Chapter 9 Her Shadow Resurrects Dead Feelings
Theron's POV
I leaned slightly on my custom-made cane, its pressure against my palm a constant reminder of what I desperately needed to conceal. The weight of it grounded me as I extended my free hand to Dr. Mitchell, the medical center's director.
"Sterling Investments is pleased to support the advancement of medical technology," I said, my voice maintaining the same authoritative tone that commanded boardrooms across the country. "These new diagnostic machines should arrive within the week."
Dr. Mitchell's expression was almost comical—the perfect blend of gratitude and ambition. "Mr. Sterling, your generosity is unprecedented. I assure you, our staff will make excellent use of this equipment."
What he meant was clear: Thank you for the multi-million dollar donation made solely to gain access to one specialist. But that was how the world worked. Everything had a price.
"I'm particularly interested in the experimental therapies being developed by Dr. Winters," I said, the name feeling strange on my tongue. "I understand she's at the forefront of neuromuscular regenerative treatment."
"Absolutely." Mitchell handed me a sleek business card. "Dr. Winters is quite... selective about her patients. But I've taken the liberty of informing her office of your interest."
I pocketed the card, satisfaction coursing through me. After months of searching, I finally had direct contact information for the elusive specialist. According to my sources, Dr. Winters had developed a breakthrough therapy for cases like mine—progressive neuromuscular atrophy that conventional medicine couldn't touch.
"Then our business is concluded," I said, rising from my chair with practiced grace. The movement was carefully choreographed—a slight shift of weight to my stronger left leg, the discreet pressure on the cane, the fluid motion that disguised the increasing weakness in my right side.
I exited the office, expecting to find Noah waiting with James in the hallway. Instead, only my assistant stood there, his expression carefully neutral.
"Where's Noah?" I asked, my eyes scanning the corridor with cold precision.
James straightened his tie—a nervous habit he'd never managed to break. "He was here just a moment ago, sir. He may have wandered to the vending machines."
My jaw tightened. "My son doesn't 'wander' anywhere." The fear that always lurked beneath my composed exterior flickered to life.
"I'll find him immediately, sir," James said, already reaching for his phone.
"Wait." I held up my hand. "What's that look about?"
James hesitated. "There's been some... talk among the hospital staff. Apparently, rumors are circulating that if a doctor can cure your condition, they might... become the next Mrs. Sterling. And Noah's new mother."
The cold anger that surged through me was familiar and welcome—a distraction from the constant awareness of my deteriorating muscles. "My medical condition is now hospital gossip?"
"I've already identified the source and had them reassigned to a different department," James assured me.
"That's all?" My voice was dangerously soft.
James understood the implication immediately. "They'll be terminated by end of day."
I nodded once, satisfied. "Where is Noah now?"
"He disabled the tracking app on his phone again." James looked genuinely apologetic. "The boy is remarkably adept with technology."
I tightened my grip on the cane. "When we return home, have IT develop a new tracking software. If a five-year-old can hack it, we're wasting company resources."
Pulling out my phone, I dialed Noah's number directly. He answered on the third ring.
"Noah Sterling," I said, making no attempt to soften my tone, "where exactly have you disappeared to?"
"I'm by the elevators on the second floor," he replied. "I was looking for someone who could help you."
"Stay exactly where you are. I'm coming to get you." I ended the call, my jaw tightening as I headed toward the elevator bank.
As I rounded the corner to the second floor lobby, I spotted Noah standing near the elevators. Relief flooded through me, quickly followed by irritation at my own concern.
But just as I was about to call out to him, the elevator doors began to close. In that final split-second before they shut completely, my eyes locked with hers—just a fleeting glimpse of familiar amber eyes that vanished as quickly as they appeared. One second of eye contact, yet it was enough to send a jolt of recognition through my entire body.
My heart performed a painful stutter. Leila?
Six years since she'd walked away from me, from San Francisco. Six years since I'd had Sterling Group's considerable resources searching for her with no success. And now, this stranger with her back turned had my pulse racing like a teenager's.
Noah's voice snapped me back to reality. "Dad? Why are you just standing there? What are you thinking about?"
I blinked, disturbed by my momentary lapse in control. With practiced composure, I straightened my shoulders and moved toward my son.
"Nothing important," I replied, though the thundering of my heart suggested otherwise. "Let's go."
"What were you thinking, disappearing like that?" I demanded, looking down at Noah's defiant little face.
He explained, as if this were perfectly reasonable behavior. "But I found a really pretty doctor who can help you walk properly again."
I raised an eyebrow. "A pretty doctor?"
"Yes! She was beautiful, like a princess in the movies. And she had the nicest smile when she wasn't being serious." Noah's enthusiasm was unusual. He typically regarded every woman who approached me with suspicious hostility.
"Where is this miracle doctor now?" I asked, glancing toward the closed elevator.
"She left." Noah's shoulders slumped. "Just when I thought I'd convinced her to be my new mom."
I nearly choked. "Your what?"
"Well, she's a doctor and she's pretty and she looked at me like I was smart instead of just cute," Noah explained, as if this were a perfectly logical criteria for selecting a stepmother. "And she didn't talk to me like I was a baby."
An uncomfortable sensation twisted in my chest. "Noah, we've discussed this. You can't go around interviewing potential mothers."
"Why not? You're not looking for one," he countered with the merciless logic of a child. "Someone has to."
I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose. "Let's go home. I've already made contact with Dr. Winters—a real specialist who might actually be able to help."
"But Dad—"
"Noah." My tone made it clear the discussion was over. "We're leaving."
As we walked toward the exit, I couldn't shake the image of that woman's silhouette. It couldn't have been Leila. The odds were astronomical. And even if it was... why should I care? Our marriage had been a business arrangement, nothing more. Her departure had barely registered beyond the inconvenience it caused.
So why did my heart still feel like it was trying to pound its way out of my chest?
"Dad, you're frowning again," Noah observed, his small hand slipping into mine.
I smoothed my expression, pushing thoughts of the past firmly away. "I'm just thinking about work."
But as we stepped outside into the sunshine, I couldn't help glancing back at the hospital entrance, some irrational part of me half-expecting to see her walking out those doors, back into my life.
Ridiculous.