Chapter 5 - The Medical Wing
The Cross estate's private medical wing was better equipped than a suburban community hospital. Within seconds of their frantic entry, a team of two elite private physicians and a specialized pediatric respiratory therapist rushed into the sterile, brightly lit trauma bay.
Nora stood frozen against the wall, her fingernails digging into her palms until skin broke, watching as oxygen masks, monitors, and intravenous lines were swiftly and professionally connected to her tiny baby.
Stellan stood right beside the gynaecological-style cot, his massive frame radiating an aura of suppressed violence that made even the seasoned lead physician sweat.
"Stabilize her airway," Stellan ordered, his voice terrifyingly calm, carrying the absolute weight of command. "If she stops breathing for even a second, you answer to me."
"Mr. Cross, her lungs are severely restricted due to bronchial inflammation," the doctor reported hurriedly, adjusting the oxygen flow. "We've administered a rapid-acting bronchodilator. She's responding... her oxygen saturation is climbing back to normal."
A collective, shuddering exhale ripped through Nora's chest. Her knees buckled, and she would have hit the linoleum floor if a strong, heavy arm hadn't caught her waist, hauling her upright against a solid wall of muscle.
She looked up. Stellan was holding her steady, his face unreadable, his winter-concrete eyes locked onto hers.
"She's breathing," Stellan said quietly, almost as if he were trying to convince himself as much as her.
Wren's little chest rose and fell in a steady, rhythmic pattern on the monitor. The terrifying blue tint around her lips faded back to a healthy pink. She was safe, at least for now.
"Thank you," Nora whispered, tears finally breaking free, streaming down her pale face. "Oh God, thank you, Stellan."
It was the first time she had ever used his first name without a title. He didn't correct her. Instead, his hand lingered on her elbow for a fraction longer than necessary before he turned back to the medical staff.
"Keep her under observation for twenty-four hours," Stellan instructed the lead physician. "I want round-the-clock monitoring. If her oxygen drops by even one percent, page me directly."
"Yes, Mr. Cross."
An hour later, Wren was sleeping peacefully in a specialized pediatric crib inside the recovery suite, her breathing soft and regular. Nora sat in a leather chair beside her, exhausted, emotionally hollowed out.
The door opened softly, and Stellan walked in, holding a steaming cup of black coffee and a manila folder.
He placed the coffee on the small bedside table, then dropped the manila folder onto Nora's lap.
Nora looked down at it, her heart slamming against her ribs. "What is this?"
"The results of the background check I ordered," Stellan said, pulling up a chair opposite her and sitting down, lacing his massive hands together over his knees. "And the medical archives from St. Jude's hospital."
Nora swallowed hard, her mouth tasting like ash. "You... you investigated me."
"I investigate everyone who enters my home, Nora," Stellan replied, his voice eerily steady. "That's how I stay alive. But when I opened these files this morning, I didn't find what I expected. In fact, I found something entirely impossible."
"What are you talking about?" Nora forced her voice to sound indignant, though her soul was shaking.
Stellan reached out and tapped the corner of the folder. "According to these records, you didn't just give birth at St. Jude's. You were an administrative assistant in their neonatal wing. And twelve months ago, right before you supposedly quit and moved to the South Side... a high-profile infant was reported missing from the intensive care unit."
Nora’s breath hitched. The room began to spin.
"Her biological parents," Stellan continued, his eyes boring into hers with intense, unflinching scrutiny, "were a prominent political family who crossed paths with the Chicago Outfit. They were murdered in a staged car accident three weeks after the baby vanished. The police closed the file. But the child was never found."
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He leaned forward, closing the distance between them.
"Look me in the eye, Nora, and tell me why a maid from the South Side is carrying a child who possesses an exact, undeniable genetic marker belonging to the Cross family."
