Chapter 433

Ethan Caldwell slumped against the sterile white hospital pillows, his jaw clenched.

The weight of Alexander Whitmore's ultimatum pressed down on him like a vise. Without the Whitmore name shielding him, he was just another man with nothing.

This was retribution. Alexander hadn't forgotten those two weeks when Evelyn Carter had vanished—when Ethan had been the one to orchestrate it. Now, the debt was due.

"Alexander," Ethan muttered under his breath, "you're cutting me off from the company, from the family. Do you really think Evelyn won't see you for the monster you are?"

The Whitmore patriarch's word was law. Even Harold Whitmore couldn't overrule him.

And Ethan had no defense. Conspiring with outsiders against family? Indisputable.

Exile or expulsion—those were his choices. No one would dare speak in his favor.

But Evelyn...

Ethan smirked bitterly. Alexander cared about her. Too much. He wouldn’t risk her seeing him as heartless.

Would he?

The thought flickered—Alexander, ruthless enough to discard his own nephew.

Ethan's fingers curled into the sheets.

Maybe he’d underestimated just how far Alexander would go.

Before Alexander could respond, Evelyn stepped into the room, her heels clicking softly against the marble floor.

"As the head of the Whitmore family, it's Alexander's responsibility to address any misconduct within our ranks." Her voice was calm but carried undeniable authority as she reached for Alexander's hand, a deliberate show of unity. "Only through fair judgment can we maintain order in the Whitmore household, don't you agree?"

She continued, her tone measured yet firm. "None of you truly understand the burden Alexander carries as the family leader. He desires harmony just as much as anyone."

Her gaze swept across the room, silencing any murmurs of dissent. "But when someone breaks the rules, they must face the consequences. How can you accuse Alexander of being ruthless when the fault lies with the one who erred? Isn't that unfair?"

The room fell into heavy silence. Evelyn’s words left no room for argument—no one dared to plead for Ethan now.

Ethan's lips trembled as he watched Evelyn and Alexander standing together, her fingers intertwined with his. A sharp pang of betrayal twisted in his chest.

He had never imagined that not only Alexander but even Evelyn would push for such severe punishment.

The realization struck him like a physical blow—she truly didn’t care. She was cutting ties with him, publicly and decisively.

His heart ached as memories surfaced—those two weeks they had spent together, every meal he had prepared for her with his own hands.

Now, none of it mattered.

Ethan had believed Evelyn would be moved by his sincerity, granting him a fresh start. The realization that she had been acting all along struck him like a physical blow.

Her earlier kindness had been nothing but a carefully crafted illusion—a ploy to dismantle his defenses.

The truth left him feeling like a fool.

His emotions spiraled into chaos, and for the first time, life seemed unbearably bleak.

Vincent's voice cut through the tension. "Once Ethan recovers, I’ll arrange for him to relocate overseas. Alexander, does this satisfy you now?"

Exile was the lesser evil compared to being cast out from the Whitmore family entirely.

Vanessa clutched her stomach, tears spilling down her cheeks. "But I’m carrying his child. What am I supposed to do if he leaves?"

Her voice trembled as she turned to Alexander. "Please… show some mercy. Let him stay until after the baby is born. I’m begging you."

She wept uncontrollably, as if her tears alone could sway his decision.

Eleanor considered the timeline. By the time Vanessa delivered, half a year would have passed. Perhaps by then, the matter of Ethan’s departure would fade into irrelevance.

"Eleanor, if Ethan truly abandons me, I'll drown in tears!"

Vanessa's dramatic sobs filled the lavish sitting room of Whitmore Manor. The crystal chandelier above trembled slightly as her wails grew louder.

Harold Aniston, his patience wearing thin, slammed his newspaper onto the mahogany coffee table. "For heaven's sake, woman! Can't this wait until after the child arrives?"

His voice carried the sharp edge of decades spent commanding boardrooms. The grandfather clock in the corner ticked ominously, counting the strained silence between outbursts.

Vanessa clutched her swollen belly, mascara streaking down her flushed cheeks. "You don't understand! He's been distant ever since..." Her voice cracked as fresh tears spilled over.

Across the room, Eleanor Caldwell sighed, rubbing her temples. The afternoon sunlight streaming through the bay windows suddenly felt oppressive rather than cheerful.

"Vanessa darling," Eleanor began in that polished tone perfected over thirty years of high society galas, "men like Ethan need space when—"

"I don't care what men need!" Vanessa shrieked, hurling a velvet cushion across the room. It knocked over a priceless Ming vase that had survived four generations of Caldwells. The crash echoed through the manor like a gunshot.

Harold's face turned an alarming shade of crimson. "That's enough! I won't have this hysterics under my roof!"

Vanessa opened her mouth to retaliate when a new voice cut through the tension.

"Perhaps," came Alexander Whitmore's smooth baritone from the doorway, "we should discuss solutions rather than casualties." His gaze flickered to the shattered porcelain, then to Vanessa's trembling form. "Especially when there's an heir involved."

The word 'heir' hung in the air like smoke after fireworks. Vanessa's hands instinctively cradled her stomach as fresh sobs wracked her body. Outside, a sudden gust of wind made the rose bushes scrape against the windowpanes like fingernails on glass.

Eleanor exchanged a loaded glance with her son. Some storms, it seemed, couldn't be weathered with mere patience. Not when the Caldwell name—and now the Whitmore legacy—hung in the balance.