Page 3 of Bound in Matrimony

Dr. Winters's eyes dart between us, professional enough not to comment on the dynamics at play. "I've arranged for the best obstetric team to be on call, and we'll run some additional tests to be safe."

"Tests?" I ask, immediately alert. "What tests? Why?"

"Standard precautionary measures, Mr. Vance. Nothing to be alarmed about."

But I am alarmed. The thought of anything happening to Seraphina or our child sends a cold wave of fear through me—an unfamiliar sensation for a man who built an empire by never experiencing that emotion.

Once we're alone, Seraphina reaches for my hand. "You can't buy a hospital floor," she says again, but there's resignation in her voice now. She knows me well enough to recognize a lost cause.

"Already in progress." I sit on the edge of her bed, careful not to disturb the monitoring equipment. "By morning, this entire wing will be ours. I've ordered renovations to begin tomorrow—better security, upgraded medical equipment, a proper suite for you."

"Knox..." She sighs, squeezing my fingers. "We'll only be here until the baby is born. A few months at most."

I bring her hand to my lips, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. "And then for any future children. For any medical need you or our family ever has. This floor will be our private medical facility in perpetuity."

Her eyes widen slightly. "Future children? We haven't even had this one yet."

I don't respond to that. She'll understand eventually that I want everything with her—not just one child, but many. Not just one lifetime, but an entire legacy.

As night deepens, I refuse to leave her side despite the comfortable recliner the staff brings in. Instead, I stretch out beside her on the hospital bed, one hand resting protectively on her swollen belly, feeling the occasional flutter of movement beneath my palm.

I don't sleep. I watch Seraphina's face in repose, the gentle rise and fall of her chest, the way her eyelashes cast delicate shadows on her cheeks in the dim light. My empire, my wealth, my power—all of it meaningless compared to this woman and the child she carries.

And so I do what I've always done when something matters to me: I ensure I control every variable, eliminate every risk, secure every advantage money can buy.

By morning, when Seraphina wakes to find herself in a hospital room filled with fresh flowers and me still at her side, the paperwork is already being finalized. The entire floor—soon to be renamed the Vance Family Medical Wing—belongs to me.

To us.

To the family I'm building, the legacy I'm creating, the future I'm securing one acquisition at a time.

Chapter Two

Seraphina

I've never seena man worth billions on his hands and knees with an Allen wrench, cursing at a piece of Scandinavian furniture. Yet here is Knox Vance, CEO of Vance Technologies, the most intimidating man in the business world, assembling a crib with the same intensity he uses to dissect quarterly reports. His sleeves are rolled up, revealing corded forearms and the expensive watch he refuses to remove even for this task. A fine sheen of sweat gives his forehead a glow under the recessed lights he had installed to be "optimal for the baby's developing vision."

"Knox," I say, leaning against the doorframe of the nursery, one hand resting on my belly. "We have people who could do that."

He doesn't look up, his dark brows drawn together in concentration. "No one touches my daughter's crib but me. I need to know it's secure."

"It's from the most exclusive baby boutique in Manhattan. I'm sure it's safe."

Now he does look up, those penetrating eyes fixing on me with the same focus he's just given the crib slats. "Are you? Are you absolutely certain, Seraphina? Because I'm not willing to risk our child on an assumption."

I should find his intensity alarming. Three months ago, I would have. But something has shifted inside me since the hospital scare last week. Watching Knox systematically take control of an entire medical floor, interviewing each nurse who might come near me, personally inspecting every piece of equipment—it awakened something primal in me, something that responds to his absolute devotion with a warmth I wasn't expecting.

"The doctor said I should rest," I remind him, though we both know I'm not really tired. After three days of being monitored for what turned out to be false labor, I'm restless in our penthouse.

"Then sit." He gestures to the custom glider chair positioned by the window—a chair he tested for comfort, noise, and durability before allowing it into the room.

I settle into it, watching him return to his task. The nursery has been transformed in the week since our hospital visit. The walls, once a simple cream, are now painted in a specialized non-toxic formula that Knox had tested in three different labs. The carpet was replaced with sustainable bamboo flooring that's "better for air quality." Smart sensors monitor temperature, humidity, and air particles. A state-of-the-art sound system is programmed to play Bach, Mozart, and other classical pieces that Knox read would stimulate brain development.

"Did you know," he says conversationally as he tightens a bolt, "that the average crib has fourteen potential points of failure? I've reinforced each one."

"Of course you have." I can't help the affection that creeps into my voice.

When I was discharged from the hospital, I returned to a penthouse that had been completely baby-proofed, despite the fact that our daughter won't be mobile for months. Every outlet covered, every corner padded, every cleaning product replaced with organic alternatives. Knox had even installed a specialized water filtration system for the entire building because, as he explained with deadly seriousness, "tap water contains trace pharmaceuticals that could affect fetal development."

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