Chapter seven

Elara pov

My phone rings like an alarm meant to punish me.

I wake up already panicking, heart racing before my eyes even open. For one horrible second, I think I’m back in my old room, waiting to hear my stepfather shouting. Then the silence reminds me where I really am.

Dante’s house.

My mistake.

My future.

The phone keeps ringing.

I grab it with shaking fingers.

Unknown Caller.

I answer before it can stop.

“Yes?”

“Elara.” Alicia’s voice is smooth, clipped, awake in a way that makes me instantly feel behind. “You’re up.”

It isn’t a question.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good. Get ready. Dante has asked to see you.”

My stomach drops, not tightens, drops, like the floor has vanished beneath me.

“Is something wrong?” I ask carefully.

A pause. Long enough to make my thoughts spiral.

“No,” Alicia says lightly. “Today is your first doctor’s appointment. You’ll need to be tested.”

Tested.

The word echoes, heavy and final.

“What kind of tests?” I ask.

“All of them,” she replies. “Blood work. Hormones. Fertility screening. General health.” Her tone sharpens just a little. “We need to know if you’re… suitable.”

Suitable.

Not human. Not scared. Not a girl who almost watched a man die.

Just suitable.

“I understand,” I whisper.

“You have one hour,” she adds. “Wear something appropriate. This isn’t a casual visit.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And Elara?” she says, almost gently now.

“Yes?”

“Don’t keep Dante waiting.”

The call ends.

I sit on the edge of the bed, phone still in my hand, staring at nothing.

Fertility.

Health.

Suitability.

What if something is wrong with me?

What if my body fails at the one thing it’s being kept for?

I swing my legs off the bed and force myself to move before fear roots me in place. The bathroom mirror reflects a girl I barely recognize pale skin, dark circles, eyes too wide with thoughts she can’t afford.

I wash my face. Dress simply. Nothing tight. Nothing bright.

I choose clothes like armor.

Downstairs, Alicia is already waiting.

She looks flawless. Cream blouse. Perfect hair. A calm smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.

She scans me once. “That will do.”

The drive is silent except for the hum of the engine.

I watch the city through tinted glass, wondering if Mira is awake right now. Wondering if she’s safe. Wondering how much of my body already belongs to someone else.

The building we stop in front of doesn’t look like a hospital. No signs. No crowds. Just glass and steel and quiet.

Inside, the air smells sharp and clean antiseptic so strong it burns the back of my throat. Every step echoes. Every surface gleams.

A man in a white coat greets us. “Mr. Caruso is already here.”

My heart stumbles.

Already here.

We’re led down a corridor lined with framed medical certificates I don’t understand. At the end, a door opens.

Dante stands near the window.

He looks composed. Awake. Fully in control. No sign that he was gasping for air not long ago.

When he turns, his gaze locks onto me not warm, not cruel. Assessing.

“Elara,” he says.

“Yes, sir.”

“You’re on time.”

Alicia smiles. “I made sure of it.”

Dante nods once, then looks back at me. “Sit.”

I do.

The doctor explains the procedures in a calm, detached voice. Blood tests. Hormonal levels. Ultrasound. Genetic screening. Fertility markers.

Every word tightens the invisible cage around me.

“If anything appears abnormal,” the doctor says, “we’ll discuss alternatives.”

Alternatives.

I don’t ask what that means.

“Proceed,” Dante says.

I’m led into a smaller room.

The exam chair is cold against my skin. The lights are too bright. The nurse’s gloves snap softly as she puts them on.

The smell of alcohol wipes makes my head swim.

Blood is drawn. Vials fill. Labels are printed with my name like it means something more than ownership.

“Any prior illnesses?”

“No.”

“Pain?”

“No.”

“Family medical history?”

I hesitate.

“My mother is healthy,” I say carefully. I won't mention the rest.

The ultrasound machine hums quietly. The screen flickers with shapes I don’t understand.

“This will tell us about your reproductive health,” the nurse explains, as if explaining the weather.

I stare at the ceiling and focus on breathing.

Not tightening.

Breathing.

When it’s over, I’m dressed again, hands cold, thoughts loud.

Back in Dante’s office, he’s waiting.

“How was it?” he asks.

“It was… thorough,” I say.

“Good.”

Alicia rises smoothly. “I’ll give you privacy.”

She leaves.

The silence that follows feels heavier than the medical equipment.

“This is about suitability,” Dante says, not unkindly, not gently. “Nothing more.”

“Yes, sir.”

“If something is wrong,” he continues, “we will handle it.”

Handle it.

Like a problem.

I nod.

“You will attend every appointment,” he adds. “You will follow instructions exactly.”

“I will.”

He studies me for a moment, eyes sharp.

“This arrangement moves forward regardless of comfort,” he says. “Understand that now.”

“I understand.”

“Good. The driver will take you back.”

I stand, legs unsteady.

“Elara.”

I stop.

“This is not personal,” he says.

I swallow. “I know.”

But something in my chest disagrees.

Outside, Alicia is waiting.

Her smile returns immediately.

“Well?” she asks.

“They ran tests,” I replied.

She nods. “We’ll see if your body cooperates.”

The car ride back is quieter than before.

When we arrive, Alicia turns to me, voice low and pleasant.

“You should remember something,” she says. “This house runs on order. On purpose.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“If you’re here,” she continues, “it’s because you’re useful. Don’t mistake that for permanence.”

I nod.

She leans closer, just enough that I smell her perfume light, expensive, suffocating.

“And Elara?” she adds softly. “Some roles are borrowed. Others are inherited.”

She steps away.

I stand there, the mansion looming ahead, my body aching in places I can’t name.

Behind me, Alicia’s voice follows like a shadow.

“Rest while you can,” she says. “Once the results come in… everything changes.”