Chapter 425

Evelyn slept peacefully in her own bed for the first time in weeks.

Now that she had finally escaped Ethan’s grasp, her sleep was deeper than it had been in ages.

Only heaven knew how she had survived those torturous weeks.

The constant fear of Ethan barging into her room at any moment had kept her from truly resting. Some nights, she had dozed fitfully, perched on the edge of the mattress like a wary bird.

Alexander had left for the office that morning, though he had wanted to stay with her.

Evelyn had insisted he go—work came first—and even walked him to the door with a reassuring smile.

When Harold sent a car for her later, Evelyn was momentarily confused.

But the mention of a hospital visit made everything click.

This must be about Ethan.

She took her time preparing—changing into something elegant, applying subtle makeup, and ensuring she looked every bit the composed wife of Alexander Whitmore before stepping into the waiting car.

The hospital room was far more crowded than she had anticipated.

Members of both the second and third branches of the family were already there, their hushed conversations filling the sterile air.

Evelyn reacted instantly, leaping backward just in time to avoid the strike.

The man swung again, his face twisted with fury.

That was it. Evelyn had reached her limit.

She caught his wrist mid-swing and shoved him back with surprising strength.

"What is wrong with you? Use your words, not your fists!" she snapped.

Vincent Black's glare burned with rage. "My son is in this condition because of you!"

"Vincent, have you lost your mind? How is any of this my fault?"

Evelyn, having once been engaged to Ethan, recognized him immediately.

The sudden shift from "Mr. Caldwell" to "Vincent" made him falter for a split second.

When it registered, his expression twisted into something ugly.

Seeing Evelyn alone, without Alexander, Eleanor felt bold enough to strike.

"You dare ask how it's your fault? Ethan is barely clinging to life in that hospital bed! The doctors say his condition is critical. His future could be ruined—all because of you, you scheming witch!"

Vanessa rushed forward, clutching her stomach dramatically.

"Thank God Ethan is strong. If anything happened to him, what would become of me and our child?"

Evelyn saw right through the act.

This was a performance—a carefully orchestrated play to paint her as the villain. They were trying to shift all the blame onto her.

Her gaze flicked to Harold Aniston before she strode toward him.

Eleanor, realizing Evelyn's intent, panicked.

"Don't you dare twist this around and make Ethan the villain to save yourself, Evelyn!" she accused, going on the offensive.

"Twist it around?" Evelyn nearly laughed. "Who's the one playing the victim here?"

She shook her head, amused. "Eleanor, your desperation to silence me speaks volumes. What exactly are you afraid of? You know exactly what you've done."

Harold, who had remained silent until now, sensed there was more to this than he'd been told.

His sharp gaze locked onto Evelyn. "What the hell really happened? I want the truth—from her."

Evelyn's eyes settled on Ethan's unconscious form.

She held the truth like a live grenade—one wrong move and it would shatter everything.

There he lay, vulnerable in the sterile hospital bed, his recovery hanging by a thread. Revealing the truth now would be like pouring salt into an open wound.

Ethan had taken a blade meant for her. That single act of reckless loyalty had landed him here.

And then there was the scandal. Nearly three weeks of unexplained imprisonment had already stained her reputation.

A man and a woman alone together—especially with their complicated history—was a recipe for vicious rumors. The whispers would spread like wildfire, twisting into something far uglier than reality.

She couldn’t risk it.