes. Amara could feel Adrian’s gaze there. She felt ashamed and degraded. In her heart, Amara kept calling her husband’s name.

Doni, how could you do this to me…

Amara felt she had betrayed the sacred vow she had made five years ago before the altar. A vow now desecrated by her own husband, who had acted as a pimp.

“Relax, Mrs. Pratama, because if you’re too tense, it’ll hurt. I’ll go slowly, I promise.”

Amara could only submit and let the tears keep falling.

Adrian saw her surrender. He saw her chest rise and fall as she held back sobs. A little pity slipped into Adrian’s heart, but he pushed it away at once, so that his father wouldn’t have debt collectors at the door again.

Amara lay on the exam chair in the most helpless position of her life. She shut her eyes tight and tried to imagine herself somewhere else. At home. In her comfortable bedroom. Anywhere but here.

Adrian let out a long breath before beginning. In truth he wanted to finish this absurd drama quickly, inject the fluid, make sure Amara got pregnant, then leave with the money for his father’s debt.

Just as the tip of the syringe was about to touch her, the ring of a phone broke his concentration.

The sound came from Adrian’s pants pocket.

Adrian clicked his tongue in irritation, set the syringe back on the tray with a clatter, pulled the phone from his pocket, and checked the name on the screen.

Ratih.

Adrian pressed the green button and, without hesitation, hit speaker. He did it on purpose, because he wanted Amara to hear for herself what her mother would say. Let the woman realize she wasn’t the only villain in this room.

“Hello, Ratih,” Adrian greeted flatly.

“Adrian, don’t you dare do artificial insemination with Doni’s seed! Yesterday, Doni’s personal secretary told me about this plan, because Doni asked her for advice!”

Amara jolted on the chair as she heard it. Adrian was just as shocked, because Ratih had somehow known the trick Doni meant to use to keep Adrian and Amara from sleeping together.

“What do you mean, ma’am?” Adrian asked calmly. He glanced at Amara, whose face had gone pale as she stared at the phone.

“You must have been pressured into following Doni’s orders, haven’t you? You’re going to use a syringe to get Amara pregnant? You’re going to use Doni’s leftover sperm that’s stored in a lab, aren’t you?”

Adrian paused for a moment. The old woman’s guess had hit the mark. Apparently Ratih was craftier and more thorough than he’d thought.

“I’m only performing a safe medical procedure, ma’am. Artificial insemination,” Adrian answered in his own defense.

Ratih snorted in anger and raised her voice again. “I’m not paying you this much to be an OB-GYN! Remember, I’m the one paying you, not Doni. If you insist on artificial insemination, besides taking a long time, there are other risks, and I want Amara pregnant as soon as possible!”

Tears slid down Amara’s cheeks again as she listened to her mother’s words.

“Listen to me, Adrian,” Ratih went on, her voice lowering now, a sign that the next sentence was what she had wanted all along.

“I don’t mind if you use that method, the one that’s good by your OB-GYN standards. But remember, Doni’s genes are weak and the quality is garbage. Five years my daughter’s been married to him, and nothing. Even if it worked, the baby would probably be defective or just as weak as its father. I don’t want a sickly grandchild from that seed!”