Chapter 694

Simon hadn't anticipated that Evelyn, fresh from childbirth, would be more concerned about seeing Dominic than her own newborn.

He hesitated before speaking. "Mr. Powell's surgery is complete. He should be resting in his room now."

Dominic had endured an extensive procedure the previous day.

The car accident had left him with severe internal bleeding, requiring two blood transfusions. Multiple organs had sustained damage of varying degrees.

The crash had been brutal. Worse, Dominic hadn't remained still after impact—his movements had exacerbated his injuries.

The doctors called his survival a miracle.

But surviving surgery was only the first hurdle. Recovery would be the true test.

Before the operation, he had been in critical condition. Though the surgery had been successful, the medical team couldn't predict when—or if—he would wake up.

When the wheelchair stopped outside Dominic's hospital room, Evelyn froze, gripped by sudden dread.

She lingered at the threshold, unable to bring herself to enter.

How could she face him? Guilt twisted inside her. The thought of seeing him broken because of her made her stomach churn.

The noise outside caught Nathaniel's attention. He opened the door and stepped into the hallway.

His eyes widened at the sight of Evelyn. "Mrs. Whitmore... you're here to see Mr. Powell?"

Since Dominic's accident, not a single member of the Powell family had bothered to visit.

They didn't care whether he lived or died. Not even a token gesture of concern.

Nathaniel knew Evelyn had just given birth—she should be resting. Her presence here moved him.

At least someone genuinely cared about Dominic.

He was certain Dominic would be overjoyed when he found out.

"How is he?" Evelyn asked.

Nathaniel hesitated, uncertain how to answer.

Taking the wheelchair from Giselle, he guided Evelyn inside. "See for yourself."

The sharp scent of antiseptic filled the air.

Dominic lay deathly pale on the bed, his eyes shut tight.

The room was stark, the coldness almost biting.

Evelyn instinctively hunched her shoulders.

Seeing the once defiant man now so fragile made her chest ache.

If he hadn't shielded her during the crash, he wouldn't be lying here like this.

"Mrs. Whitmore..." Nathaniel began.

Since the accident, he had been keeping vigil alone. With Evelyn here, he finally had someone to confide in.

"Mr. Powell's injuries are severe. The doctors said his quality of life may never be the same."

Evelyn reached out, lightly brushing her fingers against Dominic's wrist.

Her frown deepened as she assessed his condition.

His internal organs were still bleeding in places. Though the surgery had stabilized him, his spleen was ruptured.

The medical team had opted for conservative treatment—stopping the bleeding—but full recovery would take months, if not longer.

A lump formed in Evelyn's throat.

Dominic had always been so full of life. Now, his skin felt cold beneath her touch.

She carefully tucked his hand back under the blanket.

Nathaniel spoke again. "Damian was behind everything. He was arrested yesterday, but... I heard he took his own life in custody."

He paused, noticing the tears streaking Evelyn's cheeks. "Mrs. Whitmore, are you—you shouldn't cry. Not after giving birth."

He fumbled for a tissue, handing it to her awkwardly. Comforting women wasn't his forte.

Evelyn dabbed at her eyes, forcing down the tightness in her throat.

Her tears came from a storm of emotions.

Alexander hadn't spared her a second thought, yet this reckless fool had thrown himself in harm's way to protect her.

The realization that Alexander hadn't even visited since the accident cut deep.

Even Nathaniel, who barely knew her, understood that a postpartum woman shouldn't be crying.

But Alexander? He hadn't even shown his face.

"Damian killed himself? He's dead?" Evelyn asked.

Nathaniel nodded.

Something didn't sit right with Evelyn.

A man as ruthless and self-serving as Damian—who had even betrayed his own foster sister for profit—wasn't the type to succumb to guilt. "How?" she pressed.

"Asphyxiation. They say he strangled himself in his cell."

Evelyn's suspicion grew.

"I need to step out for a moment. I'll be back soon," she said.

She needed to retrieve her medical acupuncture kit.

Perhaps it could help rouse Dominic faster.

When Evelyn exited the room, Simon immediately approached. "Mrs. Whitmore, are you returning to rest?"

She met his gaze. "Damian is dead?"

Simon nodded.

"Did Alexander have him killed?"

Damian had committed countless crimes and tried to harm her multiple times. He deserved death.

But suicide? Too convenient.

If Alexander had orchestrated this, maybe he still cared.

Simon pressed his lips together.

This wasn't a conversation he wanted to have. He wasn't sure what Evelyn was implying.

Worried about tarnishing Alexander's image, he deflected. "Mrs. Whitmore, you haven't eaten. You should rest. When Mr. Whitmore returns, he'll explain everything."

"Wait for him?" Evelyn's laugh was brittle. "Tell me, when will that be?"

Simon had no answer.

Evelyn's voice turned icy. "You don't even know when he'll return, yet you expect me to wait? Why is it always me waiting? Who does he think he is?"

Simon recognized this as pure frustration.

But he genuinely didn't know Alexander's whereabouts.

Last night, after Simon left, Alexander had sent a message saying he had a lead on Isabella and was going after her.

He'd instructed Simon to arrange proper care for Evelyn.

Simon had complied.

But he hadn't pried into Isabella's situation.

Now, with noon approaching and Alexander still absent, Simon understood Evelyn's anger.

Any woman would be hurt in her position—giving birth without her husband present.

Still, Simon trusted Alexander had his reasons.

"Mrs. Whitmore, if you'd like, I can call him—ask when he'll return," he offered.

"Don't bother." Evelyn's gaze could have frozen hell. "I don't want to see him. Whether he comes back or not means nothing to me now."

It was pathetic—relying on an assistant to track down her own husband.

She refused to be that woman. The one who waited, powerless, for scraps of attention.

"Mrs. Whitmore..." Simon began.

This quiet fury was worse than shouting. At least with an argument, emotions could be vented and resolved.

But this? He had no idea what Evelyn was thinking—or planning.

Evelyn said nothing more. With a gesture, she signaled Giselle to wheel her away.

Simon's unease spiked. He immediately pulled out his phone to call Alexander.

The line went straight to voicemail.