Chapter 26
Dr. Carter
Friday felt like the first time I could actually draw a full breath without my chest tightening. Karen was home. Seeing her back in her own bed, the sickly grey hue of the hospital ward finally fading from her cheeks, brought a quiet, unfamiliar sort of relief.
The house itself was tiny, smelling of antiseptic and old wood, but it was Alex’s world. And because it was Alex’s world, it had become mine.
As I helped Karen adjust her pillows, I caught the quick flicker of embarrassment on her face.
She was a proud woman, fiercely independent, and having a guest—let alone someone she viewed as her daughter's polished older partner—acting as her nurse was clearly a bitter pill to swallow.
But I had no intention of letting her pride compromise her recovery.
I maintained a soft, supportive, yet entirely unyielding cadence.
When it came to the people I had decided to protect, I did not negotiate.
"Is there anything else you need, Karen?" I asked, my voice low as I placed a fresh glass of water and her morning meds on the bedside table.
"No, thank you, Caroline," she said, a weary but genuine smile touching her lips. She glanced at the empty wall opposite her bed with a soft chuckle. "Though I do wish the TV could be moved up here. It’s going to be a long day with nothing but my own thoughts."
My eyes instantly scanned the small bedroom. It was neat, modest, and incredibly cramped. There was absolutely no space for the heavy dinosaur of a television I had noticed in the lounge downstairs.
"I don't fancy us trying to haul that thing up the stairs, Mum," Alex chimed in from the doorway, her tone light, trying to ease her mother's hidden shame. "We'd both end up in the ward next to you."
I looked at the blank wall, then glanced back at Alex, letting a small, calculating spark show in my eyes. I winked at Karen. "I can pull off miracles sometimes, Karen. Don't count it out just yet."
I already knew exactly what I was going to do.
My mind was already moving with clinical, academic precision, calculating measurements and delivery times.
I saw the way Alex tracked my expression, a familiar, lovely little flutter passing through her posture.
She knew that look. She knew it meant I was about to reshape her reality to suit my preferences.
We left Karen tucked in with her book and headed downstairs.
The lounge was profoundly quiet without the heavy presence of Alex's father; Phil had to return to the construction site that morning to salvage his lost hours.
I sank onto their sagging, spent sofa, immediately pulling out my phone to coordinate with a premium electronics supplier and a local catering firm.
When I finished typing, I looked up to find Alex staring at me.
The sheer volume of guilt she had been suppressing for the last five days was practically radiating off her.
She looked overwhelmed, entirely undone by the fact that I had witnessed her childhood bedroom, her parents' financial situation, and her own raw, unfiltered breakdown in the hospital hallways.
"Carrie, stop," she sighed, stepping into the centre of the room. "You’ve done so much. More than anyone could ever expect. You should go home. Take the weekend for yourself. Go back to your beautiful house and your quiet life."
I watched her smoothly, keeping my face a mask of perfect composure as the words began to tumble out of her in a desperate, frantic rush.
"I can’t work this weekend anyway. I have to stay here with Mum while Dad’s at work.
There’s no point in you staying, and you definitely don’t need to be picking me up in the middle of the night for shifts I’m not even taking.
Please, get some of your time back. You don’t need to be stuck with my family responsibilities. "
Ah. She was trying to be selfless. She was trying to build an exit ramp for me before I realised how heavy her life truly was.
The silly, endearing little idiot. She genuinely believed that her family's struggle would scare me away, as if a lack of material luxury could somehow diminish her value to me.
The soft, supportive caregiver persona I wore upstairs vanished in an instant. I let my posture shift, my presence expanding until this cramped, peeling living room felt entirely like my domain.
I reached out, my hand wrapping firmly around the back of her neck. I pressed my thumb into the sensitive, burning dip at the base of her skull—a tactile command for her to drop the frantic energy and anchor herself to me.
"Alex," I said, my voice dropping into the low, dangerous register I used when she required absolute calibration. "Do you remember the conversation we had when this started? About who you belong to?"
She swallowed hard, her pulse jumping erratically against my palm. "Carrie, I just meant—"
"I don't particularly care what you meant," I interrupted, pulling her just an inch closer so she had no choice but to absorb the ice in my gaze.
"I told you that you are mine. That means I own your smiles, your body, and your bratty little attitude.
But it also means I own your burdens. I own your stress, your exhausted nights, and yes, your family responsibilities. "
I leaned in until my breath brushed her lips, watching her eyes darken with a delicious, total submission.
"When I took you as mine, I didn't just take the parts of you that are fun to play with, princess," I whispered, tightening my grip just enough to elicit a sharp gasp. "I took all of it. Your mother’s recovery is my concern because it concerns you. Your father’s peace of mind is my priority because it affects you.
If you ever try to 'give me my time back' by pushing me out of your life again, I will be very, very displeased. "
"I’m sorry," she rasped, her trembling fingers catching the hem of my cashmere jumper, anchoring herself to my weight. "I just didn't want to be a burden."
"You couldn't be a burden to me if you tried, darling," I murmured, allowing a fraction of my warmth to return as I stroked her cheek.
"You are my investment, my property, and my heart. Now, stop trying to manage my schedule. I have already arranged for a local catering firm to drop off dinner for the weekend, and I’ve taken the liberty of ordering a few... upgrades for your mother's comfort."
I sealed the lecture with a firm, possessive kiss—a total claim that left her breathless and entirely undone.
"You aren't going anywhere, and neither am I. Am I clear, Alex?"
"Yes, Carrie," she breathed against my mouth.
"Good girl." I released her neck with a lingering stroke. "Now, I believe a delivery should be arriving in about ten minutes. Why don't you go check on your mother while I handle the door?”
Ten minutes later, the delivery technicians arrived. I directed them up the narrow stairs, supervising the transport of the large flat boxes and toolkits. When I glanced up, I saw Alex peeking out from Karen's room, her face a perfect portrait of defensive confusion.
I walked past her, kissing the top of her head to keep her quiet, and stepped into the bedroom. I turned to the technicians, my voice cool and absolute. “Make it quick, and try to keep the noise to a minimum.”
As they began to unbox the 50-inch slim-profile screen, Karen stared in absolute awe.
"Caroline," she sighed, her voice thin with immediate anxiety. "This really is too much."
"Nonsense, Karen," I replied smoothly, stepping to the foot of the bed. "If you're going to be stuck in bed, you might as well have a decent window to the rest of the world. Consider it a prescription for your recovery."
The technicians worked with silent, practiced efficiency, mounting the screen flush against the wall.
But as the crystal-clear picture flickered to life, I noticed Karen's expression drop.
A single tear tracked down her cheek, disappearing into the edge of her oxygen mask.
Her hands were trembling against the duvet.
"Caroline," she rasped, her breath hitching in a way that immediately caused Alex to tense beside me. "It’s beautiful, it really is. But... you have to take it back. Please. Send them back with it. Alex, tell her. We can’t afford this. We can’t accept things we can't pay for, and Phil...
your father will have a fit when he sees the bill. We're already behind on the—"
My chest ached slightly for her, though my expression remained perfectly polished. This wasn’t ingratitude; it was the conditioned panic of a woman who had spent thirty years counting pennies, terrorised by the spectre of the next bill.
I bypassed the technicians as they exited, sitting directly on the edge of the bed. I took Karen's trembling hand in mine, adopting the calm, authoritative tone I used to settle panicked students before a massive examination.
"Karen, look at me," I commanded gently. "There is no bill. There is no payment plan. This was bought and paid for before it even entered this house. Phil won't have to spend a single penny, and neither will you."
"But it's too much," she whispered, her working-class pride warring with her sheer exhaustion. "We aren't charity."
"This isn't charity," I said, slanting a quick, dark, possessive look toward Alex that her mother could not see. "This is family. I look after what belongs to me, Karen. And whether you like it or not, I’ve decided that includes this household. Now, you can either spend your afternoon arguing with me—which I promise you, you will lose—or you can let Alex find you a film while I go see about the dinner that’s just arrived. "
Karen looked at me, entirely stunned into silence by the sheer velocity of my conviction. She finally leaned back into her pillows, defeated in the best possible way.
"I'll be downstairs," I said, smoothing my cashmere as I stood. "I believe the catering firm has arrived with enough roast lamb to feed a small army."