Chapter 7 - The Delivery Room Ultimatum
The bright, sterile lights of the labor and delivery suite hummed with an intensity that made my head spin.
Monitors beeped in a steady, frantic rhythm, tracking my spiking heart rate and the rapid, healthy thumping of our daughter’s heartbeat.
“Dilation is at nine centimeters, Dr. Sterling!” a nurse called out, her voice crisp and professional.
“We’re moving fast. She’s coming right now.”
Dr. Marcus Sterling, a silver-haired obstetrician who had delivered children for half the elite families in Manhattan, stepped up to the side of the bed.
His eyes flicked briefly from my exhausted face to the towering, tense figure standing rigidly by my shoulder.
“Mr. Moretti, I need you to stay on the side of the bed, keep her calm, and don’t block my nurses,” Dr. Sterling instructed calmly.
“Doctor,” Luca said, his voice trembling slightly despite his fierce control.
“Do whatever it takes. Spare nothing. Save them both.”
“I always do, Mr. Moretti,” the doctor replied smoothly.
“Isabella, I need you to listen to me,” Luca said, leaning down so his lips brushed my sweaty forehead.
“You are the strongest woman I have ever known.”
“You survived seven months alone in the cold while I was living a lie.”
“Now, bring our little girl into the world, and I will spend every single day of my life proving that I am worthy of you.”
“Push!” Dr. Sterling commanded, his hands gloved and ready.
A massive, white-hot wave of pressure seized my entire body.
I let out a ragged, primal scream, my hands gripping the metal rails of the bed so hard my fingers went numb, while my other hand squeezed Luca’s palm with bone-crushing force.
“Push, Isabella! Come on, you’ve got this!” Luca urged, tears finally cutting tracks down his own cheeks, completely indifferent to his billionaire status, his tailored suit, or his pristine reputation.
For three agonizing minutes, the world narrowed down to the sound of my ragged breathing, Dr. Sterling’s calm directions, and the unrelenting fire in my core.
Then, a sharp, piercing cry cut through the room.
The sound was clear, loud, and bursting with defiant life.
“It’s a girl,” Dr. Sterling announced with a warm smile, lifting a squirming, blood-slick infant into the air before wrapping her immediately in a warm sterile blanket.
“A very healthy, very vocal little girl.”
The tension inside my chest broke all at once, releasing a sob of pure, overwhelming relief.
My head fell back against the pillows, my muscles trembling with exhaustion as the nurses cleaned our daughter and carried her over.
“Do you want to hold her, Mr. Moretti?” a nurse asked gently, offering the bundle to Luca.
Luca looked down at the tiny, wrinkled face framed in pink cotton, his lower lip trembling so violently he couldn't speak.
He reached out with hands that looked suddenly clumsy and held her against his chest as if she were made of spun glass.
“Hello, my sweet girl,” he whispered, his voice cracking into a broken sob.
“Hello, little princess. Daddy’s here. I’m so sorry it took me so long to find you.”
He turned and gently laid her down across my chest, pulling the warm blanket up around her tiny shoulders.
I looked down at the dark tuft of hair on her head and the tiny fingers curled into fists against her chest.
“She has your eyes, Luca,” I whispered, tears blurring my vision.
“She has your stubborn spirit,” he corrected, leaning down to press a tender, lingering kiss to my lips.
“And she has your strength.”
The door to the delivery suite suddenly banged open.
A young resident nurse rushed in, looking pale and breathless.
“Mr. Moretti? I’m sorry to interrupt, but... your phone has been ringing continuously for the last ten minutes.”
“It’s Arthur Vance,” she added, holding out a sleek black smartphone.
“He said it’s an absolute emergency regarding Vanessa Sinclair and the corporate board.”
Luca’s expression shifted instantly.
The tender father vanished in a fraction of a second, replaced once more by the ruthless billionaire titan who had been stabbed in the back by a corporate vulture.
He took the phone, kissed my forehead one more time, and stepped a few paces away to answer.
“Vance,” Luca said, his voice dropping into arctic gravel.
“Talk to me.”
“Luca,” Arthur Vance’s voice came through the speaker, tight with urgency.
“You need to see the financial feeds immediately.”
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“Vanessa and her brother Julian didn't just forge your divorce papers and fake hotel logs.”
“They just tried to execute a hostile emergency buyout of Moretti Holdings using embezzled subsidiary funds while you were at the hospital.”
