Ethan’s expression shifted, a flicker of unease crossing his face.

“It’s too late for you to walk home alone. Sophia will understand. She won’t misinterpret anything.”

So he admitted Sophia was his beloved. The pain in Isabella’s chest tightened until it was almost suffocating.

She twisted her wrist free and turned sharply to leave.

The pain from her earlier injury returned the moment she misstepped.

Her ankle gave way beneath her. A sharp cry escaped her lips as she fell. “Ah!”

Isabella landed hard on the cold pavement. Instantly, Ethan’s face filled with worry. He rushed to her side in long, quick strides and lifted her effortlessly into his arms.

“Put me down! I can walk by myself!” Isabella insisted, her voice thick with defiance as she struggled against him.

But Ethan held firm. He carried her to the black Bentley parked nearby. He gently placed her in the passenger seat and secured the seatbelt with a definitive click. Then he slid into the driver’s seat.

The Bentley cut through the night, its engine a low hum. Outside, the world blurred into streaks of shadow and light, mirroring Isabella’s chaotic emotions. She stared out the window, feeling utterly lost.

They entered an upscale neighborhood. The headlights carved paths through the darkness until they stopped before an imposing villa.

Isabella’s eyes widened in shock and a pang of nostalgia. It was their old marital home.

Ethan carried her into the living room with a mix of tenderness and resolve. He carefully set her down on the plush sofa. His brow furrowed as he examined her swollen ankle, his concern filling the quiet room.

Feeling self-conscious, Isabella tried to pull her foot back. But Ethan held it firmly.

“Don’t move,” he commanded, his voice a blend of authority and a hidden warmth that brooked no argument.

Isabella’s heart fluttered nervously. She obeyed. In one swift motion, Ethan pulled out his phone and dialed.

His voice was sharp and urgent. “Daniel, you have thirty minutes to get to Hawthorne Residence.”

On the other end, a groggy Daniel Brooks fumbled for coherence. He tried to ask a question, but Ethan abruptly ended the call.

Daniel sighed heavily in resignation. He swung his legs out of bed. Grumbling under his breath as he dressed in the dim light, he muttered, “The middle of the night. Why can’t these crises ever happen during business hours?”

But he knew better than to refuse a summons from Ethan. Not when his generous monthly retainer came from a man of Ethan’s influence.

Thirty minutes later, Daniel arrived at the estate, his hair disheveled and eyes bleary. He shot Ethan a brief, exasperated look before turning his attention to Isabella’s injury.

After a careful examination, he concluded, “This is a severe sprain. You’ll need to stay off it and rest for several days.”

His skilled hands wrapped a bandage gently around her swollen ankle.

“Thank you, Dr. Brooks,” Isabella murmured, her focus on the throbbing pain.

Daniel waved a dismissive hand. “It’s nothing. Given what your husband pays me, it’s the least I can do.” His tone carried a hint of dry cynicism she couldn’t miss.