---- Chapter 6 Barron Carroll POV: Emerson had crossed a line. It was one thing to be hysterical, to lash out in grief. It was another to be deliberately, maliciously cruel. To endanger my son. My heir. | brought her to a private clinic | owned, a place far from the city, where the staff was discreet and followed my orders without question. Cydney was in the maternity wing, being monitored around the clock. | would not allow Emerson to be a threat to her again. | found Emerson in her room, staring out the window at the manicured gardens, her expression blank. "Cydney is fine," | announced, my voice hard. "The baby is fine. No thanks to you." She didn' t turn around. "What do you want, Barron?" "| want you to understand the consequences of your actions," | said. ""Cydney is fragile. The pregnancy is high-risk. The doctors say she lost some blood after the fall. She needs a transfusion." Still, she said nothing. "Unfortunately," | continued, walking closer, "she has a rare ---- blood type. The same rare blood type as you. AB negative." Finally, she turned. Her eyes, once so full of warmth, were now chips of ice. "No," she whispered. It' s time you took some responsibility." She looked at me then, and the hatred in her eyes was so pure, so potent, it was almost a physical force. "l hate you," she breathed. "I know," | said. And the terrible truth was, | didn' t care. Her hatred was irrelevant. Her love, her hate-they were just weather patterns. | was the landscape. She belonged to me, and | would do whatever was necessary to control her, to keep my world in order. The nurses held her down as she struggled. | watched, unmoved, as they inserted the needle into her arm. | watched ---- as her blood, the very essence of her, began to drain from her body, destined to sustain the life of another woman. My son 's life. Her face grew paler, her struggles weaker. Her eyes fluttered, and | saw a flicker of memory in them. | knew what she was seeing. A time, years ago, after her second miscarriage. She had been weak and anemic. | had sat by her bed for three days straight, personally overseeing her care, spoon-feeding her broth, reading to her until she slept. | had held her hand and whispered, "Your life is the most precious thing in the world to me, Emerson. | would die before | let anything happen to you." The memory was like a ghost in the room, a testament to how far we had fallen. Or rather, how far | had pushed us. Her eyes met mine one last time, full of a terrible, silent understanding. She knew now that every word of love | had ever spoken was a lie. Then, her eyes rolled back in her head, and she lost consciousness. The doctor rushed forward. "Sir, her blood pressure is dropping dangerously low! We have to stop!" "You will continue until you have the full pint," | commanded. "Cydney needs it." | walked out of the room, leaving her pale and lifeless form in the hands of my employees. There was a cold, hollow feeling in my gut, but | pushed it down. This was necessary. It was justice. ---- | spent the rest of the day with Cydney, reassuring her, catering to her every whim. But Emerson' s face, pale and betrayed, haunted me. That night, | decided on a new course of action. The punishment had to fit the crime. She had tried to harm Cydney, to make her feel the pain of loss. It was only fair that she understood that pain more intimately. | had her moved from the clinic to the basement of the empty west wing of the estate. | had them strap her to a gurney, her arms and legs restrained. When she woke up, it was to darkness and the cold bite of leather against her skin. | stood over her, a single lamp illuminating my face. "What is this?" she rasped, her voice weak. "This," | said, "is a lesson in empathy." | gestured to a large screen on the wall. It flickered to life, showing a live feed from Cydney' s hospital room. Cydney was sleeping peacefully, her hand resting on her swollen abdomen. "You wanted her to feel what you felt," | said, my voice low. "So now, you will feel what she feels. Every time she has a cramp, every time she feels a kick, every time the baby moves, you will feel it too." | attached several electrodes to her stomach. They were connected to a machine that could deliver controlled electric shocks, mimicking the sensations of pregnancy. "I had this ---- technology developed for medical simulations," | explained. "But | find it has other... applications." Her eyes widened in horror. "You' re insane." "l am protecting my son," | corrected her. "Something you never managed to do." The cruelty of my own words hung in the air. | saw the flicker of agony on her face, but | hardened my heart against it. She had brought this on herself. | turned on the machine. She screamed as the first jolt hit her, her body arching against the restraints. It was a low-level current, designed to simulate a simple muscle flutter, but her mind, her trauma, amplified it into agony. "This is what you tried to take away," | told her, my voice cold and steady. "This is the feeling of life. You should be grateful." | left her there, her pained cries echoing in the empty basement. | went back to the main house and poured myself a drink, the amber liquid doing nothing to quell the unease coiling in my stomach. Later, Cydney called, her voice whiny. "Barron, my back hurts. Can you come rub it for me?" "I 1l be right there," | said. As | walked back towards the clinic, | passed the west wing. | ---- could still hear Emerson' s screams, fainter now, interspersed with ragged sobs. For a moment, | hesitated. A part of me, the part that still remembered the woman | had first fallen for, wanted to go to her, to stop this madness But then | thought of Cydney. Of my son. 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