Chapter 2 - The Message He Left Behind|
The operation lasted four hours.
By the time we controlled Ethan’s internal bleeding and stabilized the pressure inside his skull, the storm had weakened to a cold drizzle. I stood outside the intensive care unit, still wearing bloodstained scrubs, staring at the envelope I had refused to open during surgery.
My name was written on it twice.
Claire.
Not sweetheart. Not my love.
Just Claire.
I slipped a gloved finger beneath the seal.
Inside was a single sheet of paper and a small brass key.
The message contained only three lines.
If something happens to me, find the original ledger.
Do not trust anyone wearing the Blackwood crest.
And whatever you do, keep our child away from them.
Our child?
My hand went cold.
I wasn't pregnant. Ethan knew that. We had spent two years discussing whether we wanted children, and after a difficult miscarriage three years earlier, I had stopped allowing myself to imagine a nursery in our home.
Unless he meant another child.
The woman from the emergency department sat at the far end of the hallway. Her name, according to the hospital registration, was Vanessa Cole. She was twenty-nine, had no marriage certificate connecting her to Ethan, and had listed him as the father of her unborn baby.
When I approached, she stood abruptly.
“Is he alive?”
“Yes.”
Her shoulders collapsed with relief.
“Thank God.”
“What's your relationship with my husband?”
She looked away.
“He told me he was separated.”
“He lives in my home. He sends me messages every day. We had dinner plans tonight.”
“I didn't know.”
“You called him your husband.”
“Because he promised he would marry me.”
I studied her face. She looked frightened, exhausted, and genuinely confused. That did not make her innocent, but it made her harder to hate.
“How long have you known him?”
“Eight months.”
“And you're five months pregnant?”
She nodded.
“Did he know?”
“He was there when I took the test.”
I felt something inside me crack.
Before I could ask another question, a tall man in a charcoal suit emerged from the elevator. His silver hair was neatly combed, and a Blackwood family crest gleamed on his lapel.
Richard Blackwood.
Ethan's uncle. The man who had managed the family’s legitimate businesses for decades and advised Ethan after his father died.
He looked at me with practiced concern.
“Claire. How is my nephew?”
“Stable.”
“Good.” His gaze shifted to the envelope in my hand. “What do you have there?”
“Something Ethan left for me.”
His expression barely changed.
But his fingers tightened around the handle of his leather briefcase.
“Give it to me,” he said. “It's family business.”
I closed my fist around the key.
“No.”
For the first time, Richard’s polite smile disappeared.
“Be careful, Claire. You have no idea what you've just stepped into.”
May you like
Then he walked away.
And I realized Ethan's warning might already be too late.
