Page 1 of Bound in Matrimony (Belonging to Him Trilogy #3)

Chapter One

Knox

I notice the change in Seraphina's breathing before she says anything.

She's sitting on the couch, one hand pressed against her lower back, her face a careful mask I'm learning to read.

Seven months pregnant, and she still thinks she can hide things from me.

A ripple of alarm shoots through my system, but I don't allow it to show.

Instead, I cross the room in four long strides, kneeling before her like a supplicant, though we both know I've never begged for anything in my life.

"Tell me," I demand, my voice softer than I intended.

"It's nothing," she says, but her fingers dig harder into the small of her back. "Just some discomfort."

Discomfort. The word ricochets through my brain like a bullet. She's carrying my child—my legacy, my blood, my future—and she's in discomfort. Unacceptable.

"How long?" My hands hover over her belly, not quite touching, waiting for permission. Even now, with this woman who belongs to me in every way that matters, I find myself seeking consent for the smallest intimacies. She's changed me in ways I'm still discovering.

Seraphina sighs, taking my hand and placing it against the taut skin of her stomach. "A few hours. It comes and goes. The books say it's normal, Knox."

I feel the firm roundness beneath my palm, the slight flutter that might be our daughter shifting position. Mine to protect. Both of them.

"I'm calling Dr. Winters." It's not a suggestion. I'm already reaching for my phone.

"Knox," she protests, but I silence her with a look. She rolls her eyes but doesn't argue further. Progress.

Dr. Winters answers on the first ring, as she should. I pay her enough to be available 24/7.

"Mr. Vance," she says, professional as always. "What can I do for you?"

"Seraphina is experiencing discomfort." I stand, pacing the length of our living room, unable to remain still. "Lower back pain. For several hours."

I hear the rustling of papers. "She's at thirty weeks, correct? This could be normal Braxton Hicks contractions, but given her history of slight anemia, I'd prefer to examine her. Can you bring her to my office tomorrow morning?"

"No." The word comes out sharp, definitive. "Tonight. Now."

There's a pause on the other end of the line. "Mr. Vance, while I understand your concern, this doesn't sound like an emergency?—"

"I'll decide what constitutes an emergency where my family is concerned." My voice drops to the register that makes board members squirm in their seats. "We'll meet you at the hospital in thirty minutes."

I end the call before she can respond, already mentally calculating what needs to happen next. Seraphina watches me with a mixture of exasperation and amusement in her green eyes.

"You're overreacting," she says, but allows me to help her to her feet. She winces slightly as she stands, and the sight of that tiny flash of pain is enough to solidify my decision.

"Car's already on the way," I inform her, texting Harris, my head of security, to bring the car around. Then I tap another number on my phone, walking toward our bedroom. "Pack an overnight bag," I call over my shoulder to Seraphina.

"Johnson," I bark when the call connects. "I need you to contact Memorial Hospital. Immediately."

"Sir?" My assistant sounds confused. It's after nine in the evening, but he knows better than to mention the time.

"I want the entire VIP floor cleared and prepared for my wife and child."

"The entire floor?" Johnson's voice wavers slightly, but he recovers quickly. "Of course, sir. I'll make the arrangements."

"Not arrangements. Demands. I want the best obstetrician in the country flown in if Dr. Winters isn't sufficient. I want every nurse vetted by our security team. I want the most advanced monitoring equipment they have, and if they don't have it, buy it."

"Yes, sir. What about the other patients currently on that floor?"

I pause, considering. My instinct is to have them moved, immediately. But Seraphina would hate that, would look at me with that mixture of disapproval and disappointment that somehow cuts deeper than any boardroom criticism ever could.

"Move them to upgraded accommodations on other floors. Charge it to me. Make sure they're comfortable." A compromise. I'm learning those, too.

"Right away, sir. Anything else?"

I glance at the doorway where Seraphina stands, one hand cradling her belly, watching me with a complicated expression. "Yes. I want to purchase the floor."

"Purchase…the hospital floor?" Johnson clarifies, his voice faint.

"The entire wing, if necessary. Whatever it takes. I want ownership, Johnson. Do you understand? No lease, no rental. I want that floor to belong to me by morning."

"I—yes, sir. I'll start the legal work immediately."

I end the call and turn to Seraphina, who looks simultaneously impressed and horrified. "You can't just buy a hospital floor, Knox."

"Watch me." I cross to her, taking the small overnight bag from her hands. "Is this all you're bringing?"

She sighs, that soft exhalation that means she's deciding which battle to fight. "It's just a precaution, remember? We'll probably be home tomorrow."

I don't bother responding to that delusional statement.

Instead, I guide her toward the elevator, one hand at the small of her back.

My phone buzzes continuously—Johnson working his magic, Harris confirming security protocols, Dr. Winters arranging her team.

The pieces falling into place as they always do when I give an order.

In the car, Seraphina leans against my shoulder, her breathing even but her posture tense. I run my hand over her hair, the silken strands sliding between my fingers like liquid gold.

"You're scaring me a little," she admits quietly.

I press my lips to her temple. "Good. Maybe you'll listen when I tell you this is serious."

"It's back pain, Knox. Thousands of pregnant women experience it every day without their husbands buying hospital wings."

"You're not thousands of women," I tell her, my voice dropping to that register that makes her pupils dilate. "You're mine. You're carrying my child. Your care will reflect that reality."

She shivers slightly, though whether from my tone or another spasm of pain, I can't tell. The uncertainty gnaws at me, makes my jaw clench.

We arrive at the hospital to find Johnson already there, looking harried but efficient. The hospital administrator—a balding man with anxious eyes—hovers beside him.

"Mr. Vance," he says, stepping forward with an outstretched hand. "I'm Dr. Collins, chief administrator. We're honored to have you with us tonight and are making all the arrangements you've requested."

I ignore his hand, focusing on getting Seraphina out of the car. "The floor?"

"We—that is—such a transaction is highly unusual?—"

I cut him off with a glance, helping Seraphina stand. "Johnson, explain to Dr. Collins that I don't care about usual. I care about results."

Johnson nods, drawing the administrator aside while I escort Seraphina through the private entrance. Harris and two other security personnel flank us, creating a human corridor that parts the curious onlookers and staff.

Dr. Winters meets us at the elevator, her calm presence a contrast to the chaos I've created. "Ms. Vale," she says warmly, before correcting herself. "Mrs. Vance. Let's get you comfortable and see what's going on."

The VIP floor has been transformed in the hour since my call. Fresh flowers line the corridors, the harsh fluorescent lights dimmed to a softer glow. I notice new monitoring equipment being wheeled into rooms, staff scurrying to prepare the space to my specifications.

"Your private suite is ready," Dr. Collins says, materializing at my elbow.

He seems to have recovered his professional demeanor.

"And I've spoken with our board. While selling a hospital floor is unprecedented, they're…

open to discussing a substantial donation that would give you naming rights and certain… privileges."

"Not good enough," I tell him, watching as Seraphina is settled into a room that looks more like a luxury hotel suite than a hospital room. "I want ownership. Complete control."

"Mr. Vance, there are regulations, zoning laws?—"

"All of which can be navigated with the right resources.

" I turn to face him fully, my voice dropping so Seraphina can't hear.

"Let me be clear, Dr. Collins. My wife and child will receive care in a facility that meets my standards.

I prefer that facility to be this one, but if you can't accommodate my requirements, I'll build my own hospital by the end of the week. "

His face pales slightly. "That won't be necessary. I'll have our legal team work with yours through the night."

"Good decision." I dismiss him with a nod, moving to Seraphina's side as Dr. Winters examines her.

"Your vitals look good," the doctor is saying, "and the baby's heartbeat is strong. The monitor isn't showing any concerning contractions, but I'd like to keep you overnight for observation, especially considering the anemia we noted at your last checkup."

Seraphina glances at me, a silent "I told you so" in her expression. "Is that really necessary?"

"It's done," I interject, my tone brooking no argument. "You're staying."

Dr. Winters's eyes dart between us, professional enough not to comment on the dynamics at play. "I've arranged for the best obstetric team to be on call, and we'll run some additional tests to be safe."

"Tests?" I ask, immediately alert. "What tests? Why?"

"Standard precautionary measures, Mr. Vance. Nothing to be alarmed about."

But I am alarmed. The thought of anything happening to Seraphina or our child sends a cold wave of fear through me—an unfamiliar sensation for a man who built an empire by never experiencing that emotion.

Once we're alone, Seraphina reaches for my hand. "You can't buy a hospital floor," she says again, but there's resignation in her voice now. She knows me well enough to recognize a lost cause.

"Already in progress." I sit on the edge of her bed, careful not to disturb the monitoring equipment. "By morning, this entire wing will be ours. I've ordered renovations to begin tomorrow—better security, upgraded medical equipment, a proper suite for you."

"Knox..." She sighs, squeezing my fingers. "We'll only be here until the baby is born. A few months at most."

I bring her hand to my lips, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. "And then for any future children. For any medical need you or our family ever has. This floor will be our private medical facility in perpetuity."

Her eyes widen slightly. "Future children? We haven't even had this one yet."

I don't respond to that. She'll understand eventually that I want everything with her—not just one child, but many. Not just one lifetime, but an entire legacy.

As night deepens, I refuse to leave her side despite the comfortable recliner the staff brings in. Instead, I stretch out beside her on the hospital bed, one hand resting protectively on her swollen belly, feeling the occasional flutter of movement beneath my palm.

I don't sleep. I watch Seraphina's face in repose, the gentle rise and fall of her chest, the way her eyelashes cast delicate shadows on her cheeks in the dim light. My empire, my wealth, my power—all of it meaningless compared to this woman and the child she carries.

And so I do what I've always done when something matters to me: I ensure I control every variable, eliminate every risk, secure every advantage money can buy.

By morning, when Seraphina wakes to find herself in a hospital room filled with fresh flowers and me still at her side, the paperwork is already being finalized. The entire floor—soon to be renamed the Vance Family Medical Wing—belongs to me.

To us.

To the family I'm building, the legacy I'm creating, the future I'm securing one acquisition at a time.