Page 25 of His By Contract
CHAPTER 8
The automatic glass doors slid open, releasing a breath of cool, sterile air against Georgia’s face. She stepped inside the high-end outpatient facility. The familiar hush wrapped around her, a stark contrast to the chaos that lived in her head.
White walls stretched before her, unmarred and perfect. Everything shone with cold efficiency: the reception desk, the waiting area chairs, even the abstract artwork spaced in perfect rhythm along the walls. The faint scent of antiseptic mingled with fresh linens, creating that distinct medical facility smell that had become oddly comforting.
Her shoulders relaxed as she moved deeper into the building. Here, among the quiet efficiency and order, she found something she couldn’t name. Not peace exactly—peace felt too permanent for what this place offered. But a pause. A space between breaths where Adrian’s penthouse, his rules, his touch didn’t exist.
The nurses knew her face now. They smiled and nodded as she passed, but didn’t interrupt her journey. They understood whatthis place meant to those who walked these halls—not just a hospital, not simply a place of recovery, but sanctuary.
The controlled environment wrapped around her like a cocoon, offering temporary shelter from the storm of her life. In this sterile space, with its predictable rhythms and practiced routines, she could breathe. Just breathe.
Georgia slipped into her mother’s room, the door closing behind her with a soft click. Evelyn lay still against crisp white sheets, her silver-streaked hair fanned across the pillow. The steady beep of monitors created a gentle rhythm that matched the rise and fall of her chest.
Sunlight filtered through gauzy curtains, casting soft shadows across the room. The clinical smell of disinfectant mixed with the faint scent of lavender from the small vase Georgia had brought last week.
Her mother’s fingers twitched against the blanket, a subtle sign she wasn’t sleeping. Georgia settled into the chair beside the bed, its familiar curves welcoming her like an old friend. Here, the world outside ceased to exist. No whispered judgments from society wives. No calculating gazes measuring her worth. No Adrian.
The constant knot in her chest loosened. Her shoulders dropped, releasing the rigid posture she maintained these days. Here, her face could relax into its natural lines, her words flowing without the weight of calculation behind them. She could simply be.
Evelyn’s eyes remained closed, but her hand moved slightly closer to where Georgia sat. An invitation without demands. Georgia reached out, letting her fingers rest lightly against hermother’s weathered ones. The touch grounded her, real and warm and honest.
This quiet moment held no expectations. No contracts. No power plays. Just the gentle sound of breathing and the soft warmth of afternoon sun. Georgia felt the tightness ease, if only for these precious minutes.
Here, she wasn’t Mrs. Adler, the fashion designer wife. She wasn’t a possession or a symbol of Adrian’s control. She was just Georgia, sitting with her mother, existing in a bubble of peace that felt more like home than any luxury penthouse ever could.
A faint rustle pulled Georgia from her thoughts. Her mother shifted beneath the blankets, the movement small but deliberate. Georgia stilled as Evelyn’s eyes fluttered open, heavy with exhaustion, but carrying a spark that hadn’t been there before. A hint of pink colored her cheeks, replacing the pallor that had haunted her features for weeks.
Georgia’s heart swelled. This tiny change, this fragment of improvement, felt like watching the sun break through storm clouds. Her gaze drifted around the room, taking in the details that marked her mother’s recovery.
The IV stand loomed beside the bed, its clear fluids dripping in a steady rhythm that matched the beeping monitors. Each drop represented another moment of strength, another chance for her mother’s body to heal.
The lavender lotion Georgia had brought sat on the bedside table, its subtle scent a rebellion against the harsh antiseptic smell that pervaded every hospital corridor. She’d massaged it into her mother’s hands yesterday, refusing to let the sterile environment strip away these small comforts.
The thick blanket—soft, expensive, and utterly unlike standard hospital issue—hugged Evelyn’s thin frame. Georgia had chosen it herself, determined to provide warmth against the perpetual chill that seemed to seep from the walls.
Each element spoke of care, of treatment, of healing. But beneath it all lay an uncomfortable truth—none of this would exist without Adrian’s money. The private room, the specialized care, the freedom to focus on recovery without worrying about costs. Every comfort, treatment, and hope for her mother’s survival traced back to him.
Georgia watched her mother’s chest rise and fall with each steady breath. For the first time since signing that contract, a profound sense of rightness washed over her. The weight of her choices settled differently now, transforming from a burden into something else, something she could bear.
The machines hummed their reassuring song. Her mother’s color had improved, strength returning to her frame day by day. Each small victory, each step toward recovery justified everything Georgia had surrendered.
The contract. The rules. The loss of her freedom. The way Adrian’s control wrapped around her like invisible chains. All of it paled against this simple truth: her mother lived. She breathed. She fought. She healed.
Relief crashed through Georgia with such force it left her unsteady, the weight of it pressing her deeper into the chair. But twisted within that relief lurked something darker, something that tasted of iron and sacrifice. Every IV drip, medication, moment of specialized care—they weren’t gifts. They were purchases, bought not with money, but with Georgia herself.
Her fingertips traced the edge of the luxury blanket covering her mother. Such a simple thing, yet it represented everything. Comfort. Care. The best treatment money could buy. Adrian’s money. The price of Georgia’s submission.
The question rose unbidden in her mind: if she had to choose again, knowing everything she knew now, would she sign that contract? Would she walk willingly into Adrian’s world of power and control?
Her eyes fixed on her mother’s peaceful face, and the answer came without hesitation. Yes. A thousand times yes.
She should have felt triumphant. This was what she’d wanted: her mother safe, receiving the care she desperately needed. Instead, standing in this pristine room that reeked of wealth and privilege, Georgia felt the weight of a threshold crossed. She’d won this battle for her mother’s life, but the victory carried a cost that went beyond mere money or freedom.
Her fingers found her mother’s hand, warm and alive against her palm. The touch anchored her, even as the reality of her choices threatened to sweep her away.
Georgia felt her mother’s gaze settle on her like a physical weight. She kept her posture straight, her voice steady as she recited the latest medical updates.
“Your white blood cell count has improved. Dr. Stevens adjusted your medication schedule.” The words spilled from her lips with well-worn familiarity. “The new treatment seems to be working better than?—”
