Chapter 363

The café door swung shut behind Vivian Laurent as she adjusted her trench coat collar. The police interrogation had gone smoothly, and news of Vincent Valrose's detention for medical harassment lifted her spirits.

Dusk settled over the city as she approached the gilded hotel where the Eudoran royal family resided. Security was impenetrable—not even a fly could slip through.

After three rigorous checkpoints, Vivian was escorted to the penthouse suite. The queen sat by the floor-to-ceiling windows, her teacup pausing mid-air at the sight of her visitor.

"You must be...Dr. Luna?"

"Vivian is fine," she replied in flawless Eudoran.

The queen studied the improbably young woman before her. The black turtleneck accentuated her porcelain skin, and those almond eyes held unsettling calm.

"My daughter's condition—" The queen twisted her gemstone ring. "Perhaps examine me first? I've been suffering insomnia and heart palpitations."

Vivian's lips curved. She recognized this test.

"Your complexion is radiant, nails perfectly glossy." Her gaze swept over the monarch like a scanner. "True insomnia causes eyelid swelling, yet yours show no dark circles."

The queen's ears flushed pink. Her royal physician had declared her perfectly healthy that morning.

"However—" Vivian leaned in suddenly. "Loss of appetite recently?"

The queen's grip tightened on her skirt. She'd been nauseated by fish all month—could it be...?

"Not pregnancy." Vivian's fingers found her wrist. "Severe uterine chill. Likely complications from an early miscarriage."

The chandelier crystals trembled. The queen remembered the snowy night twenty years ago—the car crash that took her unborn child and left her womb damaged.

"Modern medicine could—"

"Too risky." Vivian cut her off. "Your current conception chances are below five percent. Even if successful, fetal arrest is probable."

The queen's pearl necklace snapped, scattering luminous beads across the marble floor.