Peter, perhaps softened by the successful delivery, appeared to fall into a daze. His gaze shifted absentmindedly toward my ward, though he couldn’t see the slow, crimson trickle pooling beyond the closed door.
If only he had stepped closer, he would have found my lifeless body marked by the silent testimony of blood, a wound deep enough to condemn.
But Peter’s small flicker of attention was cut short. Millie’s voice, sugary and possessive, broke the moment, as she sidled up to him with a coy smile, slipping her arm around his. She tugged him playfully toward the single restroom nearby.
Peter frowned, his expression a show of resistance and he gently pushed her back, as if trying to maintain some professional decorum. But it was all undone by the indulgence in his eyes, a fondness so blatant it drowned his weak refusal.
“Millie,” he said softly, as if justifying himself, “I am a doctor. Whatever Gia may have done, I must ensure she delivers safely. After that…” He trailed off, his gaze meeting hers. “After that, you’ll get what you want. Just wait a little longer.”