Chapter 69: Unfortunate Meeting
Her face wrenched in pain, tightening so sharply that even she was surprised by how convincing it felt.
It was only a matter of time before she was being gently but hurriedly picked up, lifted by two nurses whose voices overlapped in frantic concern as they placed her on an emergency bed. The wheels screeched faintly as they pushed her down the hallway, the ceiling lights streaking above her like white flashes.
Still, Dora didn’t let up—she continued to groan in pain, clutching her leg as though something had torn through it, even as they moved her from the emergency stretcher to a normal hospital bed and immediately began to ask her multiple questions.
The room, of course, was VIP. That didn’t surprise Dora in the slightest; it hardly even made her blink. More importantly, she expected it. Dante’s name alone ensured she would never touch anything less than high priority as she slowly began to settle down, forcing her breathing to level even though her nerves were still buzzing.
"The pain seems to be subsiding!" she told them quickly, trying to sound relieved even as they continued trying to hook her up to the machine—hands everywhere, adjusting wires, lifting her arm, pressing gently on her forehead.
They surrounded her like persistent flies, buzzing around with visible concern etched deep in their features. Not concern for her, of course. But concern for what would happen if Mr. Dante Bellini arrived to find his wife hurt under their watch.
Even though it was more obvious that they cared far more about facing his ire than anything else, Dora couldn’t deny that the recognition in their eyes felt strange—too heavy, too expectant, too fearful. They knew who Dante was. And they knew exactly who she was to him.
Soon, Dora had to practically beg for a moment of rest, pressing her fingers against her temple and clenching her head as a headache slowly built up from the stress, the lying, and the rush of adrenaline.
Ettore stood by the door like a silent shadow, expression unreadable beneath those dark shades, but she wasn’t going to allow him to stand there watching her like a guard dog. She went ahead and sent him out, claiming she needed to rest.
But barely ten minutes had passed—ten painfully slow minutes—after he left before she scrambled off the bed, a jolt of urgency shooting through her. She pulled out what had been attached to her, gently at first and then more frantically, wincing at the tiny stings left behind on her skin as she moved toward the bathroom.
She slipped inside, shut the door, and made her way directly toward the back door that led into the room of another patient.
She had spent enough time in VIP rooms to know the hidden layout.
Thankfully, the room she entered was empty, perfectly still, sheets untouched. Dora exhaled in relief, glanced out through the doorframe, and slipped out silently, moving past Ettore, who stood rod-straight in front of her room—completely unaware that she was already behind him. Dora headed off in the opposite direction, her heart thumping lightly against her ribs as her steps quickened.
It was only a matter of time before she found the pharmacy. The wide glass shelves gleamed under the bright hospital lights, rows of medications lined neatly like silent soldiers. She spotted the pregnancy tests almost instantly and grabbed the ones she needed, shoving them deep into her bag until the zipper strained.
’Was she being excessive? Maybe!’ she thought, her pulse still racing. But at that point she didn’t care. If she was pregnant, she wanted to keep that fact to herself—just for a little while. Just long enough to process it. Long enough to breathe before Guila would bombard her with nutritional expectations and strict regulations. Before Dante would list out all the things he expected from her the moment he found out.
For all she knew, she might no longer be allowed to leave the estate—a thought that had been growing heavier with each day. Becoming more and more aware of the job she received with each passing moment.
Once she was done, instead of returning to the room she intended to find something to drink. Her throat felt dry from nerves and tension, and a cold drink seemed like the only thing that could steady her. She was surprised by how relieving it was not to have anyone watching her movements, not even Ettore’s shadow looming behind her.
Realizing, maybe for the first time, why her step sister Elisa and her step mother often slipped away for even tiny moments of freedom. Moments where no one monitored, directed, or judged them. It made sense now—an unsettling sense, but sense all the same.
Moreover, it was very unlikely that Tiberio would follow her every footstep looking for the perfect chance in the VIP section of a private hospital—one with numerous security guards stationed at every corner and security cameras placed strategically above every hallway.
’I’m safe!’ she told herself, a fragile reassurance but one she clung to as she slid money into the vending machine. She bent down, picking up the orange-flavored drink that dropped down with a hollow clunk.
She was still raising her gaze up, her fingers curling around the cold bottle, when she caught sight of a pair of polished shoes—polished to a shine—clearly belonging to a man. Expensive. Proper. Precisely placed.
Her first thought was that Ettore had found her. Relief sparked in her chest, spreading quickly like warmth, a smile already lifting her face as she opened her mouth to explain while she slowly twisted open the drink.
Only for every inch of her body to freeze.
The bottle slipped from her fingers and fell to the ground, bouncing once before rolling away, spilling its orange liquid across the white floor. Dora barely reacted to it; her limbs stiffened, her breath locked tight in her lungs as she scrambled back instead—instinctively, protectively—with a look of pure horror on her face.
Standing in front of her was Tiberio.
A face she could never forget. A face carved into her memory with force and trauma. Behind him stood two huge guards—tall, broad, silent. Their cold expression alone was menacing enough.
"I thought I would have to take care of your bodyguard, but it seems like you’ve decided to make it easier for me," he said, voice calm and chilling, even as Dora’s mouth hung open in shock. She stared at Tiberio, her heart hammering, her gaze flicking behind him and then toward the hallway—clearly preparing to flee.
"If you make a scene, I’m fully prepared to make one of my own!" Tiberio spoke again. The bodyguards behind him didn’t move, but they subtly flaunted the guns at their waists—just enough for her to see the dark metal glinting ominously.
"It would be a sad thing for the good doctors and nurses to have to die because of our little squabble!" he added.
But Dora barely heard him—she heard more of the ringing in her head than the words that actually came out of his mouth. Her breath trembled as she watched him slowly beckon her over.
Her legs were fixed to the ground, frozen. Just the memory of what the old man in front of her had done to her step sister—cutting off her toes—and what he had done to her step mother was enough for her to realize that he wasn’t the kind of man she wanted to have a conversation with.
"If you have something to say, say it! This is a public place... you can’t kidnap me like you did to my family!" she told him, summoning every last scrap of strength within her simply to be able to force out those words.
A soft, shrill chuckle left Tiberio’s throat, mocking and sharp.
"Yes, but I can hurt you right here and now!" he told her—words that made Dora pale, her stomach twisting violently regardless of how much she tried to appear strong.
