The Billionaire's Insignificant Wife novel Chapter 92

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Under Watch

Daniel pulled his car into a space near the entrance, cut the engine, and got out without speaking.

He walked around to the passenger side.

Opened the door before Alina could reach for the handle.

Alina stared at the offered hand for a fraction too long, mind scrambling.

This wasn’t part of any scenario she had imagined. Daniel helping her from the car like she was fragile. Like they were a couple arriving together at a routine appointment.

Like he cared.

Alina took his hand because refusing would draw more attention.

Daniel’s grip was firm. Warm. Held on longer than necessary as they crossed the parking lot.

To anyone watching, they looked like husband and wife. Him attentive. Her leaning slightly into his support as if the hand injury made her unsteady.

Performance for an audience she couldn’t see.

Or control she couldn’t escape.

Hard to tell which.

The clinic entrance slid open automatically. Clean modern interior. Soft music playing. Reception desk with two staff members looking up as they entered.

“Mr. Blackwood.” The older receptionist stood immediately. “Dr. Blake is expecting you. Please follow me.”

No waiting. No checking in at the desk like normal patients.

Straight through the corridor past the general waiting area where other people sat with magazines and tired faces.

One woman near the window looked up as they passed. Mid–thirties. Professional clothing. Tablet in her lap.

Made eye contact with Alina for a fraction of a second.

Then immediately turned to the patient beside her, starting conversation with manufactured brightness about parking validation.

Something in that moment felt wrong.

Or right.

Or choreographed in a way that made everything else feel staged.

But Daniel’s hand tightened on hers, guiding her forward, and the moment passed.

They reached a private examination room at the end of the corridor.

The door opened before the receptionist could knock.

Dr. Catherine Blake stood in the doorway. Early forties. Competent face. White coat pressed and professional.

But her eyes were wrong.

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Too bright. Too alert. Nervous energy barely contained.

“Mr. Blackwood. Mrs. Blackwood. Please come in.”

Voice steady despite what showed in her eyes.

They entered.

The examination room was larger than standard. Desk in one corner. Examination table with fresh paper. Medical equipment on rolling carts. Window overlooking the parking lot.

Normal in every visible way.

Except for the tension radiating from Dr. Blake as she closed the door.

“Thank you for seeing us on short notice,” Daniel said. Still holding onto the performance of concerned husband.” My wife’s hand injury has been concerning. We wanted a thorough follow–up.”

“Of course.” Dr. Blake moved to the desk, picked up a tablet, tapped through screens with fingers that weren’t quite steady. “I have the records from the initial treatment. Let’s take a look.”

She gestured to the examination table.

Alina moved toward it.

Daniel moved with her.

Dr. Blake’s eyes flickered between them. “Mr. Blackwood, if you’d like to wait in the consultation room next door, it’s more comfortable. I’ll come get you when we’re finished with the examination.”

“I’ll stay.” Flat. Final. The voice he used when decisions weren’t open for discussion.

“The examination requires removing the bandage completely and testing range of motion. Sometimes patients prefer privacy for-”

“I’m staying.”

Dr. Blake’s professional smile stayed in place but something behind it shifted.

“Of course. Whatever makes you both most comfortable.”

She washed her hands at the small sink. Snapped on gloves. Approached the examination table where Alina had

sat down.

Daniel stood three feet away. Close enough to see everything. Too close for any conversation that wasn’t meant for his ears.

“Let’s see what we’re working with.” Dr. Blake took the injured hand gently, began unwrapping the bandage with practiced efficiency.

Layer after layer of gauze came away.

The wound underneath had closed but angry red spread from the edges. Not the clean pink of healthy healing.

Infection setting in despite the antibiotics.

Daniel’s jaw clenched. Visible even from the corner of her vision.

“How long has it looked like this?” Dr. Blake asked, probing the area with careful fingers.

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“Since yesterday morning.” The truth. Easier than lying with Daniel watching.

“Any fever? Chills? Increased pain?”

“Some pain. Nothing else.”

Dr. Blake pressed around the wound. Checked mobility. Had her flex and extend fingers.

Efficient. Professional. Giving no indication this appointment was anything other than routine medical care.

“There’s definite infection present,” she said, making notes on the tablet. “The antibiotics you’re on aren’t aggressive enough. I’m going to prescribe something stronger and we’ll need to see you back in three days to monitor progress.”

“Do whatever is necessary.” Daniel’s voice came from behind them. Cold. Controlled. “I don’t like seeing scars on my wife’s body. So do everything possible to ensure this heals completely.”

The possessiveness in those words made something crawl up Alina’s spine.

My wife’s body.

As if ownership extended to skin and tissue and the marks left by accidents he hadn’t been present for.

Dr. Blake’s hands paused for just a moment.

“Of course,” she said quietly. “I’ll prescribe topical treatment in addition to the oral antibiotics. That should minimize scarring significantly.”

She moved to her desk. Began typing prescriptions. The room filled with keyboard clicks and tense silence.

Alina sat on the examination table with her hand throbbing and Daniel’s presence filling every corner of available space and thought about the woman in the waiting room who had looked at her for that brief second.

Rachel.

Had to be.

Had seen them arrive together. Had seen Daniel’s hand on hers. Had understood immediately that whatever plan existed was now impossible.

And had turned away to protect herself.

Smart.

The only move available.

“Mrs. Blackwood.”

Dr. Blake’s voice pulled her back.

“I need to ask a few standard questions about your overall health. Any dizziness or unusual fatigue in the past few days?”

Drugged tea and four hours of unconsciousness flashed through her mind.

“Some fatigue.” Careful truth. “Nothing unusual given the stress.”

“Sleeping well?”

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“Not particularly.”

“Any changes in appetite? Nausea?”

Where was this going.

Standard questions or something else disguised as standard.

“Appetite has been poor. No nausea.”

Dr. Blake made notes. “Given the infection and the stress you’re under, I’d like to do a basic blood panel. Just to make sure nothing else is affecting your healing.”

Daniel moved closer. “Is that necessary?”

“Precautionary. Infection can indicate compromised immune system. Better to rule out any underlying issues.”

“Fine.” He checked his watch. “How long will that take?”

“I can have the nurse draw blood now. Results will be available this afternoon.”

She stood. Opened the door. Called for the nurse.

Two minutes later someone else entered with a tray of collection tubes and antiseptic.

The needle slid in. Blood filled tubes labeled with codes Alina couldn’t read.

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