Chapter 144

Isabella gasped sharply, clutching her stomach. Lucas frowned, his grip tightening on her arm. "What happened?"

"A sudden pain..." she whispered, her face paling.

They stood on the uneven gravel path, the dim streetlights casting long shadows. A shallow ditch ran alongside the walkway, barely noticeable in the fading daylight.

Lucas's gaze dropped to her feet, then snapped back to her face, his expression hardening. "Can you stand?"

She was a dancer—her legs were her livelihood. An injury now could ruin everything.

Tears welled in Isabella's eyes as she tried to shift her weight. A sharp inhale escaped her. "It's bad," she admitted, voice trembling. "My recital is in three days. What if—?"

"Lean on me." Lucas slid an arm around her waist, steadying her. "We're going to the hospital."

She nodded weakly, fingers digging into his sleeve for balance.

By the time he helped her into the passenger seat, silent tears streaked her cheeks. She looked fragile, her usual confidence shattered.

The engine roared to life. Only then did she speak, hesitant. "Claire won't like this. Maybe you should just call me a cab instead."

The car pulled over abruptly at the curb.

"I'll get out here," Isabella Rhodes said, her voice tight. "Just drop me at the roadside. I'll take a cab to the hospital."

Lucas Bennett's brows furrowed. "Claire isn't like that."

"Is that so?" Isabella's long, tangled hair spilled over her shoulders as she stared blankly out the window. Her lips trembled slightly, her thoughts distant, silent tears rolling down onto her tightly clenched hands.

Lucas reached for his phone, intending to call Claire, but the screen remained dark—dead. He exhaled sharply and gave up.

Evelyn Carter stirred awake half an hour later, blinking against the darkness.

The space beside her was empty. Hunger gnawed at her stomach, but the memory of the missed call jolted her fully awake. She snatched her phone and dialed back immediately. "Claire? What's wrong?"

Claire's voice was faint, strained. "Evelyn... my stomach... it hurts."

Evelyn bolted upright. "Where's Lucas? Didn't he take you to the hospital?"

"I couldn't reach him."

"Hold on. I'm coming now." Evelyn yanked on her clothes as she rushed toward the door.

The commotion drew Alexander Whitmore from the kitchen. "What happened?"

"Claire's in pain, and Lucas isn't answering. I have to get her to the hospital," Evelyn explained, shoving her feet into her shoes.

Alexander grabbed his keys. "I'll drive."

Thirty minutes later, Evelyn guided Claire into the obstetrics ward.

Alexander lingered in the car, unwilling to risk an uncomfortable encounter.

The doctor's diagnosis came swiftly—overexertion, early signs of a potential miscarriage. Bed rest was non-negotiable.

Claire's face crumpled. "A model with a baby... I'm destroying my career, aren't I?" Her voice cracked. "All that work... Why does everything have to be so hard?"

She had clawed her way to principal dancer, only for a shattered leg to steal it all away.

Now, just as modeling began to take off—pregnancy.

Evelyn murmured reassurances, helping Claire settle in the lobby before heading to the billing counter.

But when she returned—Claire was gone.

The seat was empty. No answer on her phone.

Evelyn's pulse spiked. The hospital was eerily quiet at this hour. Where the hell had she gone?

Claire wouldn’t just leave without saying anything.

Thinking she might have gone to the restroom, Evelyn took a few steps in that direction.

Just then, someone emerged from the men’s restroom, colliding with her.

It was Ethan.

A cooling patch clung to his forehead, and his usually immaculate hair was disheveled, strands falling across his brow. The effect was startling—softer, almost vulnerable.

Evelyn froze.

His eyes, usually sharp and calculating, were clouded with exhaustion.

She hadn’t expected to see him here.

Not like this.

Not when she was already on edge.

A tense silence stretched between them.

Then, his lips parted.

"Evelyn."

Her name on his tongue sent an unwanted shiver down her spine.

She took a step back.

But before she could speak, a sharp cry echoed from down the hall.

Claire’s voice.

Panicked.

Evelyn’s blood ran cold.

Something was wrong.

Horribly wrong.

She turned and ran.

Ethan’s footsteps followed.

Neither of them was prepared for what they would find.