Chapter 6

The Ultimatum

POV: Karol

The injunction landed on the mahogany table of the Kensington club.

I stared at the thick stack of legal papers, the gold logo of Ciro’s conglomerate glaring back at me like a threat. Seventy-two hours!

That was all the time his lawyers had given my family to vacate the premises before the asset freeze took effect. They were suffocating my father’s legacy with a hostile strike so brutal it had left our legal team stuttering on the phone.

But I wasn't a lawyer. I am a doctor. And I don't fight in courtrooms.

My fingers tightened around the red manila folder resting on the table. Inside were sixty pages of Ciro’s private medical records, blood panels, neurological scans, and xrays.

As I was still trying to get hold of the situation, the door to my office swung open. It wasn't my family coming to check on our strategy. It was Mateo. Ciro’s head of security.

The massive man filled the doorway, his dark suit straining across his shoulders. He didn't look at the legal papers. He looked straight at me.

"Dr. Kensington," Mateo said, his voice low and deep, "my boss is requesting your presence at the hospital now.”

My jaw tightened. "Tell Ciro if he wants to gloat, he can call my office line. I’m busy saving my family from his corporate slaughter."

"It wasn't a request," Mateo said, stepping fully into the room. "And he said no phones. No recorders. Just you and the medical file in your possession."

He knew. Of course, that paranoid bastard knew I had pulled his charts. I am not supposed to speak with him without my lawyers, but I stood up, grabbed my coat and the red folder. I wasn't going to cower. Let him try to intimidate me. I hold the keys to his empire.

"Lead the way," I snapped.

The ride to the Memorial Hospital was filled with silence in the back of the black SUV. When we reached the private VIP wing on the twelfth floor, Mateo stopped me at the elevator doors. He held out a massive hand.

"Phone. Smartwatch. Pager," he demanded.

I unbuckled my watch and dropped it into his palm along with my phone. He ran a metal detector wand over my coat, his expression blank, before swiping his keycard. The heavy double doors to the penthouse suite opened.

"He's alone," Mateo said, stepping back.

The suite didn't look like a hospital room. It looked like a luxury hotel that had been decorated with medical equipment. The lights were dimmed to a low, moody amber. The steady, rhythmic beep of a heart monitor was the only sound that could be heard.

Ciro wasn't on the bed.

He was sitting on a chair beside the bed. He wore dark slacks and a black silk shirt unbuttoned at the collar. An IV line trailed from the back of his hand to a rolling pole.

Looking at the broad line of his shoulders, he didn't look like a dying man. He looked like a king assessing his conquered territory.

"You have a lot of nerve, Ciro," I said, my voice slicing through the quiet room.

He didn't answer; he simply exhaled and then said,

"You have a lot of my property in that red folder, Karol." His voice was rough and calm. It sent an involuntary shiver down my spine, a treacherous physical reaction I hated myself for.

His gaze, that cold, piercing obsidian stare, was as sharp and dominant as ever.

"Call off the strike," I demanded, stepping further into the room. I threw the red folder onto the coffee table. "Or I send these scans to the Wall Street Journal and your board of directors.

You’re suffering from degenerative nerve damage and hiding it; your conglomerate’s bylaws strictly forbid a compromised CEO from executing major acquisitions. The Kensington club is off-limits."

He moved his head forward with deliberate grace.

"You always were meticulous, Doctor," he murmured.

I stood my ground, tilting my chin up to meet his eyes. My heart racing against my ribs, 

"I'm protecting my family," I said, my voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "You’ve taken enough from us. I will burn your reputation to ash before I let you take the club."

Slowly, he raised his hand.

"You think you hold the cards, Karol," he whispered. "You think this little medical blackmail is going to save your family."

"I know it will; sign the withdrawal now."

Ciro let out a low, dark chuckle.

"I don't give a damn about the board, Karol. They already know about the tremors. I told them this morning."

I stared at him. "You... you told them? You voluntarily triggered Clause 4?"

"I secured a loophole," Ciro said casually, leaning back against the edge of the mattress and crossing his arms. The predatory smirk on his face made my stomach twist into a violent knot. "The board agreed to waive my medical disqualification and allow the hostile takeover of the Kensington club to proceed... on one very specific condition."

"What condition?"

"That I secure a permanent, live-in medical proxy. A top-tier physician who will monitor my condition 24/7, manage my treatments, and sign legal binding NDAs, holding them responsible for my stability."

That is why I choose you.

I stared at him, the horror slowly dawning on me. "No..."

He looked down at me, his eyes blazing with a possessive, terrifying hunger.

"The club is dead, Karol. Your family is bankrupt. But I’ll wipe their debts and give the deed back to them tomorrow morning." If you move into my estate as my therapist.

He caught my left hand, his grip strong, refusing to let me pull away.

"Now," he said, "tell me exactly how much you love your family."