chapter 83
Ethan's POV:
"Have you forgotten what I told you?" Lucas's voice dropped to a dangerous register, heavy with Alpha command.
Of course, I hadn't forgotten. How could I?
The words he'd spoken echoed in my mind like a death knell: "I will never allow a female who has served time to mate with anyone from the Grayson bloodline."
Watching Lucas's retreating figure, the bitter taste of whiskey lingered on my tongue.
I'd been drinking again—too much, too often lately.
But alcohol was the only thing that numbed the constant ache of loss and regret that had been my companion for four years.
Four years of waiting for Tori to be released. Four years of hoping against hope that somehow, things might be different when she returned.
I couldn't believe she would move on so quickly, not after everything we'd shared.
In my heart, I still clung to the desperate wish that she would wait just a little longer—once I get what I want from Fiona, it'll be fine.
Just wait for me, Tori, I silently pleaded to the moon. Just a little longer and we can be together.
Hours later, I found myself being half-carried up the steps to the house Fiona and I shared.
My assistant, Steve, struggled under my weight.
"Mr. Grayson, please try to walk," he hissed as we stumbled through the doorway.
The lights inside were dim, but I could make out Fiona's silhouette as she rose from the couch, one hand resting protectively over her still-flat stomach.
Fiona sighed, dismissing Steve with a nod. "Thank you for bringing him home."
When we were alone, she approached cautiously, her expensive perfume mingling with the subtle scent of pregnancy hormones. She knelt beside me, beginning to loosen my tie.
"You can't keep doing this, Ethan," she said softly. "We have a baby."
I looked at her through the haze of alcohol.
She was beautiful, objectively. Golden-brown hair, perfect features, the scent of wealth and breeding. But she wasn't Tori. She would never be Tori.
As her fingers worked at my collar, I suddenly caught her wrist.
"Ethan?" Fiona's voice held a note of concern.
Her voice grated on my nerves, stirring a deep-seated resentment that alcohol had loosened from its careful restraints.
If not for her, none of this would have happened. If not for her schemes and manipulations, Tori wouldn't have gone to Silver Fang. We wouldn't have been separated. It could have been Tori here with me now. It should have been Tori wearing my mark, carrying my child. This woman—this schemer—had ruined everything.
Rage bubbled up inside me, and before I could stop myself, I shoved her away. Hard.
Fiona stumbled backward, her hand immediately going to her stomach as she steadied herself against the wall. Her eyes widened with shock and fear.
"The baby," she gasped, clutching her abdomen protectively. "Ethan, the baby..."
Reality crashed over me like ice water.
The baby. The linchpin in all my careful planning. I couldn't risk harming them—not when I'd come this far in the charade.
I forced my expression to shift, arranging my features into a mask of contrition as I pretended the mention of our child had sobered me instantly.
"Fiona, I'm sorry," I said, moving to help her to the couch. "I've had too much to drink. Are you alright? Is the—is our child okay?"
She nodded shakily, still holding her stomach. "I think so. Nothing hurts. Just... you frightened me."
I sat beside her, playing the role of the concerned father-to-be.
"I'm so sorry. I don't know what came over me. The alcohol—"
"It's fine," she interrupted, though her voice was strained. "Just... be more careful next time, Ethan. Please. For the baby's sake."
I nodded, wrapping an arm around her shoulders while inwardly calculating how much longer I needed to maintain this façade.
How much longer before I could finally break free and find my way back to Tori.
The shrill ring of Fiona's phone shattered the tense silence. She glanced at the screen, her eyebrows lifting in surprise.
"It's my father," she said, answering quickly. "Dad? What's wrong?"
I watched as her expression shifted from concern to shock. She straightened, her free hand unconsciously tightening around mine.
"What? When?" She paused, listening intently. "Yes, we'll come right away."
She ended the call, turning to me with wide eyes. "Hannah's had a miscarriage. She's at Moontouch Medical Center now."
"What?" I blinked, genuinely stunned.
My mind flashed back to hours ago—how Hannah had been confronted by Elizabeth about setting Tori up, and how she'd suddenly clutched her stomach and claimed to feel unwell. Alexander had hurriedly escorted her out, and I'd assumed it was just a convenient excuse to escape further questioning.
"Dad says she's stable, but... upset, obviously." Fiona's voice carried the appropriate concern, but I caught something else flickering in her eyes—a flash of satisfaction quickly concealed beneath a veneer of sympathy.
"We should go," I said, standing. The alcohol in my system seemed to have burned away, replaced by a cold clarity.
"Of course," Fiona agreed, reaching for her coat. But as she turned away, I caught the smallest hint of a smile playing at the corner of her mouth.
I said nothing, filing away this reaction with all the other fragments of evidence I'd been collecting. Someday soon, I would have enough to expose Fiona for who she really was.
By the time we arrived at Moontouch Medical Center, the situation had escalated from somber to chaotic.
We could hear Hannah's raised voice even before we reached her private room.
"I will avenge my child!"
When we entered, Hannah's tear-streaked face was contorted with rage, her scent sharp with grief and fury. Alexander stood beside her, looking helpless as he patted her hand.
Fiona rushed forward with a convincing display of concern, her voice soft and sympathetic. "Oh, Hannah, is it true? The baby is really gone?"
Hannah nodded, fresh tears spilling down her cheeks.
"This is all Tori's fault," Fiona continued, her tone hardening just enough to feed Hannah's anger.
"She publicly humiliated you at the gathering, forcing you to endure all that criticism in front of everyone. Doesn't she know how dangerous stress is for pregnant women? How emotional turmoil can affect an unborn child?"
With each word from Fiona, Hannah's scent grew more acrid with hatred. The monitors beside her bed beeped faster as her heart rate increased.
"That ungrateful little wretch," Hannah snarled, her fingers clutching the hospital sheets.
I stepped forward, unable to stay silent. "You can't seriously believe Tori had anything to do with this. She wasn't even—"
"Don't you dare defend her!" Hannah's voice rose to a shriek. "Not in front of me! Not after what she's done!"