CHAPTER 39
NINA MARCHESI
“Hello?” I answer the call, puzzled by the unfamiliar number.
“Mrs. Nina Marchesi?” a melodic female voice asks.
“That’s me.”
“I’m calling regarding your obstetrics and gynaecology appointment.”
I blink, my eyes drifting across the bare wall of my bedroom as I mentally scan my schedule for the week.
As expected, I come up empty—because even after a full week of trying, I still haven’t managed to book an appointment. Nero is exactly one more rejection away from actually flying a doctor in from Athens just to see me.
“We were able to find an opening for you,” the woman continues, and I part my lips in relief. That, at least, makes sense. I’d asked repeatedly to be contacted if any last-minute slot became available.
An opening.
I smile.
“Oh, that’s wonderful! At which clinic? Or is it at the hospital? When would it be?”
“Actually, it’s not at the hospital, nor at any of the clinics where you requested an opening. We’re a private medical centre on the east side of the island.”
“Oh,” I murmur, surprised—and feeling a little foolish for not having thought of that myself.
I’ve always relied on the public healthcare system, so it never occurred to me that, if it failed, I could simply look for private care.
It still feels excessive, given how efficient the public system usually is—but compared to Nero’s alternative of dragging a doctor from Athens to the island just for me, paying for a consultation suddenly sounds reasonable.
“As you requested maximum urgency, your contact information was shared in the central database we maintain with Khione’s public healthcare units,” she explains. “I’m calling because a slot has become available today at 2:20 p.m. with Dr. Kayrus. Would you like to confirm?”
I glance at my watch.
It’s two o’clock.
I open and close my mouth, doing the maths in my head. None of the calculations really work—but I decide to try anyway.
“Yes, please. Could you send me the exact address by message?”
“Of course,” she replies kindly. “We’ll see you shortly. Good afternoon, Mrs. Marchesi.”
***
I sit tensely in the waiting room, taking in the light walls and the refined, minimalist décor around me.
Of course I arrived late.
Malana—the woman I spoke to on the phone—was even kinder in person and assured me I’d still be seen despite the delay. I just needed to wait a little.
This isn’t just a private clinic.
It’s a luxury clinic.
And I can’t stop the tightness in my chest.
It’s ridiculous, considering I’m a healthcare professional myself—but the anxiety refuses to leave, and it has nothing to do with the dent I just put in my credit card to pay for the appointment.
It’s what this place reminds me of.
Or rather—who.
This is exactly the kind of place I imagine Nero’s mother would frequent.
I force a slow breath and shove Lysandra’s image out of my mind.
This is supposed to be a good moment. A happy one. I won’t let her poison it just by existing in my thoughts.
I only regret not having time to tell Nero.
If I had, he would have dropped everything to come with me. He’s been worried all week about an important meeting this afternoon, and I didn’t want to interrupt.
This is just the first appointment.
I decide I’ll tell him later, when we’re home together. He won’t be happy—but I’m expecting to leave here with a full prenatal schedule in hand. I know he’ll come to all the others.
“Mrs. Nina Marchesi?”
My name is called, and I stand. A uniformed woman greets me with a polite smile and leads me down a corridor into an office with pale blue walls and ivory furniture.
“Dr. Kayrus will see you shortly,” she says.
“Thank you.”
She leaves, and I wait, drumming my fingers lightly against my thigh.
In fact, less than a minute passes before the door opens again.
“Well, that was stupidly fast,” a relatively young man says as he takes the seat opposite me, the examination desk between us.
He has light skin, dark hair and beard, and round glasses.
He adjusts his lab coat, immaculate, places a clipboard on the glass surface, and reaches for the computer beside him.
I frown, confused.
“Excuse me?”
“You’re already pregnant with the island’s heir,” he says—using the tone one might reserve for congratulations, not accusation.
The words hit me like a slap.
“What— I—I don’t think I understood you,” I stammer, too shocked to speak clearly.
My head spins, replaying his words again and again.
Then indignation floods my veins.
I can deal with gossip—but I refuse to be judged in a place like this. This should be a safe space for any woman. For God’s sake, this man took an oath.
“I’m going to assume I misunderstood,” I say firmly. “This is your chance to restart this appointment properly, Doctor.”
I’ve never reacted to the endless rumours about me.
After the damage done the last time—when my sarcastic response only fuelled the absurd lie that I was romantically involved not just with Nero, but with his friends as well—I learned that the best way to fight lies is not to validate them.
Maybe I was wrong.
How apathetic do people think I am for a doctor to feel comfortable saying something like that to my face?
Every fibre of my body burns with anger—and the doctor notices.
“Calm down, child,” he says condescendingly. “You don’t need to get upset. I’m here to help. I just want to make sure you understand all the options available to you. All the ways you can get what you want.”
“And what exactly do you think I want?” I shoot back, the questions spilling out faster than reason.
I know this isn’t concern. I shouldn’t even be listening—but before I can stand and leave, Dr. Kayrus continues.
“Well,” he chuckles. “Let’s not dance around it, shall we? You returned to the island less than three months ago, you’re already pregnant by the heir, and it’s common knowledge you’ve been… generous with your affections.”
Fact and gossip blend into a single, perverse narrative I’m apparently not allowed to dispute.
“This baby is clearly leverage,” he states.
My chest tightens painfully.
I stop breathing.
“So the question is—how much is it worth to you? Because I know people who are willing to pay enough to give you your freedom without all this inconvenience.”
He gestures casually toward my belly.
“All you have to do is get rid of it.”
His next move is even clearer than his words.
With practiced ease, he opens a drawer, pulls out a blister pack with two pills, and slides it across the glass desk toward me.
Abortion.
Medication to initiate the procedure.
The room tilts.
Still, I pick it up and read the name on the back.
I look up at him, my mind screaming how is this possible?
The answer strikes instantly.
Lysandra.
The name flares behind my eyes—and I hesitate.
She wouldn’t. Would she?
She threatened me, yes—but what kind of psychopath threatens an unborn child?
Because this is a threat.
The elegant office, the refined décor, the well-dressed doctor—it’s all camouflage. This appointment was never medical care.
It was intimidation.
An “opening,” I scold myself bitterly. God, how could I have been so stupid?
A lump rises in my throat, choking me with regret.
I shouldn’t have come. I shouldn’t have come alone. I shouldn’t have come without telling Nero.
“Who sent you?” I manage to ask, my hand instinctively flying to my belly.
The doctor laughs again, dripping condescension.
“Don’t tell me you’re na?ve enough to think you actually found a prince charming?”
My gaze drops instantly to the ring on my finger.
That’s enough.
I stand and walk out of the office without caring what I knock into on the way.
I move fast, desperate to escape, desperate to breathe air not contaminated by that man’s presence.
But the universe isn’t done with me yet.
When I step onto the pavement outside, I find Lysandra Zanthos waiting.
“Get in,” she says from the back seat of her car, the door already open.
I hesitate, glancing around.
Then I straighten my shoulders.
I won’t be afraid.
What could she do to me here? Whatever horror she orchestrated, we’re still in Khione. She can’t hurt me here—not without everyone knowing.
Worst case, I’ll be arrested for murdering my mother-in-law in a moving vehicle.
I inhale deeply.
And I get in.