Chapter 380
Just then, Margaret happened to walk past the two security guards stationed outside.
Her nose wrinkled in distaste as she caught the acrid scent of cigarette smoke. She fixed the offending guard with a sharp glare.
"This is the maternity ward—a strictly non-smoking zone," she snapped, crossing her arms. "Have you no common decency?"
The guard startled, hastily stubbing out his cigarette against the sole of his shoe. "My apologies, ma'am. It won't happen again."
Fresh from her confrontation with Richard, Margaret was riding high on adrenaline. She settled for a warning glare before striding away, the encounter already fading from her mind.
After combing through every corridor and waiting area without spotting Evelyn, Margaret decided to check the physician's office.
The doctor looked up from her charts with a polite smile. "Mrs. Carter left nearly an hour ago."
Margaret's brows knitted together. That made no sense—why would Evelyn leave without telling her?
Pulling out her phone, she dialed Evelyn's number with quick, agitated taps.
Two rings. Then—silence.
The call had been declined.
A cold trickle of unease slid down Margaret's spine. Her fingers flew across the screen.
[Evelyn? Where are you? I've searched the entire hospital.]
The three blinking dots appeared... then vanished without reply.
The world around her faded into darkness as she slipped into unconsciousness, completely unaware of Margaret's repeated calls.
Ethan Caldwell gently placed Evelyn Carter in the backseat, securing her seatbelt with meticulous care.
Worried she might feel discomfort during the drive, he tucked a soft pillow behind her back, ensuring she remained as comfortable as possible.
Only when he was certain she was settled did he allow himself to exhale in relief.
Her phone buzzed incessantly from her pocket. Ethan retrieved it, unlocked it with her fingerprint, and swiftly typed a reply to Margaret: [Don’t wait for me. I’ve already left. You should head home too.]
Margaret’s next message made his blood run cold: [What were the test results? Are you pregnant?]
Ethan’s eyes darkened dangerously as his gaze dropped to Evelyn’s abdomen.
So, she had come to the hospital for that reason.
He reached into her shirt pocket and pulled out the medical report.
The moment his eyes scanned the results, his expression twisted into something unrecognizable.
Evelyn was carrying Alexander Whitmore’s child.
A surge of fury burned through him, his vision tinting red. His fist slammed into the front seat with enough force to make the driver flinch.
The man behind the wheel stiffened, holding his breath as tension thickened the air.
Moments later, Ethan's fingers tightened around Evelyn's phone as he typed a single word: [No.]
Without hesitation, he changed her passcode and slid the device into his jacket pocket.
On the other end of the line, Margaret's shoulders slumped in disappointment.
She had been so sure Evelyn was expecting.
At dinner, the nausea had been overwhelming—how could it not have been pregnancy?
But she was still young.
She and Alexander had only been married six months. There was no need to rush.
Sighing, Margaret tucked her phone away and descended the hospital steps.
Her gaze flickered to the parking lot, where a sleek black van had just pulled in.
Ethan stepped out, his expression unreadable.
Margaret's lips pressed into a thin line.
The memory of his betrayal—his affair with Vanessa, the way he'd shattered Evelyn's heart—flared hot in her chest.
And now? He was Vanessa's husband.
Ethan didn’t notice her.
Good.
She had no intention of speaking to him.
Turning sharply, she strode to her car without a backward glance.
Evelyn Carter remained completely unaware that Vanessa Hart, unconscious and motionless, lay hidden in the backseat of the van Ethan Caldwell had just exited.
Both vehicles roared to life simultaneously, their engines humming as they departed the hospital grounds one after another.
Meanwhile, Alexander Whitmore had just concluded a business dinner, his mind foggy from one too many glasses of whiskey. His phone buzzed insistently in his pocket—Simon Graves, his ever-vigilant bodyguard, was calling.
Alexander fumbled with his phone, his fingers sluggish from alcohol. The call connected, but before Simon could relay his urgent message, the screen went black.
Battery dead.
Groaning, Alexander pressed a hand to his throbbing temple and glared at the useless device.
Who had been calling him at this hour?