Page 26 of Bound in Matrimony

"Let's get you to your suite," she says, gesturing for the nurse to begin wheeling me inside. "We've prepared everything according to your birth plan."

As we move through the hospital, Knox never leaves my side, his hand firmly gripping mine as if I might disappear if he lets go. Another contraction builds as we reach the private birthing suite—actually an entire section of the maternity floor that Knox has somehow secured exclusively for us.

"Breathe with me," I tell him as much as myself, watching his chest rise and fall in perfect sync with mine as we work through the pain together.

When it passes, I look up at my husband—this powerful, controlling, obsessive man who has completely lost his composure at the prospect of our child entering the world—and feel a surge of love so intense it almost rivals the contractions.

"We're having a baby," I whisper, suddenly overwhelmed by the reality of it.

His eyes, dark with concern and wonder and terror, meet mine. "We're having a baby," he agrees, voice unsteady. Then, with newfound determination: "And I'm not leaving your side for a single second until she's safely in our arms."

As they help me onto the bed and begin attaching monitors, I watch Knox transform again—not back into the controlled CEO, but into something new: a father-to-be, terrified and exhilarated and completely, irrevocably committed to the tiny person about to join our world.

And despite the pain, despite the hours of labor ahead, I wouldn't change a thing about this moment or the man beside me.

Chapter Fifteen

Knox

Sixteen hours.Sixteen goddamn hours, and still my daughter hasn't arrived. The hospital suite—the entire floor I commandeered for Seraphina's comfort and privacy—feels like a prison cell. My hand has gone numb from Seraphina's grip during contractions, but I'd rather lose the limb entirely than let go. Each time pain washes over her face, I feel it like a physical blow. I've broken men in boardrooms, crushed competitors without remorse, built an empire through sheer force of will, but I can't do a damn thing to ease my wife's suffering as she labors to bring our child into the world. The powerlessness is a living thing inside me, clawing at my chest, threatening to shatter the control I'm barely maintaining.

"Mr. Vance?" The nurse approaches cautiously, clearly having learned from earlier interactions that I'm not to be trifled with. "Dr. Winters would like to check your wife's progress."

I nod once, my eyes never leaving Seraphina's face. She's exhausted, her honey-blonde hair dampened with sweat, herusually vibrant eyes dulled by fatigue. Yet she's never looked more beautiful to me. More powerful. More essential.

"Seven centimeters," Dr. Winters announces after her examination. "You're making good progress, Seraphina."

"Good progress?" I can't keep the edge from my voice. "She's been in labor for sixteen hours. How much longer?"

Dr. Winters meets my glare with professional calm. "First babies often take their time, Mr. Vance. Everything is proceeding normally. Your daughter is showing no signs of distress."

"And my wife?" I demand. "What about her distress?"

"Knox." Seraphina's voice is tired but firm. "Dr. Winters is doing everything possible. This isn't like closing a business deal. You can't intimidate our daughter into arriving faster."

I swallow the retort that rises to my lips. She's right, of course. But the sight of her in pain, hour after hour, is testing the limits of my sanity. I've been awake as long as she has, refusing food, refusing to leave her side even for a moment.

Another contraction begins, and I shift to support her, one arm around her shoulders, the other hand still locked with hers. "Breathe," I murmur, demonstrating the pattern we've been practicing for months. "That's it. Just like that."

She squeezes my hand with surprising strength, her breath coming in short gasps as the contraction peaks. I would give every dollar I possess, dismantle my entire company, promise any price, if it would take this pain from her.

"You're doing beautifully," I tell her when it passes, brushing damp hair from her forehead. "Our daughter is lucky to have such a strong mother."

A ghost of a smile touches her lips. "And such an overbearing father. I heard you threatening the anesthesiologist earlier."

"He was taking too long with the epidural." I don't apologize. The man had moved with maddening slowness while Seraphinasuffered. "And I didn't threaten him. I merely explained the consequences of inadequate care."

"You told him you'd buy the hospital and fire him if he didn't—" Her words cut off as another contraction begins, stronger than the last.

Dr. Winters returns, checking the monitors that track our daughter's heartbeat and Seraphina's contractions. "The contractions are getting closer together. This is good."

A commotion outside the door draws my attention. Raised voices, the sound of hurried footsteps. I tense, instantly alert to potential threats.

"What's happening?" I demand of the nearest nurse.

"I'm not sure, Mr. Vance. I'll check?—"

Before she can move, the door opens and an unfamiliar doctor enters, consulting with Dr. Winters in hushed tones. My hearing, always acute when it comes to potential problems, catches fragments: "heart rate dropped..." "might need to consider..." "if it happens again..."

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