David guided Zareal to a chair in the corner of the room. The vinyl cushion was cold through the thin fabric of her dress. She sat slowly, her hip protesting every movement, and tried to catch her breath.
The room felt smaller now. More crowded. Vespera stood near the door, her coat still buttoned, her expression unchanged. She looked like she had just arrived from a business meeting, not rushed to a hospital in the middle of the night.
Her eyes moved from Zareal to Ranulf, then to the curtained area where Aveline lay unconscious.
"How bad is it?" Vespera asked. Not to Zareal. To Ranulf.
He didn't look away from Aveline's bed. "Concussion. Possible fracture in her wrist. They're waiting on test results."
"And you?"
"Fine."
Vespera nodded, processing the information with the same efficiency she brought to Sterling Industries board meetings. No shock. No disapproval. Just acknowledgment.
She already knew about Aveline.
The realization settled in Zareal's chest like ice. Vespera wasn't surprised to find Ranulf's mistress in his hospital room. Wasn't appalled by the situation. She was simply assessing damage and determining next steps.
How long had she known? Months? Years?
Had she known when she arranged the vow renewal ceremony? When she called Zareal into her office three weeks ago and presented it as an opportunity to strengthen the marriage?
The ceremony hadn't been about Zareal and Ranulf. It had been theater. A performance for the society pages. A way to maintain the illusion that the Sterling heir had a proper marriage.
Vespera turned her attention to Zareal finally. Her expression softened slightly, but the calculation behind her eyes remained.
"Zareal." Her voice was measured. Gentle, even. "You look exhausted."
Zareal didn't respond. Couldn't trust her voice not to break.
"This has been a difficult evening," Vespera continued. "The ceremony, the disappointment, now this. You should go home and rest."
Rest. As if sleep could fix what Zareal had just seen. As if closing her eyes would erase the image of Ranulf standing beside Aveline's bed with tenderness he had never shown his wife.
"These situations are always unfortunate," Vespera said quietly. "But they happen. Accidents. Bad timing." She glanced at Ranulf, then back at Zareal. "We manage them."
We manage them.
Not we prevent them. Not we address them. We manage them.
Because this wasn't new. This wasn't a problem to be solved. This was simply how things were. How things had always been.
Zareal's fingers tightened around her cane. The rubber grip was slick with sweat.
"David will take you back to the estate," Vespera said. "I'll stay here to handle things."
Handle things. Meaning what? Manage the hospital staff to ensure discretion? Make sure no one posted about seeing Ranulf Sterling with a woman who wasn't his wife? Coordinate with the Ravenscroft family?
Zareal pushed herself up from the chair. The movement sent pain shooting through her hip, but she ignored it. She needed to stand. Needed to be on her feet even if her body was screaming at her to sit back down.
David moved toward her, ready to help, but she shook her head slightly. She could do this. She could stand on her own.
Her cane found the floor. She steadied herself, taking a breath that didn't quite fill her lungs.
Behind Vespera, Ranulf still hadn't turned around. Still hadn't looked at her. His focus remained entirely on the woman behind the curtain. The woman he had been with at five seventeen while Zareal was arriving at a lighthouse in a dress she had chosen because she thought he might like it.
"Zareal." Vespera's voice carried a note of something that might have been concern if Zareal didn't know better. "We'll talk tomorrow. When you're more composed."
More composed. As if the problem was Zareal's emotional state, not the situation itself.
Zareal looked at her mother-in-law. Really looked at her. At the woman who had walked into her hospital room a year ago and presented a contract as salvation. Who had smiled that cold smile and said Ranulf wanted to help. Who had orchestrated a marriage between two people who would never choose each other.
Had Vespera known about Aveline then? Had she looked at Zareal, orphaned and drowning in medical debt, and thought this girl would be easy to manage? Easy to keep quiet? Easy to position as the acceptable wife while Ranulf continued his real life elsewhere?
"I'll call you tomorrow," Vespera said. "We'll discuss next steps for the ceremony. Perhaps we can reschedule."
Reschedule. As if that was the issue. As if the problem was timing, not the fact that Zareal's husband had spent their anniversary in a car with another woman.
Zareal moved toward the door. Each step was deliberate, careful. Her hip throbbed. Her chest felt tight. But she kept walking.
She passed Vespera without speaking. Passed David, who watched her with something that might have been sympathy. Passed the curtained area where Aveline lay unconscious and beautiful and clearly more important than any vow Ranulf had ever made.
At the doorway, Zareal paused.
She didn't turn around. Didn't look back at the room or the people in it. Just stood there for a moment, her hand gripping the doorframe.
Behind her, she could hear Vespera's voice. Low. Measured. Already shifting to logistics.
"Ranulf, we need to coordinate with the Ravenscrofts. Edmund will want updates. And we'll need to ensure the hospital staff understands discretion."
Discretion. Not truth. Not honesty. Just discretion.
Zareal stepped through the doorway.
The hospital corridor stretched ahead. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead. Nadine waited near the nurses' station, her posture straight, her expression carefully neutral.
She stood when she saw Zareal approaching.
"The car is ready, ma'am," Nadine said quietly.
Zareal nodded. She couldn't speak yet. If she spoke, something would break. Something she didn't think she could put back together.
She walked toward the exit. Each step measured. Each tap of her cane against the tile floor marking time.
She didn't look back.
There was nothing left to see.