Chapter 147

The sterile hospital lights reflected off the white tiles as Vanessa stepped out of the stairwell, her fingers nervously twisting the edge of her sleeve.

"Ethan, why did you take so long in the bathroom?" Her voice was soft, deliberately fragile.

The bandage wrapped around her forehead stood out starkly against her pale skin, a visible reminder of her "accident." The back of her hand, still red from the scalding water, peeked out from beneath her sleeve as she reached for him.

Ethan didn’t turn. His jaw was tight, his gaze distant, lost in thoughts she couldn’t decipher.

"Ethan, I know I messed up." A single tear slipped down her cheek—just enough to be convincing, not enough to ruin her makeup. "Please don’t shut me out like this."

She let her voice tremble, the perfect balance of regret and vulnerability.

"I shouldn’t have argued with you at Whitmore Manor. I’m sorry." Her lashes fluttered downward, another tear following the first.

Too much crying would make her look desperate. Too little, and it wouldn’t seem sincere. This was the exact right amount—just enough to tug at his guilt.

Vanessa counted silently in her head.

One… two… three…

On the fourth second, Ethan finally moved.

His fingers brushed against her damp cheeks, wiping away the tears.

Vanessa exhaled silently in relief before wrapping her arms around Ethan.

The way she embraced him was deliberate. She pressed her ear against his chest, close enough to hear the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, then tilted her head just enough for her silken hair to graze the vulnerable curve of his throat—a spot she knew made him shiver.

"I never wanted to fight with you," she murmured. "It's Evelyn. She swore she loved you, yet she married Alexander."

Vanessa studied Ethan's expression carefully. When his jaw tightened, she pressed on.

"I know it hurts you. It hurts me too. Everything between us fell apart because of her. This whole mess? She orchestrated it just to drive us apart."

Ethan's gaze flickered, restless. Seizing the moment, Vanessa slid her hands up to clasp behind his neck.

"If you pull away from me now, she wins, Ethan. We chose each other for a reason, didn't we?"

Silence stretched between them as Ethan absorbed her words.

Lately, Evelyn had dominated his thoughts, pulling his focus entirely toward her.

But Vanessa was his wife. The woman whose cello playing had pulled him back from the edge of darkness when he lay unconscious.

The evening air was thick with unspoken tension as Ethan Caldwell studied his wife carefully.

"At our wedding," he began, his voice measured, "your cello performance felt... different."

Vanessa Hart's fingers tightened imperceptibly around her wine glass before she forced a laugh. "Different how? It was the same piece I always play."

Ethan tilted his head, considering. "Technically flawless, yes. But it lacked the emotion you usually pour into it."

A practiced smile curved Vanessa's lips as she leaned closer. "Darling, it was our wedding day. Of course I was nervous!" She playfully nudged his shoulder. "You can't expect me to perform perfectly when my hands were shaking the entire time."

The explanation seemed to satisfy him. Ethan pulled her into a loose embrace, his doubts momentarily soothed.

But beneath her composed exterior, Vanessa's mind raced.

How did Evelyn Carter play it?

No matter how many hours she practiced, something always felt... wrong. Like she was chasing a ghost in the music.

When Evelyn finally found Claire Dawson, her best friend was sitting alone on a marble bench in the dimly lit corridor.

Claire's usually vibrant eyes were hollow, her fingers twisting nervously in her lap. She looked up as Evelyn approached, her expression shattering further.

"I don't know what to do," Claire whispered, her voice breaking.

Evelyn sat beside her, reaching for her friend's ice-cold hands. The words hung between them, heavy with unspoken fears.

"Where have you been? I've been searching everywhere for you." Evelyn's voice trembled with worry as she finally spotted Claire near the hospital corridor.

Claire's face was ghostly pale, her fingers clutching the strap of her bag so tightly her knuckles turned white. "I saw Lucas," she whispered. "He was carrying Isabella. They went into the doctor's office together."

Evelyn's expression darkened instantly, her grip tightening around her phone. "Where are they now?"

The fluorescent lights above flickered, casting long shadows across the sterile white walls. The distant hum of hospital machinery filled the silence between them, heavy with unspoken tension.

Claire swallowed hard, her voice barely audible. "I don't know. They disappeared down the hall. But Evelyn—" She hesitated, her eyes wide with dread. "Isabella looked... sick."

A cold knot formed in Evelyn's stomach. She had known Lucas for years—had trusted him. If he was hiding something, if he had lied to them...

She took a sharp breath. "We need to find them. Now."

Without another word, she turned on her heel, her heels clicking sharply against the tiled floor. Claire hurried after her, her heart pounding in her chest.

Something was wrong.

And Evelyn wasn't about to let it slide.