The Billionaire's Insignificant Wife novel Chapter 162

Silent Chains

The silence in the room was heavy–thick with everything that couldn’t be said

Alina’s tears continued to fall in that terrible silent way–no sobs, no sound, just an endless stream down her hollow cheeks.

Ms Fontaine leaned forward slightly, her voice gentle but with an underlying firmness that suggested she wouldn’t accept deflection anymore

“Alina,” she said carefully “I can see that you’re in pain Deep pain What happened to make you feel this way?”

Alina’s hands twisted in her lap–wringing each other with a desperate, unconscious motion

She opened her mouth

Closed it

Opened it again

But no words came out.

Just more tears–silent and endless

Dr. Halvorsen’s eyes narrowed slightly–not with suspicion but with clinical assessment

“Alina,” she said in that particular tone that psychiatrists used when they needed a patient to really hear them. “When was the last time you felt safe?”

The question landed like a physical blow

Alina’s breath caught audibly in her throat.

Safe.

When had she last felt safe?

Her mouth opened again–trying to form an answer.

But the words wouldn’t come.

They were trapped behind Daniel’s threats, behind the image of her father losing everything, behind the terror of what speaking the truth would cost.

“I don’t…” Alina whispered finally, her voice so quiet they had to strain to hear. “I don’t remember.”

Her eyes dropped to her hands again–away from the concerned gazes of the two women watching her.

Ms. Fontaine wrote something in her notepad–a quick note that felt significant somehow.

The silence stretched.

Ms. Fontaine and Dr. Halvorsen exchanged a long, meaningful look.

They had both worked enough abuse cases to recognize this pattern.

The victim who wanted to speak but couldn’t.

The terror that paralyzed even when safety was offered

The invisible chains that were sometimes stronger than physical ones.

Dr Halvorsen stood up slowly, her movements deliberate and non–threatening.

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“Alina, I’d like to do a brief physical examination if that’s alright with you,” she said gently. “Nothing invasive. I just want to check a few things–your pulse, blood pressure, look at your eyes and throat. Is that okay?”

Alina nodded mutely.

Dr. Halvorsen moved closer and knelt beside Alina’s chair–putting herself at eye level, making herself less imposing.

She pulled a small medical kit from her bag and took out a blood pressure cuff.

“I’m just going to wrap this around your arm,” she explained as she worked. “It’ll squeeze a bit but it won’t hurt.”

The cuff inflated with a quiet hiss.

Dr. Halvorsen watched the gauge with a face that remained professionally neutral, but Ms. Fontaine saw the subtle tightening around her eyes.

“Blood pressure is very low,” Dr. Halvorsen said quietly. “Ninety over fifty–eight.”

She unwrapped the cuff and pulled out a small penlight.

“Look up at the ceiling for me, Alina.”

Alina obeyed.

Dr. Halvorsen shined the light in each eye, watching the pupil responses.

Then she gently pressed her fingers against Alina’s neck–checking lymph nodes, assessing the thyroid.

Her fingers paused at one point and she frowned slightly.

“Open your mouth for me? Let me see your tongue.”

Alina opened her mouth.

Dr. Halvorsen looked for a long moment, then sat back on her heels with an expression that was carefully controlled but clearly

concerned.

“Alina,” she said in a voice that was both gentle and serious. “When was the last time you had a proper moal? Something solid that you actually ate and kept down?”

Alina tried to remember.

Yesterday Mrs. Helen had brought toast but Alina had only managed two bites before the nausea became overwhelming.

The day before, the smell of eggs had made her vomit before she even tried to eat.

Before that…

“I don’t know,” Alina admitted in a voice thick with shame. “Weeks, maybe. I can’t… food makes me sick. Everything makes me

sick.”

Dr. Halvorsen’s jaw tightened.

“Your tongue shows signs of severe nutritional deficiency,” she said carefully. “The coating, the slight swelling, the paleness these are all indicators of prolonged malnutrition. Combined with your blood pressure, the visible weight loss, the tremor in your hands…”

She paused, choosing her words carefully.

“Alina, you’re not just dealing with morning sickness or pregnancy complications. Your body is shutting down from lack of nutrition. And that’s not just dangerous for you–it’s life–threatening for your baby.”

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Ms. Fontaine leaned forward, her expression shifting from concerned to alarmed.

“Has your doctor–Dr. Ross–discussed this with you?” she asked. “Has she explained the severity of your condition?”

“She gives me IV nutrition,” Alina said weakly. “She says it’s helping. That the baby is getting what it needs.”

“IV nutrition is a temporary measure,” Dr. Halvorsen said firmly. “It’s meant to supplement oral intake, not replace it entirely. And from what I can see, you need more than just vitamins and fluids. You need comprehensive medical intervention. Possibly hospitalization.”

Alina’s eyes widened with sudden fear.

“No,” she said quickly–too quickly. “No hospital. I’m fine. Dr. Ross says I’m fine. The baby is fine. We’re both fine.”

There it was again–that phrase.

“Everything is fine.”

Ms. Fontaine and Dr. Halvorsen exchanged another long look–this one even more significant than before.

They both saw it clearly now.

This wasn’t just pregnancy complications.

This wasn’t just depression or anxiety.

This was a woman living in terror.

A woman who couldn’t speak the truth because the cost was too high.

Ms. Fontaine set down her notepad and leaned forward, her voice becoming softer but also more direct.

“Alina,” she said gently. “I want you to listen to me very carefully. You don’t have to tell us anything you’re not ready to tell us. You don’t have to explain what happened or who did what or any of the details that are clearly causing you so much fear.”

She paused, making sure Alina was hearing her.

“But I need to ask you one question. And you don’t even have to answer it out loud if you don’t want to. Just… think about it.”

Alina looked up slowly, her tear–filled eyes meeting Ms. Fontaine’s.

“Do you want us to help you?” Ms. Fontaine asked simply.

The question hung in the air.

So simple.

So direct.

So impossible to answer because saying yes would trigger everything Alina feared.

But also so impossible not to answer because it was the only question that mattered.

Alina’s face crumpled.

Fresh tears spilled over–faster now, harder.

Her hand moved to her stomach in that protective gesture that had become automatic.

And slowly–so slowly–she nodded.

Just once.

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A tiny movement of her head that could have been mistaken for a tremor if you weren’t watching closely.

But both Ms. Fontaine and Dr. Halvorsen were watching very closely.

And they saw it.

Ms. Fontaine’s expression softened with something like relief mixed with determination.

“Okay,” she said quietly. “Okay, Alina. We understand. And we’re going to-”

The door opened suddenly.

All three women turned sharply.

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