The doorbell to the penthouse rang with the urgency of a fire alarm.
Inside the bathroom, Eunice splashed cold water on her face, her hands trembling. She stared at her reflection. She looked ghostly pale, her eyes wide with panic.
She heard voices in the living room. Deep, serious male voices.
"She's in the guest suite," Hart's voice was clipped and authoritative. "She's been vomiting for twenty minutes. She's pale, disoriented. I want a full workup."
"Understood, Mr. Matthew," a stranger's voice replied. "We brought the portable diagnostic kit. We can run blood work right here."
Blood work.
Eunice's heart stopped. If they took her blood, they would see the HCG levels immediately. They would know she was pregnant. They would know it was twins.
She couldn't let them in.
She grabbed a hand towel and dried her face aggressively, trying to bring some color back to her cheeks. She straightened her spine. Deny. Deny. Deny.
She unlocked the bathroom door and stepped out into the bedroom just as Hart and a man in a white coat walked in.
"I'm fine," Eunice announced, her voice surprisingly steady.
Hart stopped, his eyes scanning her critically. "You are not fine. You were retching loud enough to be heard through a solid oak door."
"It was just something I ate," Eunice lied, forcing a weak smile at the doctor. "The seafood at the restaurant last night. I think it was a bad oyster."
The doctor, a kind-looking man with graying hair, stepped forward. "Food poisoning can be serious in this heat, Miss Vance. I'm Dr. Al-Fayed. Why don't you sit down so I can check your vitals? We might need to put you on an IV drip for dehydration."
"An IV won't be necessary," Eunice said quickly, taking a step back. "I just need water and sleep. I have a… sensitive stomach."
"Eunice," Hart's voice was a warning growl. He crossed the room, towering over her. "Stop being stubborn. Let the man do his job."
"I don't like doctors," Eunice snapped, looking up at him. "I have a phobia. White coat syndrome. If he tries to stick a needle in me, I will faint. Is that what you want?"
Hart paused. He looked at her, searching for the lie, but the fear in her eyes was real. She was terrified, just not for the reason he thought.
"A phobia?" Hart repeated, skeptical.
"Yes," Eunice insisted. She turned to Dr. Al-Fayed. "Doctor, if I had food poisoning, wouldn't I have a fever?"
"Likely, yes," the doctor nodded. He reached out with a digital thermometer. "May I?"
Eunice held her breath. Please be normal. Please be normal.
The doctor scanned her forehead. Beep.
"98.6," Dr. Al-Fayed read. "Normal temperature."
Eunice exhaled. "See? No infection. Just an upset stomach. I promise, if I'm not better by tonight, I'll go to the hospital. But right now, I just want to lie down."
Hart looked at the doctor. "Well?"
Dr. Al-Fayed packed his thermometer away. "Without a fever or other symptoms, it is likely just mild gastritis or a reaction to the food, as she said. Rest and hydration are the best cures. But Mr. Matthew..."
The doctor lowered his voice, but Eunice heard him clearly.
"...stress can also manifest physically. If she is working too hard, her body might be shutting down."
Hart's jaw tightened. He looked at Eunice, who was leaning against the bedpost, looking small and fragile. Guilt flashed in his dark eyes. He had dragged her onto a plane, forced her into a high-pressure meeting, and made her stay up half the night talking him to sleep.
"I understand," Hart said curtly. "Thank you, Doctor. You may go."
As soon as the doctor left, the room fell silent.
Hart walked over to the windows and closed the heavy blackout curtains, plunging the room into a cool, dim twilight.
"Get in bed," he ordered.
"Sir, the presentation—"
"I cancelled the meeting," Hart said, turning to face her. "Russo can wait. The merger can wait."
He walked to the bedside table and poured a fresh glass of water. He set it down next to the lamp.
"I pushed you too hard," Hart muttered, looking at the floor. It was the closest thing to an apology she would ever get from a man like him. "You are staying in this bed for the next 24 hours. I will work from the living room. If you need anything—anything at all—you call me."
Eunice climbed into the bed, pulling the duvet up to her chin. She felt a pang of guilt for lying to him, especially when he looked so genuinely concerned.
"Thank you, Hart," she whispered.
Hart lingered by the door. "Try to sleep, Eunice. No dreams about work."
He closed the door softly.
Eunice lay in the dark, listening to the faint sound of him typing in the other room. She placed a hand on her belly.
"We're safe," she whispered to the twins. "But Daddy is watching us like a hawk now. We have to be careful."