The CEO’s Masked Secret Wife

Liam's POV

For two consecutive nights, visions of Clairemont draped in white haunted my sleep. The image of her in that wedding dress invaded my dreams like a curse I couldn't shake. The lack of rest was taking its toll, and I felt the weight of exhaustion pressing down on my shoulders. I needed caffeine and conversation to clear the fog from my mind.

I reached out to Owen and Damian, suggesting we grab coffee together. Maybe their company would help me regain some clarity.

As I stepped out of Owen's office, Hazel burst from her own office door, her face drained of all color. The sight of her distress hit me like a punch to the gut. Stella immediately followed her, concern written across her features. Every instinct told me to go after Hazel, but Owen's firm grip on my arm stopped me.

"Let Stella handle this, Liam," Owen's voice carried a note of warning. "The women think she's developed a stress ulcer from everything she's been dealing with."

Damian nodded grimly. "This whole situation hasn't been kind to her. But you're not looking much better yourself, brother. Those shadows under your eyes could rival a raccoon's."

I ran a hand through my hair, feeling the exhaustion in my bones. "I can't seem to find peace when I close my eyes. That damn image of Clairemont in wedding white keeps playing on repeat in my head. It's driving me insane."

We settled into the break room with our coffee when my phone buzzed with a message from Noah.

"Liam, lunch is set for Wednesday with my uncle from the hospital."

Finally, some progress. I quickly typed back my confirmation and gratitude.

Wednesday arrived, and I found myself sitting across from Dr. Evans at an upscale restaurant. Noah's uncle was an impressive figure, tall and fit despite his graying temples. His warm demeanor reminded me of the gentlemen my mother used to describe with admiration. It seemed to be a family characteristic, as Noah possessed the same refined quality.

"So, Liam, Noah has filled me in on the predicament you've found yourself in," Dr. Evans began, his tone both professional and sympathetic.

I let out a bitter laugh. "Doctor, I never imagined that one night of poor judgment could transform my entire existence into a living nightmare. I've sworn off alcohol completely now, following Noah's lead."

Dr. Evans's laughter was genuine and warming. "Wise choice, my young friend. Excess of any kind wreaks havoc on the body, and alcohol in particular can lead to devastating consequences. Now, if you'll pardon my directness, Noah mentioned that you have absolutely no recollection of the events from that evening?"

The admission still stung. "Practically nothing, doctor. My last clear memory is having a whisky on the venue's balcony. Everything after that is a complete void."

"When you consumed that whisky, did you notice anything unusual about how you felt?" Dr. Evans leaned forward, his medical instincts clearly engaged.

I thought back to that night, trying to piece together the fragments. "I had only been at the company event for maybe thirty minutes and hadn't consumed much alcohol. But I had been drinking heavily the previous evening, so I assumed my tolerance was compromised."

"Have you considered the possibility that someone may have tampered with your drink?" The question hit me like a lightning bolt.

My immediate reaction was denial. "But this was our company's private function. Who would do such a thing?"

"I've witnessed similar situations occur even at family gatherings, Liam," Dr. Evans shared, his experience evident. "A toxicology screening could provide answers."

The reality of my oversight crashed over me. "But three months have passed, doctor. Surely it's too late for any meaningful results."

"On the contrary, most pharmaceutical substances and psychoactive compounds remain detectable for up to six months post-consumption. We would simply need a hair sample for analysis," Dr. Evans explained matter-of-factly.

The possibility stunned me. "You're saying this is actually feasible?"

"Absolutely. If you're willing, we could head to the hospital after our meal. Results typically take forty-eight hours, though I might be able to accelerate the process. The question is whether you truly want to uncover what transpired that night," Dr. Evans offered.

Hope surged through me for the first time in months. "Doctor, that would be incredible! Unfortunately, I have a scheduled meeting immediately following lunch."

"No problem at all. Simply contact me when your schedule permits, but don't delay too long. Now, Noah also mentioned the paternity testing situation. We have two options: an invasive procedure with minimal miscarriage risk, or a completely safe non-invasive test that analyzes fetal DNA present in the mother's bloodstream. The non-invasive method is absolutely reliable and requires only a blood sample," Dr. Evans continued, showcasing the remarkable advances in medical technology.

Noah interjected with concern. "I suspect Clairemont will find ways to avoid any DNA testing if she realizes what we're doing."

"My thoughts exactly, Noah. I cannot fathom being intimate with such a repulsive creature," I said, my disgust apparent enough to amuse Dr. Evans.

"Son, I'm acquainted with Hazel, and she's both a wonderful person and breathtakingly beautiful," Dr. Evans observed. "I find it highly unlikely you would choose someone like Noah described after having the opportunity to be with Hazel."

Her beauty filled my thoughts instantly. "She truly is extraordinary."

"I assume you'll be requiring a prenuptial agreement for this arrangement?" Evans inquired pragmatically.

"Absolutely. A union this absurd demands comprehensive legal protection," I confirmed.

"Include mandatory health screening clauses in that agreement, specifying that all examinations must be conducted at our hospital. I'll ensure everything proceeds smoothly," Evans demonstrated not only medical expertise but considerable life experience. "I dealt with a similar situation involving my wife's family, a nephew questioning paternity when the woman refused testing."

Noah beamed with satisfaction. "I told you my uncle would have solutions!"

"Now for the more troubling matter. The physician treating your alleged fiancée, Dr. Evan Cruz, has an absolutely dreadful reputation. He's currently embroiled in scandals involving fraudulent diagnoses, illegal prescription sales, falsified medical certificates, and fabricated test results. From what I understand, he's facing disciplinary action from the medical board and is under active investigation," Dr. Evans revealed.

The revelation hit me like a physical blow. "I'm a complete fool! I've allowed myself to be dragged through the mud with these criminals!"

"Stay calm, Liam. With my uncle's assistance, we'll resolve everything," Noah assured me.

The remainder of our lunch was spent discussing medical innovations. Dr. Evans proved to be both current with advances and intellectually brilliant. For the first time in months, hope began to bloom in my chest.

My afternoon was consumed by back-to-back meetings, and I didn't find an opportunity to contact my attorney until late in the day. I instructed him to incorporate mandatory health examination clauses into the prenuptial agreement, specifying that all procedures must be performed at the hospital where Noah's uncle served as director. I emphasized that these clauses needed to be legally unassailable. He guaranteed the agreement would be completed within days.

Now came the difficult part: waiting while trying to manage my growing anticipation. But I had one more strategy to pursue. I contacted Allen and requested a thorough investigation into Clairemont's disreputable physician. He assured me it would be straightforward and promised rapid results.

Finally, I could see hope on the horizon. Yet one question continued to gnaw at me: if someone had indeed drugged me, how had Clairemont managed to orchestrate it?