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"Hello, Doctor."
The middle-aged man glanced up and gave her a brief nod, gesturing for her to lie back on the examination table.
The bed was lined with disposable medical paper. Guided by a nurse, Lyla laid down, allowing her shirt to be lifted just enough to expose her stomach.
The moment the cold gel hit her skin, it took everything in her not to flinch and pull away.
The ultrasound wand glided slowly across her abdomen, the machine emitting a steady, low-frequency hum.
The images shifted rapidly on the monitor, but the doctor merely stared at the screen, his expression entirely unreadable.
Madeline and Grant waited tensely nearby for the verdict.
Once the exam concluded, the doctor turned to face the group, his tone as casual as if he were discussing the weather.
"This woman," he paused slightly, "has a normal endometrial thickness. There is no gestational sac, and no embryo."
"Based on these results, she is not pregnant."
The second those words left his mouth, a suffocating, deathly silence consumed the room.
Madeline's grip on her designer handbag went slack. The leather strap slipped through her fingers, dangling precariously in midair.
Her brow furrowed deeply, her voice piercing through the quiet.
"Excuse me? Say that again."
"She is not pregnant."
The doctor looked up, repeating the statement with absolute neutrality.
His eyes held zero underlying emotion; he was simply stating a biological fact.
What they didn't know was that Lucas Lowery had already swapped the doctors out beforehand, perfectly executing Sienna's trap.
Lyla thought she had airtight insurance, completely oblivious to the fact that she was plummeting straight into the abyss Sienna had meticulously dug for her.
"That's... impossible," Madeline muttered, her voice so faint she was almost talking to herself.
She abruptly whipped her head toward Lyla. The doting, motherly affection was completely gone, replaced by a merciless, unblinking glare aimed squarely at Lyla's stomach.
"What is the meaning of this?"

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