Please Come Back, My Love Chapter 68

Elena: POV

Julian's arms closed around me before I could process what he was saying.

"Our baby's fine." His voice was firm, steady—too steady. Like he was trying to convince himself as much as me. "Everything's fine."

I stood frozen in the garage, my hand still on my stomach, my heart hammering against my ribs. The drive back from the hospital had been torture—watching him grip the steering wheel, his knuckles white, his jaw tight. Something was wrong. I knew it in my bones.

"Then why did you look like that?" I whispered against his chest. "In the doctor's office. You looked—"

"Scared." He pulled back, and his gray eyes met mine. "I was scared, Elena. Seeing our baby on that screen... it made it real. Too real."

I wanted to believe him. God, I wanted to.

But there was something in the way he wouldn't quite meet my eyes. Something in the careful way he chose his words.

"What did Dr. Morgan say to you?" I asked. "In her office."

His hand came up to cup my face. "She wants to schedule an amniocentesis. Next week."

The word hit me like ice water.

"Amnio—" My voice cracked. "Why? You said everything was fine. You said—"

"It's routine," he interrupted, his thumb stroking my cheekbone. "For women over twenty-five. Just a precaution."

I'm twenty-six. Barely.

"That's not routine," I said slowly. "I've read all the books, Julian. They only do that if there's a risk—"

"Hey." His other hand joined the first, framing my face. "Listen to me. The doctor said it's standard protocol given your age and the initial screening. That's all. Nothing to worry about."

But his eyes—fuck, his eyes were too bright. Too intense.

Like he was willing me to believe him.

"What screening?" I pressed. "We just did the ultrasound. Everything looked—"

"Blood work from last week." He kissed my forehead, soft and slow. "Some numbers came back slightly elevated. Nothing serious. But Dr. Morgan wants to be thorough."

My hand tightened on my stomach. "What numbers?"

"AFP levels. Alpha-fetoprotein." He said it like he'd memorized the term an hour ago. "It's a protein the baby produces. Sometimes it's high, sometimes it's not. Usually means nothing."

Usually.

The word hung between us.

"And if it's not nothing?" I whispered.

His jaw clenched. For a second, something dark flickered across his face. Then it was gone, replaced by that careful, controlled mask.

"Then we deal with it," he said. "Together. But let's not borrow trouble, Elena. The odds are in our favor."

I nodded slowly. Because what else could I do?

But as he led me to the door of our mansion, his hand warm and possessive on the small of my back, I couldn't shake the feeling that he wasn't telling me everything.

---

That night, I lay awake while Julian slept beside me, his arm draped across my waist, his breath warm against my neck.

But I kept thinking about the way he'd looked in the car. The way his hands had shaken when he'd gripped the steering wheel.

And the question he'd asked Dr. Morgan, the one I'd heard through the thin office door while I was getting dressed:

*"What are our options?"*

Not *"What do we do next?"*

Not *"How do we prepare?"*

*Options.*

Like this was a business decision. Like our baby was a problem that needed solving.

My hand crept to my stomach again, that automatic gesture I couldn't seem to stop.

*It's okay,* I whispered silently. *I'll protect you. No matter what.*

Even if I had to protect you from your own father.

---

Victoria: POV

I stared at the ultrasound photo on Julian's desk.

He'd left it there. Face-up. Like he wanted the whole fucking world to see it.

*Baby Sterling. 16 weeks.*

My hands shook as I picked it up. The grainy black-and-white image showed a tiny profile—a nose, a chin, fingers curled against its face.

"Miss Astor?"

I spun around, clutching the photo. Margaret stood in the doorway, her expression carefully neutral.

"I need you to find Catherine Vanderbilt," I said, my voice cold and sharp. "Tell her I want to see her. Today."

"Of course, Miss." Margaret hesitated. "Should I mention what it's regarding?"

I looked down at the photo again. At the tiny life that was ruining everything.

"Tell her," I said slowly, "that I have a business proposition. One her family can't afford to refuse."

---

Catherine arrived two hours later, looking wary and overdressed in head-to-toe Prada.

"Victoria." She air-kissed both my cheeks. "What's this about? I thought after the pool incident, we were supposed to keep our distance—"

"Sit."

She sat.

I poured two glasses of champagne and handed her one.

"How's the family business?" I asked pleasantly.

Catherine's face tightened. "We're... managing."

"Managing." I smiled. "Is that what you call it? Because from what I hear, the Vanderbilt real estate portfolio is bleeding money. Your father's overleveraged on that Miami development, and the banks are starting to circle."

Her knuckles went white around the champagne flute. "How do you—"

"I make it my business to know things." I sat across from her, crossing my legs. "Especially when those things might be useful."

"What do you want, Victoria?"

I took a sip of champagne, letting the silence stretch.

"Elena Vance is pregnant," I said finally.

Catherine's eyes widened. "I heard. Julian announced it at the hospital—"

"Sixteen weeks." The word came out bitter. "I saw the ultrasound today."

"So?" Catherine leaned back, trying to look bored. "Why should I care about that little nobody's spawn?"

"Because," I said softly, "if she has that baby, Julian will never let her go. Right now, their marriage is still... precarious. But a child? That changes everything."

Catherine was quiet for a long moment. Then: "What are you suggesting?"

I met her eyes. "I'm suggesting that accidents happen. Pregnant women are fragile. A fall down the stairs. A car accident. Food poisoning." I paused. "So many terrible things that could go wrong."

Her face went pale. "Are you insane? Julian almost destroyed my family over the pool incident. If I—"

"Julian won't know it was you." I leaned forward. "He won't even suspect. Because you'll be nowhere near her when it happens."

"Then who—"

"I have people." I waved a hand. "Professionals. All you need to do is provide information. Her schedule. Where she goes. When she's alone."

Catherine stood abruptly. "No. Absolutely not. Do you have any idea what Julian would do if he found out? He'd ruin us—"

"You're already losing everything," I snapped. "Your father has maybe six months before the banks foreclose. Maybe less."

She froze.

"But," I continued, my voice turning sweet, "what if that didn't happen? What if the Vanderbilt family suddenly received a cash infusion? Say... twenty million dollars?"

Catherine turned slowly. "You don't have that kind of money."

"No." I smiled. "But the Astor family trust does. And my father has been very... motivated lately to secure my future." I paused. "To make sure I marry Julian Sterling."

Her eyes narrowed. "So you're bribing me to help you kill Elena's baby."

"I'm offering you a business arrangement," I corrected. "You help me remove an obstacle, and I help save your family from bankruptcy."

Catherine was quiet for a long time. I could see the wheels turning in her head—calculating, weighing options.

Finally, she sat back down.

"If I do this," she said slowly, "I need guarantees. Written contracts. Money in escrow—"

"Of course." I smiled. "Everything will be documented. Legal. Airtight."

She picked up her champagne glass with a shaking hand. "And Julian will never know?"

"Julian will think it's a tragic accident," I said. "These things happen to pregnant women all the time."

Catherine drained her glass in one long swallow.

Then she reached across the table and took my hand.

"You know," she said, her lips curving into a smile that didn't reach her eyes, "I always thought you should be my sister-in-law. Not that jumped-up little nobody."

I squeezed her hand back, matching her smile.

"I'm sure this will all go smoothly, Catherine."

---

After she left, I stood at the window, looking out over Central Park. The autumn leaves were already falling, drifting down like dying embers.

I thought about the ultrasound photo. About the tiny hands and feet.

About Julian's face when he'd looked at that screen.

Like he was seeing something precious. Something worth protecting.

I pressed my palm against the cold glass.

*You should have chosen me,* I thought. *You should have loved me.*

*You will be mine, in the end.*