Ethan’s fingers clenched around the phone.
His voice came out low and controlled. “I appreciate the information.”
Silence lingered briefly on the other end.
“Wait… Hello?” Victoria’s tone shifted, laced with sudden confusion. “Who is this?”
She blinked, caught off guard by the unfamiliar male voice.
Her lips parted to form a question, but the line went dead before she could speak.
She pulled the device away, staring blankly at the darkened screen. Who was that man? Isabella never mentioned being married. Not a word.
Ethan released a slow breath, tucking the phone back into Isabella’s pocket. His gaze returned to her still form, her delicate hand still cradled in his.
He didn’t have all the details about Eleanor yet. But he would get them. He would uncover the truth for Isabella.
The next morning, the sharp, sterile smell of antiseptic stung Isabella’s nostrils.
Her eyelids fluttered open. Her fingers twitched against the starched hospital sheets. A blinding white ceiling. Harsh fluorescent lights glared down.
A hospital room.
Panic washed over her in a cold wave. Memories slammed into her consciousness—shattered, violent pieces reassembling themselves in a brutal rush.
The knife in her hand. Pressed hard against Victoria’s throat.
Her breath hitched, a sharp, suffocating pain exploding in her chest. Grandma!
Isabella threw the covers back and leaped from the bed, her bare feet meeting the cold, hard floor.
She didn’t stop for shoes. She stumbled out of the room and into the hallway.
The corridor buzzed with frantic energy, a river of people moving in every direction. She grabbed a nurse’s arm, her voice trembling and weak. “Please! Eleanor Vance! How is she?”
The nurse, startled by her desperation, paused. “Vance? You mean Eleanor Vance?” She searched her memory, her expression softening into pity. “I’m so sorry. She… she didn’t survive. We did everything we could. She’s gone.”
The words blurred Isabella’s vision, the world tilting on its axis.
Her legs buckled, strength deserting her completely.
“Isabella!” A strong arm caught her, pulling her against a solid chest. A familiar, crisp scent surrounded her.
Ethan.
Seeing him unleashed a torrent of pent-up grief and fury. Tears she’d been holding back flooded her cheeks.
In a blind rage, her hand flew out, striking his face.
The slap echoed sharply in the hall. A red handprint bloomed on his cheek. He didn’t flinch. Didn’t react. His eyes held only profound sorrow.
“Why… why did you stop me…” she choked out between sobs.
Her crying became uncontrollable, wracking her entire body.
Ethan tried to pull her into a firm embrace, to offer some anchor in her storm.
She shoved him back with surprising force, screaming through her tears, “She’s dead! My grandmother is dead! This is my fault! All of it!”
Overcome, she collapsed to the cold floor, burying her face in her hands as she wept uncontrollably.
Ethan knelt before her, reaching for her. She recoiled violently, pushing him away with every ounce of her strength.
“Don’t touch me!” she screamed, her eyes red-rimmed and blazing with pure hatred. “This is your fault! Your family’s fault! You killed her! I will make you pay for what you did to my grandmother! I swear it!”