Chapter Fifty: Trust and Doubt

(Hours later)

"Absolutely not," Dr. White said, blocking the doorway like a human barricade. "You're not leaving this hospital. Not after everything you've been through."

I was already pulling the IV from my arm, ignoring the sharp sting. "Watch me."

"Mrs. Blackwood, please be reasonable. You've experienced severe trauma, stress-induced complications with your pregnancy, and you haven't slept in over twenty-four hours."

"I've experienced a lot worse than that and survived," I said, searching for my clothes. "Where are my things?"

Dr. White turned to Jules with desperation. "Talk sense into her. Make her understand that she needs medical supervision."

Jules shrugged. "I've been trying to talk sense into her for months. It doesn't work."

"Jules," I said sharply. "You're supposed to be on my side."

"I am on your side. That's why I think you should listen to the doctor and stay here where it's safe."

Safe. The word tasted bitter. Nowhere was safe anymore. Not hospitals, not galas, not the mansion that was supposed to be my sanctuary. Safety was an illusion for people who didn't have entire families plotting their destruction.

"I'm not hiding in a hospital room while lawyers try to steal my inheritance and your boss's mother plans my funeral," I said, finally locating my clothes in the small closet.

"Scarlett—"

"No." I turned to face them both, and something in my expression made Dr. White take a step back. "I'm done being a victim. I'm done letting other people make decisions about my life. I'm leaving."

Dr. White pulled out her phone. "I'm calling security."

"And I'm calling my husband," I said, reaching for my own phone.

Before either of us could dial, the door opened and Dominic walked in. He took in the scene—me clutching my clothes, Dr. White blocking the exit, Jules looking conflicted—and his expression shifted to something unreadable.

"Problem?" he asked quietly.

"Your wife wants to sign herself out against medical advice," Dr. White said quickly. "She's not thinking clearly. The trauma, the stress—"

"I'm thinking perfectly clearly," I interrupted. "And I want to leave. Now."

Dominic's gaze moved to me, and I saw something shift in his eyes. "Why?"

The simple question caught me off guard. Not demanding I stay, not agreeing with the doctor, just asking why.

"Because hiding doesn't work," I said. "Because every minute I spend in this bed is another minute they have to plan their next move. Because I can't fight wars from a hospital room."

He stepped closer, and I caught that familiar scent of cedar and danger that always made my pulse quicken. "The lawyers rattled you."

It wasn't a question.

"They tried to humiliate me. Make me feel small and incompetent." My hands clenched into fists. "I won't give them the satisfaction of seeing me weak."

"You're not weak," he said, his voice low enough that only I could hear. "But you're also not indestructible."

"I'm stronger than they think."

"I know you are." He reached out, his fingers tracing the line of my jaw with devastating gentleness. "But strength isn't about never showing vulnerability. Sometimes it's about knowing when to accept help."

The touch of his skin against mine sent electricity racing through my nervous system. Even exhausted, even angry, even terrified, my body responded to him with an intensity that stole my breath.

Focus, I told myself. You can't afford to be distracted by how he makes you feel.

But when he stepped even closer, close enough that I could feel the heat radiating from his body, focus became impossible.

His hand moved to rest against my stomach, and the gesture was so protective, so tender, that it made my breath catch.

"I understand why you want to leave," he said quietly. "But before you make that decision..."

His thumb traced small circles on my stomach, and I felt the baby move in response to his touch. The sensation sent a wave of emotion through me so strong it nearly brought me to my knees.

"Let's see what Victoria has to say," he continued, his voice carrying gentle authority. "She knows these people, knows how they operate. Whatever you decide after that, I'll support."

Dr. White was watching us with the kind of fascination usually reserved for wildlife documentaries. Jules had conveniently found something interesting to look at on her phone.

This is what families are supposed to feel like, I thought. Protected. Cherished. Safe.

But even as the thought formed, doubt crept in behind it.

"You'll really support whatever I decide?" I asked, looking up into his dark eyes.

"Whatever you decide," he confirmed. "But I want you to have all the information first."

The intensity in his voice, the way he said it like a vow, made my chest tight with emotions I wasn't ready to name.

Dr. White cleared her throat. "Well, if we're waiting for Mrs. Van Alston to wake up, perhaps we could—"

Victoria's voice, weak but determined, cut through the conversation.

"Scarlett."

We all turned to see her eyes open, focused and alert despite her obvious exhaustion.

"Victoria," I breathed, moving to her bedside immediately. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I've been shot," she said dryly. "But that's not important right now."

She struggled to sit up slightly, and I helped support her against the pillows.

"The Van Alston board meets Monday," she said, her voice gaining strength. "You need to be there. Don't let them think you're weak."

"I'll be there," I promised.

"Good." Her hand gripped mine with surprising strength. "They'll try to intimidate you, make you feel small. Don't let them. You're a Van Alston. Act like it."

She closed her eyes again, the brief conversation having exhausted her, but her message was clear.

I turned back to Dominic and Dr. White. "I'm signing myself out."

"Mrs. Blackwood—" Dr. White started.

"My wife will leave whenever she wants," Dominic said, his voice carrying final authority. "Prepare the discharge papers."

An hour later, we were walking through the hospital parking garage toward Dominic's waiting car. I felt lighter somehow, despite the exhaustion weighing down my bones. Being vertical, being mobile, being able to make my own choices—it felt like reclaiming pieces of myself.

That's when I saw her.

Lydia Blackwood, sitting in a silver Mercedes parked three rows away.