The Weight of Silence
The drive back to the mansion was suffocatingly quiet. Rain trailed across the car windows in trembling lines, reflecting the streetlights like shards of glass. Clara sat beside Ethan, her fingers gripping his hand even though he hadn't asked her to. He didn't speak. His bloodied sleeve was pressed tightly against his arm, the wound shallow but still bleeding.
Eleanor, pale and trembling, rested her head against Damien's shoulder in the seat opposite them. Her face was tired — not just from the kidnapping, but from what she had learned before it.
No one dared to speak first.
When the car finally stopped in front of the mansion, Clara exhaled shakily, helping Ethan out of the vehicle. He winced when she touched him, not because of pain — but because he wasn't used to being helped.
"Ethan," she whispered, "you need a doctor."
"I'll live," he muttered. "Get Eleanor inside."
Damien shook his head. "Don't be stubborn. You're bleeding more than you think."
Ethan glared, but Damien only raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching. "I didn't help you rescue her just to let you faint dramatically in your own living room."
That earned a small, weak laugh from Eleanor — the first sound of warmth since the warehouse.
They helped Ethan to his office while Clara fetched a first-aid kit. Her hands trembled as she cleaned the wound, her heart still heavy from the night's chaos.
"You're lucky," she murmured. "It just grazed you."
He didn't answer, only watched her — her hair damp from the rain, her eyes swollen with worry. When she finally looked up, she found his gaze fixed on her, quiet and unreadable.
"Clara," he said softly, "why do you still care after everything I've done?"
Her hands froze. "Because… I still believe in the man beneath all that anger."
His throat tightened. For a moment, he wanted to tell her everything — that he hated himself for doubting her, that every time she smiled, something inside him fractured. But before he could speak, a knock interrupted them.
Victoria entered, eyes darting between them. "Eleanor's resting, but… she's been asking for you, Ethan."
He stood slowly, wincing. "I'll go."
Clara moved aside, silently watching as he left. When the door closed behind him, her chest ached — she didn't know if it was fear, love, or both.
Upstairs, Eleanor sat in her room, wrapped in a blanket, staring out the window. When Ethan entered, she didn't turn immediately.
"You shouldn't have come after me," she said quietly. "It was dangerous."
"I wasn't going to let you die," he replied, his voice steady but cold.
Finally, she turned, her eyes glistening. "Ethan… there's something you need to know."
He stiffened. "About Isabella?"
She nodded slowly. "She wasn't working alone. Someone bigger is pulling the strings — someone who knows your company, your family."
Ethan's heart sank. "Marcus."
Eleanor nodded. "He used me, Ethan. All that time I thought I was helping him out of pity… but he used me to open doors, to access files." Her voice cracked. "I didn't see it until it was too late."
Ethan's hands clenched at his sides. "You don't have to blame yourself."
But she shook her head. "You should be angry. I almost destroyed everything your real mother built."
At that, Ethan froze. "You mean… she's still alive?"
Eleanor's lips trembled. "Yes. She left because of Marcus. He made her believe you'd be safer without her."
The room went silent — the kind of silence that crushes the air from your lungs.
Ethan turned toward the window, the city lights blurring through the glass. "After all these years…" he whispered.
Eleanor reached out, her voice trembling. "I wanted to tell you sooner, but I didn't know how. And then Isabella found out — that's why she took me. She wanted to use that secret against you."
Ethan closed his eyes. "Then she failed."
But deep inside, he knew it wasn't over. Isabella had vanished, Victor was still free, and now Marcus's name had resurfaced — the one ghost he thought he'd buried for good.
---
Downstairs, Clara sat alone in the living room, the faint sound of thunder rolling in the distance. Her phone buzzed — a message from an unknown number.
"You should've stayed away from him."
Her stomach dropped. The number wasn't saved, but she knew who it was. Isabella.
She stared at the screen, heart racing, until another message appeared.
"You can't protect him from what's coming. No one can."
The phone slipped from Clara's hand. For the first time, fear didn't feel distant. It was close — breathing down her neck.
When Ethan returned minutes later, his face was unreadable. "Eleanor's resting. She told me everything."
Clara stood, searching his eyes. "What are we going to do?"
He looked at her for a long time before saying, "We prepare. Because this isn't the end, Clara. This is only the beginning."
She stepped closer, her voice barely above a whisper. "Then we fight it together."
For the first time in days, a faint flicker of something crossed his face — not warmth exactly, but the beginning of it.
"Together," he said quietly.
Outside, the storm broke again, the sky rumbling like an omen. Somewhere in the darkness, Isabella watched from a distance, her lips curling into a bitter smile.
"This time," she whispered to herself, "he'll lose everything."