Chapter 7 - The Private Doctor
The sharp sound of Eleanor’s phone shattering against the marble wall echoed through the opulent hallway like a gunshot. Eleanor stared in utter disbelief at the plastic and glass fragments scattered across the floor, her chest heaving as rage boiled over inside her. She spun around to face Julian, her hand raised to strike his face, but he caught her wrist mid-air with a grip of iron, his dark eyes devoid of any human empathy.
“You have lost your mind,” Eleanor whispered fiercely, straining against his grip without breaking eye contact. “You are trapping us both in this house with a dying girl just to save your own skin.”
Julian released her wrist abruptly, stepping past her to look down at Clara, who was now curling into a tight fetal position, crying out in muffled agony as the premature labor progressed rapidly. The severe stress of the day had clearly pushed her body past its absolute limit.
“I am saving all of us, Eleanor,” Julian said coldly, pulling out his encrypted phone once more. “Dr. Hayes is already on his way. He owes me a debt he can never repay. He will handle the delivery quietly in the guest quarters downstairs, and no one outside these walls will ever know a thing.”
Eleanor shook her head, backing away from him toward Clara. She knelt back down, slipping her arm behind Clara’s shoulders to support her upper body against her own chest, ignoring the stains ruining the silk of her red dress.
“Clara, listen to me,” Eleanor whispered soothingly into the young woman’s ear, brushing a damp strand of blonde hair away from her bruised forehead. “You are going to be safe. I don't care what Julian says or what doctor he brings here. I am staying right by your side through this.”
Clara clutched Eleanor’s forearm with surprising strength, her breathing shallow and erratic.
“The security cameras... in the east wing...” Clara managed to whisper between gasps of pain. “Mr. Vance... he erased the files from yesterday... but I made a backup... on a flash drive... hidden inside the lining of my blue uniform collar.”
Julian, who had been dialing the doctor’s private number, froze mid-stride. His dark head snapped toward Clara, his eyes narrowing into dangerous slits as the true scope of what the maid possessed finally hit him.
“What did you say?” Julian asked, taking a slow, menacing step toward them, his hand instinctively dropping toward the inside pocket of his dark suit jacket where a heavy metallic outline hinted at something far more dangerous than a phone.
Eleanor shielded Clara with her own body, looking up at her husband with a fierce, protective glare that brooked no argument.
“Stay back, Julian!” Eleanor commanded, her voice ringing with absolute authority. “If you touch her or her uniform, you will have to go through me first. Your secrets are finished, and so is this marriage.”
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Before Julian could take another step toward them, the heavy brass front door of the mansion downstairs clicked open with a loud, metallic echo, followed by the heavy, measured footsteps of someone walking across the foyer and starting up the grand staircase.
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