My phone buzzed the moment he left the room.
At first, I almost didn't check it—my hands were still trembling from his words—but the notification on the screen made my stomach twist.
Caretaker (Rosehill Facility):
Dr. Carter, urgent—your father is being transferred to a new wing under special order. Please confirm if you approved this.
For a heartbeat, everything inside me stopped.
Transferred?
Under whose order?
I scrolled down—the timestamp was from five minutes ago. Five. That was right after he walked out.
My pulse spiked, panic cutting through my veins like lightning. "No," I whispered, pushing back from the chair so fast it nearly toppled over.
The contract lay open on the table, pages fluttering like they were taunting me. I didn't even think—I snatched the pen from beside it, barely seeing the lines anymore.
My signature hit the page in a messy rush of ink.
Whatever this was—whatever game he was playing—I wasn't about to let him use my father as leverage.
"Dr. Carter?" The butler appeared in the doorway, startled by the sound of the chair scraping the floor.
"Where is he?" I demanded, clutching the folder. "Where's Mr. Blackwood?"
The man hesitated, then inclined his head toward the hallway. "In the east wing, Miss. His study."
I didn't wait. I ran.
The corridors blurred past—gold frames, marble floors, polished silence—everything too perfect, too cold. My heels echoed sharply, each step fueled by fear.
By the time I reached the east wing, I was breathless. The doors to his study were closed. I didn't knock—I pushed them open.
He looked up instantly.
Still in his immaculate black suit, mask back on, eyes like steel behind it.
"Dr. Ivy," he said smoothly, leaning back in his chair. "You seem… distressed."
"You ordered my father's transfer?" I snapped, the words spilling out before I could stop them. "Without my consent?"
His gaze flicked to the folder in my hand. "So you signed."
I froze.
He stood then, slow and deliberate, walking around the desk until the distance between us felt razor-thin.
"You said you'd think carefully," he murmured. "But panic makes people honest."
"You're insane," I hissed. "You can't just—"
He tilted his head slightly. "I can. And I did. Your father is safer under my supervision than anyone else's. I suggest you remember that."
"Why me?" I demanded, the words shaking. "Why drag me into this?"
He stopped inches away, his eyes meeting mine with unnerving calm. "Because, Dr. Ivy…" He leaned closer, his voice lowering until it brushed my skin like a chill. "…you already belong in this story. You just don't know how deep it runs."
The silence that followed was suffocating.
He straightened, his tone returning to that composed, business-like coldness. "You'll begin your duties today. A room has been prepared for your father at Rosehill. Consider it an act of goodwill."
I stared at him, heart pounding, words caught in my throat.
Goodwill.
That wasn't goodwill. That was control—disguised as kindness.
But for now, I had no choice.
I clutched the folder tighter, forcing my voice steady. "Then tell me where to start."
His gaze lingered for a moment longer, unreadable. Then, almost casually, he said, "By not making me regret finding you."
And with that, he turned back toward his desk, the conversation over—leaving me standing there, every nerve burning with anger and fear.
Because now, I wasn't just his doctor.
I was trapped in his world.
And somehow, deep down, I knew this was only the beginning.
I didn't move. My heart pounded in my chest, my thoughts circling back to one thing—my father.
"I want to see him," I said quietly.
Adrian paused mid-turn of a page, his fingers stilling over the paper. Then, without looking up, he replied, "You will. When I say you can."
My breath caught. "He's my father—"
"He's under my care now," he interrupted, calm but cutting. "And if you want him to stay alive and comfortable, you'll follow instructions. No unapproved visits. No calls. Not yet."
My chest tightened, fury and helplessness twisting inside me until it hurt to breathe.
He finally looked up, eyes meeting mine—cool, deliberate, and utterly in control. "Finish your breakfast, Dr. Carter. I'd rather you don't faint before your first day."
The butler appeared behind me, wordless, waiting to escort me out.
I wanted to scream. I wanted to fight. But all I could do was turn away before my voice broke.
As the door closed behind me, my mind spun with one truth I couldn't ignore—
He owned the hospital.
He controlled my father's care.
And now, somehow, he owned me.
But if Adrian Blackwood thought I'd play the obedient pawn forever… he was wrong.
Because no matter how dangerous it got—
I would find a way to see my father.
Even if it meant breaking his rules.
___
Later that day I decided to make my move. But something was strange.
The house was too quiet.
Too still.
I stood by the door, heart pounding, listening for any sound from the hall. Nothing. Not the butler's soft steps, not the guards shifting outside. Just silence, heavy and strange.
My hand trembled on the handle.
If I was ever going to see my father, it had to be now.
The lock clicked easily.
Too easily.
I froze, half expecting alarms—nothing. The gates were open, the path empty, the guards nowhere in sight. The kind of quiet that didn't feel lucky… it felt planned.
I slipped out anyway.
The gravel crunched beneath my shoes as I hurried down the drive, the cool air biting at my skin. Every step I took, I expected a shout behind me—a hand grabbing my arm—but none came.
When I reached the main road, the mist parted enough to reveal the black iron gates—open, waiting.
A nervous laugh escaped me. "You've got to be kidding me."
I stepped through, glancing back at the sprawling mansion glowing faintly in the dark.
"For a man obsessed with control, you're kinda dumb, Mr. Blackwood," I muttered under my breath.
Then I ran.
By the time I reached the main street, my lungs burned. I flagged down a passing cab, slid into the backseat, and blurted, "Rosehill Home Care. Please—fast."
The driver gave a brief nod, and the car surged forward.
City lights streaked past the window like a heartbeat out of rhythm. I tried to calm my breathing, but the echo of his voice still lingered in my head—You'll understand soon enough.
I shook it off. I didn't care what he meant. All that mattered was seeing my father.
When the car finally pulled up in front of the care facility, I thrust a handful of bills at the driver and rushed out. The automatic doors slid open, flooding me with the familiar scent of disinfectant and faint lavender.
Home. Or what was left of it.
The nurse at the counter blinked in surprise when she saw me. "Dr. Carter? You weren't scheduled—"
"I know," I said quickly. "I just need to check on my father."
She hesitated. "He's been transferred to a new wing. Special clearance."
My stomach dropped. "What do you mean, special clearance?"
Her tone faltered. "We received an order this morning. Everything was handled by… Mr. Blackwood's people."
The world seemed to tilt.
I pressed a hand to the counter, forcing my voice steady. "Just tell me where he is."
The nurse lowered her voice. "Room 203. East wing. But you'll need authorization to—"
I didn't wait for her to finish. My pulse roared in my ears as I pushed through the corridor doors, my shoes squeaking against polished floors.
Something deep in me whispered that I shouldn't be there.
That escaping had been too easy.
But I kept walking.
Because no matter what trap I'd just stepped into—my father was worth it.
The East Wing was too still.
Every light glowed faintly against white walls, and the soft hum of machines filled the silence like a warning. I hurried down the corridor, my breath shallow, my heartbeat echoing in my ears.
Room 203.
I pushed the door open, calling out before I could think.
"Dad?"
But the voice that answered wasn't his.
"Your father's not here."
The sound of that calm, familiar voice froze me where I stood.
He was sitting on the hospital bed — Adrian Blackwood — perfectly composed, dressed in black from head to toe. His jacket was undone, gloves still on, mask gone this time. The sight of him here, in this place, made my stomach twist.
"What—" I stammered. "What are you doing here? Where's my father?"
He didn't answer immediately. Instead, he reached for the folder on the side table, flipping it open as if he were checking numbers rather than dismantling my world. Then, without looking up, he said quietly,
"You really shouldn't have run, Dr. Ivy."
I blinked, my chest tightening. "What are you talking about? You—"
He finally met my gaze, and the calm in his expression made my pulse spike. "You broke the first rule of the contract. You left the estate without permission."
My voice cracked. "Because you had no right to keep me there! My father—"
"—has been moved," he interrupted smoothly. "Not just to another room. Not even another wing. He's no longer at Rosehill."
The room tilted. "What?"
He stood now, his height dwarfing mine as he crossed the small space between us. "You wanted to see your father so badly that you ran into a facility I own, using my resources, without authorization."
I took a shaky step back. "You're saying you—moved him? You can't—"
"I can," he said simply, voice low but firm. "Because you broke the rules, Dr. Ivy. I told you this arrangement required obedience. Instead, you tested it."
My throat went dry. "You had me followed."
A faint smile curved his lips. "Followed? No. I let you go."
That stopped me cold.
He stepped closer, his tone dropping until it was almost a whisper. "Did you really think it was that easy to walk out of my house? That my security simply forgot? No, Ivy. I wanted to see how far you'd go."
The realization hit hard — he'd known. Every step I took, every door I passed, had been watched. He'd let me run… because he wanted to see what I'd do.
"You're insane," I breathed.
"Maybe," he said softly. "But your father's safety depends on my sanity. Remember that."
Silence fell between us, thick and suffocating.
Then he turned slightly, glancing toward the window where the faint morning light filtered in. "He's safe," he said finally. "For now. But his new location is… undisclosed. You'll earn it back when I can trust you again."
My hands curled into fists. "You're using him to control me."
He looked at me then — not cruelly, but with something far worse. Certainty.
"I'm giving you incentive," he murmured. "Because, Ivy… I don't intend to lose you again."
"That reminds me," he said, his tone too casual for the weight of his words. "The marriage contract you signed — we still have to discuss the clauses and conditions. It seemed as though you didn't read through."
The words hit me like a slap.
Marriage contract.
My breath caught. My brain refused to process it at first. "Wait… marriage?"
He gave a small nod, eyes unreadable. "It was clearly stated in the fine print. Our union is part of the confidentiality and legal protection clause. You, Dr. Ivy Carter, are now—" he paused, the faintest curl of amusement at his lips, "—Mrs. Blackwood."
My stomach dropped. "No. No, I didn't—"
"You did," he cut in smoothly. "You signed. And by law, that signature binds us."
I shook my head, taking a step back. "This is insane. You can't just—"
"I can," he said quietly, the weight of his gaze steady and cold. "Because you agreed."
He took a step closer, his shadow falling over mine. "First," he said, voice low and deliberate, "our marriage will be made public. Every major outlet will know that Adrian Blackwood finally has a wife."
I blinked, trying to breathe. "What? Why would you—"
"Second," he went on, cutting me off again, "you'll move into my private residence — my room, not a guest suite. You'll stay there. Sleep there. And be where I can see you."
I froze, words catching in my throat. "You're not serious."
His expression didn't waver. "Completely."
I stared at him, heat crawling up my neck. "You're insane."
He tilted his head slightly, his tone dropping to a near whisper — quiet, measured, and final.
"You are mine now, Ivy."