“What are you doing here?” Isabella’s voice sliced through the heavy air, cold and detached.

Ethan’s eyes narrowed. “Am I not allowed to be here?” he shot back, irritation sharpening his tone. “Or would you prefer Lucas instead? Let me remind you, Isabella—you’re still my wife.” His voice held steady, but a flicker of something raw lingered beneath the surface.

A tremor ran through Isabella’s heart.

She recalled Lucas’s gentle words from the night before. “You deserve that much.”

His warmth had been a stark contrast to Ethan’s usual coldness, wrapping around her like a safe haven.

But she couldn’t let her guard down.

She steered the conversation away from the brewing storm. “When will you sign the divorce papers?” Her voice was firm, edged with exhaustion.

Ethan fell silent, his gaze complex and intense.

His eyes, dark and turbulent, seemed to hold a storm of unspoken words, but he quickly suppressed it.

Clearing his throat to mask his discomfort, he slid a small box across the bedside table. “Open it.”

Isabella didn’t care about his games—she just wanted him gone. So she played along and opened the box. Nestled inside was a set of gleaming pink car keys for a Mercedes. They sparkled under the light.

“You’re giving me a car?” she asked, her tone flat and unimpressed.

Ethan watched her, his lips parted slightly. “Do you like it?” A faint tremor of nervousness tinged his voice.

Before Isabella could respond, the hospital room door swung open. Sophia glided in, her white dress flowing gracefully, a serene smile on her face.

“Isabella, Ethan brought me along to help pick it out. The pink is so your color.”

Her voice dripped with pride, bordering on arrogance.

At those words, Isabella’s grip on the box tightened. Annoyance flashed across her features before she forced herself to relax. She snapped the box shut and thrust it back toward Ethan. “Take it back,” she stated calmly.

Ethan looked confused. “You don’t like it?” His brows furrowed in surprise.

Before she could answer, Sophia cut in, her tone sickly sweet. “Isabella, you should really accept it. It’s Ethan’s gift. If you don’t, he’ll just feel guilty.”

Guilty?

Isabella’s mind raced back to the accident, to her desperate call for help that Ethan had ignored. And now he had the audacity to bring Sophia here, flaunting their connection.

A sardonic smile touched Isabella’s lips. She looked directly at Sophia, her voice deliberately casual. “Do you like it? I certainly don’t want it. You can have it.”

Her words carried a hidden meaning, pointing not just at the car, but at Ethan himself.

Sophia’s face flushed with surprise and humiliation. The implication that she was merely taking Isabella’s leftovers stung deeply. She bit her lip, visibly distressed, and tugged at Ethan’s sleeve. “Ethan, did you hear what she said?”

Ethan, catching the disdain in Isabella’s tone, bristled with indignation. “Is it the car you don’t like, or just the fact that it came from me?”