Crown of the Empire

Chapter 40

Chapter 40

I've walked into boardrooms where men three times my age have thrown contracts across the table like confetti, convinced their gray hair gave them the right to dismiss me. I've stood under chandeliers heavy enough to crush a country's GDP while vulture capitalists tried to circle me like I was a slab of steak, and I've bled them dry with nothing more than a spreadsheet and a pen.

But nothing—absolutely nothing—prepared me for the sound of rubber slippers squeaking on a tile floor in a cramped OB clinic in Makati, with antiseptic in the air and my husband's hand gripping mine like he was afraid I'd vanish.

It wasn't even a luxury hospital this time. Nikolai insisted on a "discreet" appointment. As if anyone in this building wouldn't know who I was the second I stepped in. Mariya Elena Vergara-Takedo. The heiress who became her own dynasty. The woman who collapsed an empire and raised another in its place. The savage daughter who exiled her father to a prison cell. The founder of ME Bank. The wife of Takedo Pharma. My name was a press release every time I sneezed.

And yet... here I was. Sitting on a paper-lined bed in a room that smelled faintly of rubbing alcohol and nerves. Waiting. Pretending I was calm while my insides fluttered like someone had let loose three pigeons in there already.

"Stop squeezing so hard," I muttered without looking at Nikolai.

His thumb paused against my palm, then loosened, just a fraction. "Sorry." His voice was low, calm, steady. The kind of voice that could explain market crashes or cure pandemics with a single press conference. But I knew him. The tension in his shoulders. The vein standing out at his temple. My clinical, logical, half-Russian, half-Japanese husband was nervous.

I allowed myself a smug smile. "Finally. Something that makes you sweat. Should I frame this moment?"

He shot me a sidelong look, gray eyes sharp as glass but betraying the faintest twitch at the corner. Almost a smile. Almost.

The door clicked open and the doctor stepped in, a woman in her mid-40s with warm eyes and brisk hands. She didn't blink at me, didn't ask for selfies, didn't even bother with small talk. Professional. Good.

"Mrs. Takedo," she greeted me, clipboard in hand. "How are you feeling today?"

Like I'm about to faint. Like I want to throw up. Like my entire empire could crumble if you tell me something's wrong. "Peachy," I said instead, because sarcasm was easier than honesty.

She hummed. "We'll check on the baby today."

Baby. Singular.

I swallowed, focusing on the word like it was a lifeline. Baby. One. Manageable. Singular.

"Lie back, please."

The bed was cold against my spine. She dimmed the lights, wheeled the ultrasound machine closer, and reached for the gel.

"Cold," she warned.

I rolled my eyes. "I run a bank. I eat cold men for breakfast."

Then the gel hit my stomach and I squeaked like a child. "Okay, fine. That's Antarctic."

Nikolai's hand squeezed mine again, too tight, betraying him.

The wand pressed against my skin. The hum of the machine filled the room. And then—

A sound. A rapid flutter. A heartbeat that wasn't mine.

I froze. My breath caught in my throat.

"There," the doctor said softly. Her eyes flicked to the screen, then to us. "Strong heartbeat. Healthy."