Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
Red Or Blue
W hile the Willow Estate wasn’t too well-furnished, its emptiness didn’t bother Scarlett. She enjoyed it more than she cared to admit, given that she never knew what it was like to be solitary.
The sun sat high in the sky by the time she got out of her bed. Her body ached as if she’d spent the night rolling around with the Silver Tyrant; a strange, mysterious enigma that gnawed at her wandering thoughts.
While hunger clawed at her bones, Scarlett’s curiosity kept her from the kitchens and her feet trailing through each of the rooms. There was an office that held a desk, a laptop that was open with a document full of Birzhagi–a language made by the curators who claimed the Black Throne. While there were no bookshelves, many texts had been stacked haphazardly across the floors, taking water damage from the leaky spots in the ceiling.
Scarlett shifted through them, smiling at the oddities of classic fiction and historical romances. If these belonged to Josephine, then she had a type.
Only when she went trapezing through a half-open door with the words DO NOT ENTER written across it did she find a spare change of clothes. They were simple: a band tee, a pair of ripped jeans, and a note atop them that read: “You’re a troublemaker, Little Dove. One day, it’ll get you killed. Breakfast is downstairs. Liam will come in an hour (1:30PM) to pick you up.”
Scarlett had questions. Mostly how Josephine knew of her sleep schedule, perfectly timing Liam’s arrival, and the creation of breakfast in a home that held nothing. The latter part of those questions had been answered with a bowl of cereal.
When Liam arrived at 1:30PM on the dot, he retrieved her with a small smile. And when she asked him where they were going, he raised his brows and said, “To the clinic.”
Scarlett hated the drive. She hated Jordan for putting her in this predicament, making her regret every little thought of admiration she had towards a man that proved he was just that and nothing more. She hated Amina, Mother of Heirs, for producing them. And she hated Josephine for giving her answers she didn’t want.
There was a reason why Dolls and Darlings didn’t ask questions. It was better to kill a bird when they felt loved. When they brushed their beaks against the open palm of their master, not knowing when their neck would break.
Josephine took that to the grave. She’d turned Liam’s obedience, used his care for the girl he’d chauffeur, and took her to the Slaughterhouse where she got to see the truth. As theatrical as the Second Heir had been since their paths crossed, Scarlett was thankful for one thing: when it came to the well-being of those around her, Josephine wasn’t as terrifying as her brothers.
The clinic was a facility that stood alongside the medical district; a long strip of land, maybe ten miles in length, that anyone could get lost in. It was the only place where Singhs and their rampant number of enemies couldn’t brawl. And here, Medics sat with their pockets full and their hearts fuller. They cared for all people despite their sins.
For Scarlett, sitting in a room with four white walls and navy blue seats that made her feel at home was strange. So was the woman that had come to aid her with a smile. Tell her that she and the expansive crew of Medics would be prepared to help her in any way possible.
Then came the facts.
Scarlett was almost a month and a half pregnant. It was too early for her to be showing any signs other than the occasional dizzy spell, terrible headaches that ripped through her frontal lobe, and an excessive touch of fatigue. Thankfully there was no morning sickness. “Not yet at least,” said one of the women with a smile.
Past the pap smear, the blood test, and the ultrasound screening, she was in good shape.
“Stress and anxiety is a cause for concern, Ms. Emerson. But before we go into a plan for helping you reduce that, I have strict orders from the Second Heir.”
Scarlett’s heart was in her throat. What was it? A terrible motive, a choice to be made without her permission, a revelation of secret plans she’d naively walked into–
“How would you like to proceed? Would you like to terminate this pregnancy or carry to full term?”
The question hung in the air for some time. Scarlett blinked back her shock with raised brows and long lashes. “What does Josephine want?”
“It’s not about what the Second Heir wants. It’s about what you want, Ms. Emerson.”
Scarlett nodded, her heart in her throat. She never had a choice in the matter. Not when she was told what she could and couldn’t eat, beaten if she stepped out of line, pushed into holding her tongue.
The only thing she could do was stand from the little gurney she’d been settled upon, hands clutching each other like a vice. “Can I come back later and give you my answer then?”
She was expecting a raised brow of annoyance, but the Medic merely smiled warmly and said, “Of course. I’ll call you after your test results are in. Take care, Ms. Emerson.”
Scarlett shook the whole way out. But when she popped the passenger door open to Liam’s car, she looked at him with all the conviction she had and said, “Take me to Josephine.”