The Billionaire's Insignificant Wife novel Chapter 161

The Welfare Check

The walk up the stairs felt endless to Mrs. Helen.

Each step echoed in the silence–a slow procession toward a moment that could change everything or nothing at all.

Ms. Fontaine walked behind her with steady footsteps, her eyes scanning the hallway with professional attention–noting the expensive artwork on the walls, the fresh flowers in crystal vases, the pristine condition of everything.

A wealthy home.

A comfortable home.

But Ms. Fontaine had learned long ago that wealth didn’t preclude suffering.

Sometimes it just hid it better.

Dr. Halvorsen walked beside Ms. Fontaine with a more clinical focus–her eyes tracking the layout of the house, the security cameras mounted discreetly in corners, the lack of family photographs in the hallway.

Details that spoke volumes to someone trained to see them.

They reached the second floor and Mrs. Helen led them down a long corridor to a door at the end.

She paused with her hand on the doorknob and turned to face them.

“Mrs. Alina is… not well,” she said in a voice that was carefully controlled but trembling slightly. “She’s been very stressed. The pregnancy has been difficult. Please be… gentle with her.”

Ms. Fontaine’s eyes sharpened at that.

“Thank you, Mrs. Helen,” she said professionally. “We’ll be very careful.”

Mrs. Helen nodded and opened the door.

The room beyond was large and beautifully furnished–a four–poster bed with silk sheets, antique furniture, a sitting area by tall windows with heavy curtains partially drawn.

And in a chair by the window sat Alina.

Both Ms. Fontaine and Dr. Halvorsen stopped just inside the doorway.

The contrast was jarring.

The room was opulent–everything spoke of wealth and comfort and care.

But the woman sitting in that chair…

She looked like a ghost.

1/6

+25 Bonus

The light blue dress hung on her frame like it was draped over a skeleton. Her face was gaunt- cheekbones too sharp, eyes too large in a face that had lost all its softness. Dark circles beneath those eyes suggested weeks of sleepless nights. Her skin had a translucent quality–pale to the point of being almost gray.

And her hands–folded in her lap with a bandage visible on one wrist–trembled slightly with a fine,

continuous tremor.

Ms. Fontaine felt something cold settle in her stomach.

She had read the anonymous email this morning–the one with attached photographs showing a woman in distress, allegations of mental instability, concerns about self–harm.

She had tried to approach this assessment with professional objectivity, to not let the email bias her

evaluation.

But looking at Alina now…

The email hadn’t been wrong about the physical state at least.

This woman was clearly in crisis.

Dr. Halvorsen moved first, walking forward with slow, non–threatening steps.

“Mrs. Blackwood,” she said in a voice that was gentle but clear. “My name is Dr. Ingrid Halvorsen. This is Ms. Claire Fontaine. We’re here to check on your wellbeing. May we sit with you?”

Alina’s eyes–which had been fixed on her hands–slowly lifted.

When they met Dr. Halvorsen’s gaze, the doctor had to suppress a visible reaction.

Those eyes were hollow.

Not just sad or depressed–though they were certainly that.

But hollow in a way that suggested something fundamental had been extinguished.

“Of course,” Alina said in a voice that was barely above a whisper. “Please sit.”

Ms. Fontaine and Dr. Halvorsen exchanged a quick glance before moving to the chairs across from Alina.

Mrs. Helen lingered by the door, wringing her hands with visible distress.

“Mrs. Helen,” Ms. Fontaine said gently. “Could you give us privacy, please? We need to speak with Mrs. Alina alone.”

Mrs. Helen’s eyes darted to Alina with clear worry.

But Alina gave a small nod–so small it was almost imperceptible.

“I’ll be right outside if you need anything, Ma’am,” Mrs. Helen said, her voice thick with emotion she was barely controlling.

2/6

+25 Bus

She left closing the door with a soft click that sounded far too final

Now it was just the three of them

Ms. Fontaine opened her briefcase and took out a notepad, but she didn’t immediately start writing Instead, she leaned forward slightly with an expression of genuine concem.

“Mrs. Blackwood–may I call you Alina?” she asked.

Alina nodded again

“Alina, I want you to know that this conversation is confidential What you tell us today is between you, me, and Dr. Halvorsen. Your husband is not present and will not be present during this interview You can speak freely

Alina’s hands tightened in her lap.

“I understand,” she whispered.

Dr. Halvorsen spoke next her voice taking on the particular cadence of someone trained in trauma

informed care.

“Alina, before we begin with specific questions, I want to check in with you about how you’re feeling right now. Can you tell me how you’re doing today?”

Alina was silent for a long moment.

Her eyes dropped back to her hands.

When she finally spoke, her voice was flat–emotionless in a way that was more disturbing than tears

would have been.

“I’m fine,” she said. “Everything is fine.”

Ms. Fontaine wrote something in her notepad.

That phrase “everything is fine“-was one she had heard countless times in her career

Sometimes it was true

Often it wasn’t

“Can you tell me about your pregnancy?‘ Dr. Halvorsen asked, her eyes tracking every micro–expression on Alina’s face. “How far along are you?”

“Two weeks,” Alina answered, still not looking up. “Dr. Ross confirmed it

“And how are you feeling physically? Any morning sickness, fatigue, other symptoms?”

Alina’s hand moved unconsciously to her stomach–a protective gesture that Dr. Halvorsen noted

immediately.

9/6

+25 Bonus

“I can’t eat,” Alina admitted in a voice so quiet they had to lean forward to hear “Food makes me everything makes me sick.”

“How long has that been happening?” Ms. Fontaine asked gently.

“Weeks,” Alina whispered. “Maybe months. I don’t… I don’t remember anymore.”

Dr. Halvorsen’s eyes moved to the IV line marks on Alina’s arm–fresh puncture wounds suggesting regular intravenous nutrition.

“Have you been receiving medical treatment for the nausea?” she asked.

“Dr. Ross comes,” Alina said mechanically. “She gives me IV nutrition. Vitamins. She says it’s necessary for the baby.”

“And what about your emotional health?” Dr. Halvorsen pressed gently. “How have you been feeling emotionally during this time?”

Alina was silent.

The silence stretched–five seconds, ten seconds, fifteen.

Ms. Fontaine and Dr. Halvorsen waited patiently.

Finally, Alina spoke, her voice barely audible.

“Tired,” she whispered. “I’m very tired.”

Dr. Halvorsen leaned forward slightly.

“Alina, I notice you have a bandage on your wrist. Can you tell me about that?”

Alina’s entire body tensed.

Her breathing quickened–just slightly, but enough to be noticeable.

“I… it was an accident,” she said, the words coming out rushed. “I was cutting fruit and the knife slipped. It’s nothing serious.”

Ms. Fontaine wrote that down, but her expression suggested she didn’t entirely believe the explanation.

“May I see?” Dr. Halvorsen asked gently.

Alina hesitated for a long moment before slowly extending her hand.

Dr. Halvorsen carefully lifted the bandage.

Beneath it was a thin red line–healing but recent. The wound was superficial but the location was unmistakable.

Horizontal across the wrist.

4/6

+25 Bonus

Not the typical pattern of an accidental knife slip while cutting fruit.

Dr Halvorsen’s eyes met Ms. Fontaine’s briefly.

They both knew what they were looking at.

“Alina,” Dr. Halvorsen said very gently while carefully replacing the bandage. “I need to ask you a difficult question. Have you been having thoughts of harming yourself?”

Alina’s eyes filled with tears–the first real emotion she had shown since they entered.

But she blinked them back quickly, her face closing down again.

“No,” she said firmly. “It was an accident. Just an accident.”

Ms. Fontaine shifted in her chair.

“Alina, your father filed a petition with the court because he’s concerned about you,” she said carefully.” He says he hasn’t been able to speak with you freely for several months. That when he does talk to you on the phone, your husband is always present. Is that true?”

Alina’s hands clenched tightly in her lap.

Daniel’s words echoed in her head.

*Richard Hayes has an eight million dollar debt to Blackwood Enterprises. A debt I can call at any time.*

*If I call that debt, your father will lose everything.*

“My husband… he’s very protective,” Alina said, the words sounding rehearsed even to her own ears. Because of the pregnancy. He wants to make sure I’m not stressed.”

“And do you feel that’s helpful?” Dr. Halvorsen asked, watching Alina’s face carefully. “Having your

communications monitored?”

Alina opened her mouth to respond.

The word “yes” was on her lips–the safe answer, the answer that would protect her father, the answer Daniel expected.

But something stopped her.

Maybe it was the genuine concern in Dr. Halvorsen’s eyes.

Maybe it was Ms. Fontaine’s patient, non–judgmental expression.

Maybe it was just exhaustion–the bone–deep weariness of maintaining lies when every part of her was screaming the truth.

Her mouth remained open but no sound came out.

Tears began sliding down her cheeks–silent tears that fell without sobs, without sound, just an endless

56

stream of grief that had been held back too long

“Alina, Ms. Fontaine said very gently. “Are you safe here?

And for the first time, Alina looked directly at them.

Really looked at them.

Her eyes met Ms. Fontaine’s with an intensity that was almost painful.

And in that look was everything she couldn’t say.

Everything she was too terrified to speak aloud.

Every truth that Daniel’s threats had silenced.

Ms. Fontaine saw it all.

And she knew–with absolute certainty–that the woman in front of her was not safe.

Not safe at all.

P

0

Comments

Support

Share

-258000

66