Chapter 6 - The First Defense Line
The private physician, Dr. Evans, packed away his diagnostic equipment with a tight, disapproving expression after finishing a thorough examination of my ribs, jaw, and unborn baby. The quiet, sterile environment of the west wing medical suite stood in stark contrast to the chaotic violence of earlier that afternoon.
"The baby's heartbeat is strong and steady, Rebecca, which is a minor miracle given the physical trauma you sustained," Dr. Evans said, writing down a prescription for pain management and safe anti-inflammatory care. "However, your dental injury will require oral surgery once the swelling subsides, and I want you on strict bed rest for the next week. No stress, no heavy lifting—and that includes Emma, as difficult as that might be."
"Thank you, Doctor," I replied, leaning back against the plush velvet pillows of the oversized four-poster bed.
"Your father is waiting in the adjoining study," Dr. Evans added with a warm, empathetic smile before packing his bag and stepping out of the room.
A moment later, the connecting door pushed open, and my father walked in, holding a steaming mug of chamomile tea. He handed it to me gently before pulling up a chair and sitting beside the mattress. The sharp, ruthless billionaire edge had vanished entirely, replaced by a deeply worried father who looked older than his years.
"Dr. Evans said everything is going to be okay with the baby," I offered softly, taking a small sip of the warm tea.
"I heard," my father said, letting out a long, heavy breath that sounded like years of accumulated tension releasing all at once. "He also gave me the preliminary report on your dental fracture. Rebecca... how long has this been escalating?"
I looked down at the rim of the teacup, watching the amber liquid ripple slightly. "It started small, Dad. Little remarks here and there about how I dressed, how I cooked, how I spent grocery money. I thought it was just wedding stress. Then Emma was born, and it got worse. He hated when she cried. He said I was failing as a mother, so he had to 'correct' me."
My father’s jaw tightened so hard a muscle twitched in his cheek, but he didn't interrupt. He just listened, giving me the space I had been denied for years.
"Why didn't you ever call me?" he asked gently, his voice thick with sorrow. "Even once?"
"Because Trevor told me that if I ever reached out to you for help, you'd use your money to crush him, and he'd make sure I never saw Emma again," I confessed, a tear slipping down my cheek. "I believed him. I thought if I just endured it, if I was a better wife, he would eventually go back to the man I married."
My father reached out, covering my trembling hand with his strong, warm palm. "Listen to me, sweetheart. Trevor is a pathetic excuse of a man who preys on kindness because he's terrified of true strength. But that chapter of your life is closed permanently. My legal team has already secured an emergency ex parte restraining order. As of twenty minutes ago, Trevor has been legally barred from coming within five hundred yards of you, Emma, or this estate."
A wave of profound, overwhelming relief washed over me, so intense it made my knees weak even while lying down. For the first time in three years, the ghost of my husband's shadow wasn't hanging over the doorway.
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"What happens next?" I asked.
"Next," my father said, his eyes flashing with cold, calculated resolve, "we dismantle everything he thinks he owns."
