LOVE'S QUAGMIRE [18+]

Chapter 57: Stab

Zephyr's POV~

I slammed the brakes, my heart racing as I quickly jumped out of the car. I rushed to the passenger side, yanking open the door.

"Love, we've reached," I said, tapping her cheeks lightly. She fluttered her eyes, still groggy, but looked at me, half-conscious.

"Come on," I urged, my tone softer now, but no less firm. I gently took her hand and helped her swing her legs out of the car, watching as she struggled slightly. With a deep breath, I pulled her to her feet, wrapping my arm around her waist to support her, holding her hand tightly in mine.

Her sniffles stabbed at my nerves, every soft sound twisting my insides with rage. 

The damn doctor was going to pay for this, I swore to myself. 

I'd personally make sure of it.

We moved quickly, my steps purposeful as I led her toward Dr. Margaret's cabin. I'd already called ahead, but seeing the assistant standing there made my blood boil. He looked up from his phone and froze, his eyes drifting to Daphne. A chill ran down my spine as I saw the way his gaze lingered. I clenched my jaw, stepping forward, my voice cold as steel.

"Where's Dr. Margaret?" I asked, my eyes narrowing. I wasn't here for distractions. Right now, Daphne and the baby were all that mattered.

"I-I'll tell her you're here," he stammered, quickly rushing out of the room. A moment later, he was back with Dr. Margaret.

She entered with a professional calm, but I could see the tension in her posture as she glanced at Daphne, still in her hospital gown, leaning on me for support.

"Is everything okay?" she asked, concern flickering in her eyes as she studied Daphne closely.

"I want you to check her—make sure she's fine, and the baby too," I demanded, my voice strained. Dr. Margaret nodded, gesturing for me to follow her into the exam room.

I gently helped her sit on the bed, my hand never leaving hers as I positioned myself beside her.

"Mr. Reynolds, I need you to wait outside," she said firmly.

"But I want to—" I began, my voice tight with frustration, but she cut me off.

"Trust me," she said, her eyes locking with mine.

I glanced at Daphne one last time, my chest tightening. She was in good hands, but the worry gnawing at me wouldn't let up. I nodded stiffly and stepped back, unwilling to leave her side for long, but I forced myself to retreat into her cabin. 

My mind was a storm, but one thing was clear: I would tear apart anyone or anything that threatened her or our baby. 

No one would get away with this. Not while I still had breath in my lungs.

I paced outside the cabin, each step echoing my restlessness. My hands balled into fists, nails digging into my palms. 

Time crawled, dragging my anxiety with it. Every now and then, I glanced at the door, hoping to hear something—anything—that would end this suffocating silence.

Finally, the door creaked open, and Dr. Margaret stepped out. Her expression was unreadable, but there was something in her eyes, something hesitant, that made my chest tighten.

"Mr. Reynolds," she started, her voice soft but firm, "we need to talk."

I stepped closer, my voice low and controlled, masking the storm inside. "Is she okay? Is the baby okay?"