Page 22 of Bought By Santa

My eyebrows furrow in confusion. “Fix what?” I question, gently cupping her face. She flinches like she thought I was going to hurt her. “What the fuck’s going on?” My tone becomesharsher. She tries to pull away from me, but I don’t let her. Instead, I place my hands on her hips.

Her face is ashen. “I… umm… I got my period,” she whispers, like she’s afraid to say the words out loud. “The sheets are ruined. And I know they’re expensive. I’m so sorry. I’ll pay for new ones.” Her rushed admission is too much, and I can’t hold my laughter back.

“You think I care about a little blood?” I question. “I got everything you might need,” I tell her, pointing at the bags on the floor.

“Oh!” Her mouth forms into a cute O as she frowns. “You knew?”

I nod. “Found out just before I left. Look, I didn’t know what you needed, so I got some of everything.” Letting go of her, I bend and pick up the two bags with the period shit and the two with clothes. “Why don’t you go clean up, and I’ll make sure breakfast is waiting when you come out?”

“Okay,” she agrees softly.

She takes the bags from me and disappears back into the bathroom. As the lock slides into place, I shout, “Don’t ever lock me out, Hellcat.” She lets out a squeak, but unlocks the door immediately.

Satisfied, I turn toward the bed and the bloodied sheets. Instead of asking one of my staff to change the bed, I strip it, knowing Carolina would hate knowing someone else had done it.

I gather the dirty sheets under my arm and pick the remaining bags up, and leave the bedroom. I run into one of the cleaners and hand her the dirty sheets, asking her to put fresh ones on once Carolina’s done in the shower.

Chapter 9

The Santa

Istand by the door, arms crossed over my chest, as the doctor enters the room in my penthouse reserved for medical stuff. Dr. Carmichael doesn’t waste a second; she’s all business as she immediately begins setting up, preparing for the tests she’s about to conduct. Efficiency is what I pay for, and her swift movements reassure me that Carolina is in capable hands.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Knight,” Dr. Carmichael greets with a curt nod, not even flinching at the cold aura I emanate.

“Doctor,” I reply, my voice clipped, my gaze never wavering from Carolina, who lies exposed on the examination table, vulnerability etched into every line of her body—yet so deliciously enticing.

Dr. Carmichael raises a delicate brow as she looks at Carolina. “You must be Miss Sterling,” she observes, snapping on gloves with practiced ease.

Carolina pushes herself up, so she’s resting on her elbows. “What gave it away?” she snaps, blowing a stray strand of hair out of her eyes.

Since the good doc texted me when she was on her way and what to expect, I had time to get Carolina into the room and onto the examination table. She was surprisingly agreeable until she found out I wasn’t going to leave her and the doctor alone. In fact, I think she’s still pissed about that.

“Miss Sterling, we’re going to begin with an ultrasound, followed by a series of blood tests, to assess your fertility levels. I’ll also do a pregnancy test,” Dr. Carmichael explains, her tone professional, detached. It’s the detachment I appreciate most; emotions have no place in my world unless I’m the one evoking them.

Carolina lies back down and throws her hands up in the air. “Have at it, doctor. But you should know I’m bleeding from my vagina, so a pregnancy test isn’t necessary.” Turning her head toward me, she shoots daggers through her eyes, making me bark out a surprised laugh at her crassness.

“Are you certain you’re on your period?” Dr. Carmichael asks, unbothered by Carolina’s words. “Or is there a chance it’s another form of vaginal bleeding?”

My hellcat gnaws on her bottom lip. “Well, I’m pretty certain. My womb feels like it’s being sliced open with a dull knife, and the cramps are definitely real.”

I soften my gaze, regretting I didn’t buy any painkillers. “Do you have anything for her pain?” I ask the doc, not wanting Carolina to suffer through pain unless I’m the one who’s dolling it out.

She nods. “I do. Remind me before I leave.” Turning to Carolina, she gestures to her feet. “Please place your feet in the stirrups,” she commands.

Carolina’s eyes flicker toward me again, a silent plea for privacy, but I don’t budge. I stay behind the doctor, wanting to see everything she’s doing. My presence here isn’t about intimidation; it’s a reminder of our arrangement. She’s mine, and every part of this process belongs to me, too.

“Nicklas, please…” she starts, “at least stop eyeing my vagina—”

I cut her off with a sharp look. “I’m staying,” I clip, the words laced with an edge that should tell her to let it go right the fuck now.

Carolina’s mouth snaps shut, the tension in her jaw betraying her frustration. The doctor doesn’t miss a beat, turning on the ultrasound machine, the soft whirring noise filling the silence.

As the cool gel spreads across Carolina’s stomach and the transducer glides over her skin, images flicker on the monitor. I can’t decipher them, but I don’t need to. Dr. Carmichael’s steady commentary tells me all I need to know. Ovaries, follicles, womb—all words that spell out the future heir to my empire. Carolina’s discomfort is irrelevant; this is about legacy.

“Everything appears normal,” Dr. Carmichael concludes, stripping off her gloves with a professionalism that matches my own approach to business. “Do you want to put on some clothes?” Even though the question is clearly meant for Carolina, both women look at me.

When I nod, Carolina moves behind the privacy curtain, and I promptly follow her. I get she doesn’t want the doctor to watchher get dressed, but that doesn’t mean she gets to hide from me. She looks up as I approach, but doesn’t say anything. I watch as she picks up the pajama pants I got her, reaching into the pocket for something. My body tenses, readying myself in case she tries anything stupid.

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