No.

That couldn't be real.

Isabella refused to believe it.

Sophia had to be faking it. She was forcing herself to appear calm. She had to be swallowing her pain, burying the devastation that was undoubtedly consuming her.

"Isabella, you—" Zoe's voice wavered.

But Isabella had already moved past her.

"Excuse me? Could someone assist me?" The command was effortless, yet it carried the authority of someone accustomed to being obeyed. "Please escort our guest out."

Two maids emerged from the back and stopped before Zoe, heads slightly bowed, waiting. "Miss Tremblay, this way, please."

Their voices remained impeccably polite, yet distant. Zoe's face flickered between pale and flushed with fury. She lingered for a moment, her eyes burning with venom, but Isabella remained unshaken.

Without another word, Zoe turned on her heel and stormed out. Only when the sound of her retreating footsteps had completely faded did Isabella shift her gaze back to Ethan—still slumped, still oblivious to the quiet storm that had passed over him.

"Henry! Where are you?" Her voice carried through the vast living room, tinged with fatigue, quiet helplessness woven into it.

She pressed her fingers to her temples, massaging the dull ache forming there. Silence.

Isabella's breath hitched. She straightened, scanning the dimly lit space. "Henry? Benjamin?" Nothing.

A strange, uneasy stillness settled over her. Only then did she realize it was just her and the unconscious Ethan left in the living room.

Her brows knitted together, frustration creeping into her otherwise serene expression.

She took a measured breath and bent down, bracing herself as she tried to lift Ethan's dead weight. But even unconscious, Ethan's tall frame was impossibly heavy—like a mountain she had no hope of moving.

Isabella used every ounce of strength she had, but she barely managed to shift him.

"Ethan, wake up!" she ground out between clenched teeth, her voice trembling with the effort of both physical strain and sheer exasperation.

He was going to drive her insane.

"Ugh…" A low, sluggish groan escaped Ethan's lips, his body stirring slightly, though his eyes remained stubbornly shut.

Isabella seized the moment, shaking his shoulders hard.

"Ethan! Can you hear me? Open your eyes!" Her voice sharpened, laced with a desperate edge she couldn't quite suppress.

But he didn't wake. His brows knitted together, his expression twisting as though he were caught in some unseen agony.

Isabella stared at him, her emotions warring between anger and exasperation. A part of her wanted to walk away, leaving him there to deal with the consequences of his own reckless indulgence.

But she couldn't. She was living in his house, after all.

Exhaling slowly, she forced herself to push the frustration aside. She needed a different approach.

Instead of attempting the impossible—lifting Ethan entirely—Isabella shifted tactics. She draped one of Ethan's heavy arms over her shoulder and began the painstaking task of dragging him forward, inch by agonizing inch. It was grueling.

Within moments, beads of sweat formed on her forehead, dampening her hairline. Her arms trembled under the strain, her muscles screaming in protest. Her entire body felt like a tightly wound spring, stretched to its limits, threatening to snap. But she couldn't stop.