14. Petra
Chapter fourteen
Petra
The sterile sting of medical disinfectant hung in the air of the VIP delivery suite.
I lay elevated on the hospital bed, the damp collar of my gown sticking to my skin.
Sweat plastered a layer of blonde hair against my forehead.
Nurse Chloe stood at my shoulder, her palm slick against mine.
Her fingers squeezed my hand with practiced authority.
“Keep your chin tucked,” Chloe said. “Don’t look away from me.”
I kept my eyes locked on her blue scrubs. A high-pitched beep pulsed in a steady rhythm from the fetal heart monitor next to the bed. I focused on the sound to keep my mind anchored in the room. The outside world no longer existed.
Tobias, my mother, the safehouse, the trust fund—all of it vanished beneath the blinding pressure building at the base of my spine. There was only this bed and the desperate need to deliver my child safely.
I couldn’t hold my head up anymore. I collapsed back against the pillows, my breathing tearing through the quiet room in ragged gasps.
“Heart rate is steady,” Dr. Williams said. He stood at the foot of the bed, adjusting the angle of the overhead examination light. “Her vitals are strong.”
I tried to nod. My teeth chattered as a chill swept over my exhausted limbs.
The brief lull in the pain offered no real relief, only the anticipation of the next wave.
I listened to the steady hum of the ventilation system overhead.
I needed to gather my energy, but my body felt like dead weight against the mattress.
Another wave of agonizing pressure rolled through my lower back. I released Chloe’s hand and reached for the metal side rails of the bed. The cold steel bit into my palms. I squeezed the bars, bracing my arms against the incoming tide of pain.
“You’re doing incredibly well, Cecilia,” Dr. Williams said. He stepped closer, checking the monitors one more time. “We are almost there. On the next contraction, I need you to give me one long, sustained push.”
I groaned, shaking my head on the damp pillowcase. My muscles burned with a fierce, radiating ache. I had been fighting the labor since we left the estate, and the sheer physical exertion had completely drained me.
“Deep breath in, honey,” Chloe said. She leaned over the rail, keeping her voice level and firm. “Hold it, and bear down. You’ve got this.”
“I can’t,” I gasped. Every word I forced out burned. “I don’t have anything left.”
“Yes, you do,” Chloe said. She brushed the wet hair away from my eyes. “The baby is right here. One more push.”
The machine beeped faster. The peak of the contraction hit, wrapping around my torso with an unbearable pressure. I squeezed the rails and pushed.
The contraction receded, the pressure leaving my lower back. My stiff fingers uncurled from the metal side rails. I let my arms drop, falling backward against the pillows as I gasped for air.
“Breathe it out,” Chloe said. She leaned over the mattress, pressing a cool, damp cloth to my forehead. “The contraction is passing. Rest while you can.”
Before I could reply, a muffled commotion broke out in the hallway. Through the thick oak door, I recognized the indignant, frantic pitch of my husband’s voice.
“Get out of my way!” Tobias shouted. The sound filtered through the wood, dull but unmistakable. “That is my wife in there! I have a right to be in that room!”
“This is ridiculous!” Lavinia added. Her shrill tone carried over his. “I am her mother, let us through immediately!”
Dr. Williams glanced up from the equipment at the foot of my bed, frowning at the heavy door.
“I’ll call security if they don’t quiet down out there.” He reached for a fresh pair of gloves from the rolling cart. “The last thing you need right now is an audience.”
A dull thump vibrated against the door, as if someone had shoved the panels, trying to push past the guard. Then, Bastien’s voice boomed through the hallway. Deep and unyielding, it cut straight through the noise of their argument.
“I can’t do that, Mr. Stanton, Mrs. Vandeveer,” Bastien said. “The attending physician requested a sterile, low-stress environment. Hospital protocol dictates you both stay in the waiting room.”
I closed my eyes, letting the cool washcloth soothe my burning skin.
Outside, Tobias and my mother were throwing a tantrum for the hospital staff.
They were performing their desperate, ‘excluded family’ routine to maintain appearances.
But inside the quiet room, safely behind that solid oak door, the tension finally left my shoulders.
Bastien was out there acting as a human shield. He was twisting the hospital’s bureaucracy against them, ensuring they wouldn’t get an inch past that door.
“I am her husband!” Tobias yelled, forcing a panicked edge into his voice. “You work for me!”
“I work for her safety,” Bastien said, his voice carrying easily through the wood. “Step back from the door. You aren’t going in.”
Dr. Williams turned from the equipment monitor. The lull in the pain broke. A final, massive contraction seized my lower spine, forcing a fresh wave of blinding agony through my hips.
“Chin down, Cecilia!” Nurse Chloe commanded. “Hold it right there! Do not stop pushing!”
I gripped the cold steel side rails of the bed. I bore down, curling my shoulders forward against the strain. A guttural groan tore from my throat. I squeezed my eyes shut against the harsh glare of the overhead exam lights. The splitting, agonizing pressure spiked.
And then, it vanished.
The impossible physical strain finally gave way. I slumped flat against the mattress, my chest heaving. The rhythmic, mechanical beeping of the monitor faded into the background. A sharp, piercing wail broke through the quiet of the delivery suite.
“Here she is, Cecilia,” Dr. Williams said.
I pried my heavy eyelids open. Dr. Williams laid a writhing, crying infant directly onto my bare chest.
“You have a beautiful, perfectly healthy baby girl,” he added, pulling a sterile towel over her back.
The slick, warm weight of her tiny body pressed into my skin.
My trembling hands lifted from the mattress, cradling her small, fragile head.
A fierce, unconditional love anchored me in the moment, pushing back the deep ache in my limbs.
I stared at her squished, red face, mesmerized by the rapid fluttering of her tiny chest.
This is my daughter.
Every second of terror in that freezing safehouse, every fake smile I forced for Tobias, every single ounce of spite I held against my mother—it was all for this exact moment.
Nothing outside of this hospital bed mattered anymore.
I traced the soft curve of her back with my thumb.
She was real, she was breathing, and she was mine.
“Oh my God,” I wept, tears tracking through the sweat on my cheeks. “She’s here. She’s so beautiful.”
“She’s got a set of lungs on her, too,” Chloe said, wiping a damp cloth over my forehead. “You did an amazing job, Mom. Do you have a name picked out?”
I looked down at the screaming infant. My father, Pieter Vandeveer, built an empire by refusing to let anyone leverage him.
He taught me that tears were a useless currency.
He taught me to break the teeth of predators.
I needed my daughter to wear that armor.
I needed her name to be a permanent shield against the monsters waiting for us back at the estate.
I pulled the towel tighter around her small shoulders.
“Petra,” I whispered, holding her tight against my skin. “After my father.”
The medical staff finished the immediate cleanup, wheeling a metal cart of soiled linens out of the way. The heavy suite door finally swung open.
“Where is she?” Tobias demanded, rushing across the threshold. “Let me see my daughter.”
Lavinia crowded in right behind him, the crisp fabric of her expensive winter coat rustling as she moved. Bastien entered last. He did not rush. He stepped into the room with absolute control, taking up a rigid guard stance just inside the doorway and crossing his arms over his chest.
“Careful of the IV lines, Tobias.” Lavinia fussed, projecting her voice for the benefit of the remaining nurses. “Don’t crowd the bed. The poor girl is exhausted.”
Tobias ignored the warning. He stepped directly to the side of the mattress, leaning over me. He smelled of sweat and expensive cologne, the scent clinging to his silk pajamas. He slid his hands under the swaddling blanket.
I let my arms fall flat against the mattress. Tobias scooped Petra off my chest, lifting the newborn up to his own chest. The soft, powdery scent of the baby vanished, shattered by the sudden, suffocating reality of my husband standing over me.
My stomach turned. The hands holding my fragile daughter were the exact same hands that paid a crew of men to torture me. I fought the urge to scream, to lunge forward and rip Petra away from him.
Don’t do it, I told myself. Keep the mask on.
The thought of Tobias carrying my daughter out of my line of sight terrified me; my damp hands flexed uselessly against the sheets.
With Petra born, the Baby Trust was now legally armed.
Tobias finally had his unchecked control of the Vandeveer fortune, and a very real, immediate reason to eliminate me.
I endured the sight of him holding her, burning the image into my mind, knowing this was the very last time he would ever touch my child.
“Look at her, Cecilia.” Tobias beamed, playing the proud, devoted father. “She’s absolutely perfect. My beautiful little girl.”
Lavinia hovered over his shoulder, peering down at the quiet infant. She pulled a tissue from her purse and dabbed at her dry eyes.
“Oh, she has your nose, Tobias,” she cooed. “She is just an angel.”
Lavinia stepped closer, reaching out to pat my shoulder. I did not flinch away from her hand.
“You did so beautifully, Cecilia,” my mother added.