The next seven days blurred into a grueling test of endurance. Celestia confined herself to the dark room, forcing down the pungent raw garlic and bitter juice at every meal until her stomach constantly ached and her throat burned. Martha watched her with hawkish suspicion, meticulously documenting every bizarre bite and sending daily encrypted reports to Sterling. Yet, Sterling, entirely consumed by his corporate acquisitions abroad, had simply replied with a blanket order to accommodate any and all of the surrogate's dietary cravings to ensure a stress-free environment. He had unknowingly handed Celestia the exact weapon she needed.

On the seventh morning, she was escorted from her bedroom down the hall to the sterile medical wing. She chewed aggressively on a mint Martha had forced upon her to mask the garlic breath.

Celestia stepped into the bright, white-tiled clinic. The smell of antiseptic stung her nose.

Dr. Evelyn Reed, a sharp-featured private physician in a crisp white coat, greeted her with clinical detachment.

Dr. Reed gestured for Celestia to lie back on the examination table. She pulled out a sterile needle from a plastic wrapper.

Celestia's heart pounded with intense anxiety. She rolled up her sleeve, praying her agonizing garlic diet had worked.

Dr. Reed tied a rubber tourniquet tightly around Celestia's arm. She expertly found a vein and drew a vial of dark red blood.

Celestia winced slightly at the sharp pinch. She turned her head away to stare at the blank, white wall.

Dr. Reed placed the blood sample into a rapid centrifuge machine. It began humming quietly in the corner of the room.

While waiting, Dr. Reed picked up a digital tablet. She reviewed Celestia's chart, frowning deeply at the dietary notes left by Martha.

"Why are you consuming excessive amounts of raw allium and beta-carotene?" Dr. Reed asked directly, her eyes narrowing.

Celestia feigned ignorance. She shrugged her shoulders. "I just developed a sudden, intense craving for them. Pregnancy hormones, maybe?"

Dr. Reed looked entirely unconvinced. But before she could press further, the rapid testing machine beeped loudly.

The doctor walked over and pulled the printed result slip from the machine. Her eyes scanned the medical data quickly.

Celestia held her breath. Her fingernails dug painfully into her own palms, leaving crescent-shaped indents.

Dr. Reed sighed. She turned to Celestia and announced formally, "The pregnancy test is negative."

Celestia exhaled a massive, shuddering sigh of relief. The crushing tension drained completely from her shoulders.

A genuine, radiant smile broke across Celestia's face. She was unable to hide her profound joy at the news.

Dr. Reed tapped on her tablet. She wrote a quick, sharp note in the medical file regarding the surrogate's anomalous psychological state.

Martha Webb entered the clinic. She looked expectantly at the doctor, asking for the results.

Dr. Reed simply shook her head negatively. "The result is negative, Martha," Dr. Reed said, her voice laced with stern professional concern. "Furthermore, her behavior is completely inconsistent with a willing, highly compensated surrogate. I am officially flagging her file. I strongly advise an immediate psychiatric evaluation and a full background re-check. There is something fundamentally wrong here."

Martha's face tightened in extreme displeasure. She immediately turned on her heel and stepped out into the hallway to make a satellite phone call.

Celestia was escorted back to her bedroom by the two silent guards. Her step was noticeably lighter.

Once inside, she locked herself in the bathroom. She splashed freezing cold water on her face, celebrating her small, biological victory.

Exhausted from a week of constant anxiety and stomach pain, she crawled into bed. She fell into a deep, peaceful sleep for the first time.

Hours later, she was abruptly woken up.

The sound of frantic vacuuming and loud shouting echoed in the hallway outside her door.

She rubbed her eyes. She walked to the heavy oak door and pressed her ear against the cool wood.

She heard Martha barking aggressive orders at the maids. She demanded fresh linens and Sterling's preferred vintage whiskey be brought to the master suite immediately.

Celestia slowly turned the brass knob. She peeked through a narrow crack into the busy hallway.

She saw maids rushing past with armfuls of expensive, freshly pressed suits and massive floral arrangements.

The realization hit her like a physical blow to the stomach. Sterling Sinclair IV was returning to the island today.

The peacefulness she had felt just hours ago vanished instantly. It was replaced by a cold, suffocating wave of pure panic.

Celestia slammed the bedroom door shut. Her heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird trying to break free.

She rushed into the en-suite bathroom. She frantically tore open the mirrored vanity cabinets, bottles clinking together.

She pushed aside the expensive, floral perfumes. She searched for anything pungent. Finally, she grabbed a small, dark bottle of pure eucalyptus essential oil.

She ran back to the bedroom and pressed her ear against the door, listening intently to the chaotic sounds of the staff preparing for his arrival. The door abruptly swung inward, nearly striking her. A flustered young maid, arms piled high with fresh towels, jumped back with a squeak of alarm.

"I'm so sorry, Miss—I was told to refresh all the suites—" the maid stammered, her face pale.

Celestia didn't waste the opportunity. She slipped past the startled maid into the corridor while the door was still open. She darted silently toward an unattended housekeeping cart. Her eyes scanned the cleaning supplies until she spotted exactly what she needed: a large, industrial plastic jug of pure white vinegar.

She snatched the jug by its handle and scurried back into her room. She pushed the heavy door shut, and the electronic lock clicked loudly into place behind her. She locked the heavy bathroom door and began stripping off her silk clothes.

She poured the harsh white vinegar directly onto a thick washcloth. She gagged as the acidic, eye-watering smell burned her nostrils.

She vigorously rubbed the vinegar-soaked cloth all over her neck, chest, and arms. She let the acidic liquid soak deep into her pores.

She uncaps the eucalyptus oil. She aggressively dabbed the concentrated, burning liquid onto her pulse points-her wrists, behind her ears, and the base of her throat.

The combined stench of vinegar and eucalyptus filled the small bathroom. It made her eyes water profusely, tears streaming down her face.

She walked back into the bedroom. She grabbed the jar of pickled garlic Martha had left on the nightstand.

She forced herself to eat several cloves rapidly. Her stomach churned violently in protest, threatening to bring the garlic right back up.

She dug through the massive mahogany wardrobe. She ignored the sexy, sheer lingerie Sterling had provided. Instead, she found the most unflattering, oversized flannel pajamas meant for the winter months.

She put the thick pajamas on. She buttoned them all the way up to her chin, hiding her body completely beneath the heavy fabric.

She sat rigidly on the edge of the bed. Her hands trembled violently as she waited in the darkening room.

Outside, the distant, rhythmic thumping of helicopter rotor blades echoed across the island.

The sound grew deafeningly loud. The vibrations rattled the windows, indicating the chopper had touched down on the estate's helipad.

Ten agonizing minutes passed in complete silence. Then, heavy, purposeful footsteps sounded in the hallway.

The electronic lock on her bedroom door beeped sharply. The indicator light flashed green.

The door swung open. Sterling Sinclair IV stepped into the unlit room. He was already loosening his expensive silk tie with one hand.

Sterling approached the bed in the dark. He expected to find a compliant, perfumed woman waiting for him.

He reached out his hand to touch her shoulder, stepping into her immediate personal space.

The overwhelming, nauseating stench of vinegar, garlic, and concentrated eucalyptus hit him like a physical brick wall.

Sterling recoiled violently. He ripped his hand back as if he had been burned. He coughed harshly as the toxic fumes burned his nasal passages.

He cursed loudly. His deep voice echoed in the room as he stepped back, pinching the bridge of his nose tightly.

He blindly reached for the wall switch. He slammed his hand against it, flooding the room with bright, unforgiving light.

Sterling blinked against the glare. His eyes locked onto Celestia. She was huddled in the hideous, oversized flannel, looking like a miserable lump.

He glared at her. His expression was a terrifying mix of sheer disgust and rising, uncontrollable fury.

"What the hell did you do?" he demanded, his voice a lethal growl.

Celestia looked back at him. Her eyes were watering heavily from the fumes, but a defiant, mocking smirk played on her lips.

Sterling's shock quickly morphed into cold, calculating fury. He pinched his nose to block the stench and lunged forward.

He grabbed Celestia by the upper arm. His large hand wrapped around her bicep like an iron vise, his fingers digging painfully into her muscle.

Celestia yelped. She dug her bare heels into the thick carpet, trying to anchor herself, but he easily dragged her off the edge of the bed.

Sterling marched her forcefully across the room. He kicked the heavy bathroom door wide open with his polished leather shoe.

Celestia kicked wildly at his shins. "Let me go!" she screamed at him, but he ignored her completely.

He dragged her into the massive, glass-enclosed walk-in shower. He pinned her back against the cold marble tiles.

Sterling reached out and yanked the chrome handle. He turned the shower on to full blast, setting it to freezing cold water.

The icy spray hit Celestia fully clothed. She gasped violently, the sudden shock causing her breath to catch painfully in her throat.

The oversized flannel pajamas instantly soaked through. They became incredibly heavy, clinging tightly to her shivering body.

Sterling stood just outside the direct spray. His expensive suit was getting splashed and ruined, but he didn't care. "Wash that stench off," he ordered.

Celestia glared at him through her wet, plastered hair. She crossed her arms tightly over her chest and adamantly refused to move.

Sterling's jaw clenched. He methodically rolled up his tailored sleeves. He stepped fully into the freezing water with her.

He grabbed a heavy glass bottle of milk-and-honey body wash from the built-in shower shelf.

He squirted a massive amount of the thick soap onto his hand. He roughly grabbed her shoulder to hold her still.

Sterling began scrubbing the soap harshly against her neck and arms. He rubbed her skin raw, trying to neutralize the vinegar and garlic.

Celestia struggled wildly like a trapped animal. Her bare feet slipped on the wet, soapy tiles as she tried to push his massive chest away.

He pinned both of her wrists against the wall with one hand. He continued to scrub her skin red with the other.

Desperation peaked in her chest. Celestia's eyes darted around the enclosure. She spotted a heavy crystal whiskey glass left behind on the edge of the marble vanity just outside the shower door—likely forgotten by a servant during the earlier flurry of preparations for Sterling's arrival.

She twisted her body violently. She managed to break her right wrist free from his slick, soapy grip.

She reached out blindly past the spray of the water. Her fingers wrapped tightly around the thick, solid base of the crystal glass.

With a guttural cry of pure rage, Celestia swung the heavy crystal glass with all her remaining strength.

The thick glass smashed directly against the side of Sterling's head, right at his temple.

The bottle shattered into sharp fragments. The loud crash echoed sharply over the sound of the running water.

Sterling staggered backward. His grip on her vanished instantly. Absolute shock registered on his usually composed face.

A stark line of crimson blood immediately bloomed from his temple. It mixed with the freezing shower water, running down his cheek.

Sterling touched his bleeding head. He stared at the red blood on his fingertips in absolute disbelief. No one had ever struck him.

Celestia seized the moment. She lunged toward the open shower door, making a desperate run for freedom.

Before she could cross the threshold, Sterling's shock evaporated. It was replaced by a terrifying, predatory rage.

He lunged forward, tackling her from behind. They both crashed hard onto the wet bathroom floor.

Sterling flipped her onto her back. His bleeding face hovered inches from hers. He initiated a brutal, forced encounter, using his absolute physical dominance to punish her defiance.