Chapter 66: The House of Silent Clues

Chapter 66: The House of Silent Clues
Ethan slept soundly, his small breaths brushing against the pillow, his long lashes trembling slightly as if he were still dreaming of something sweet. Camila leaned down, gently pulling the blanket over him. Her hand lingered on his soft hair, stroking for a long while, as though borrowing that warmth to soothe the emptiness slowly spreading inside her.

She quietly reached for her phone, dragging her bare feet across the floor so as not to make a sound, before opening the balcony door. The early wind swept in, cold, seeping through her thin shirt and making her shiver. Pale sunlight, still drowsy, filtered through the trees and fell across the mottled tiles. Below, the distant hum of traffic echoed like a foreign stream, never touching the desolation within her.

Her trembling fingers dialed the familiar number. The dial tone stretched on, steady, but no one picked up. She bit her lip until she tasted blood. Tried again. A second time. A third. Still nothing but silence.

“Leon… where are you?” she whispered, her voice hoarse, as though asking into the void.

A cold thought swept through her, sharp as a blade slicing across her heart. The image of the marriage certificate she had stumbled upon the other day flashed before her eyes—“Leon – Celeste,” the ink blurred beneath her tears. Every strange gesture, the way he avoided her gaze, those hurried kisses that felt like farewells, and the letter he left behind that morning… all of them pieced together into a distorted, suffocating picture.

She clenched the paper in her hand, her nails pressing deep into the edges until it crumpled and twisted. Her chest ached, as though someone were crushing it.

“Could it all… be about Celeste? But then… what about his proposal to me?” she murmured, her voice trembling, half an accusation, half a self-inflicted wound.

A tear slid down, smudging the already shaky handwriting.

Click. The door opened. The doctor entered, holding a thick folder. He smiled, a calm smile that felt blinding in her storm.

“Good morning, Miss Camila. I bring good news. Ethan can be discharged today.”

She looked up, her eyes still red. Her voice quivered like a child pleading,
“Today… already?”

He nodded, kindly.
“His recovery is very good. Just take care of his nutrition, and he’ll be fine. As for you, physical therapy is important. It will help you walk again soon.”

She nodded her thanks, but her hand remained stiff on the blanket. When he placed the folder on the table, the note on top revealed familiar handwriting. Leon’s. Short, decisive instructions: cover all hospital expenses, arrange belongings, keep the nanny to help. Camila stared so long the words seemed etched into her eyes.

But then—her gaze froze at the sight of three small dots scribbled slantwise at the corner of the page. Odd. Not Leon’s usual way of writing notes. A signal? Or just a coincidence?

Her hands shook violently, clutching the paper. Her lips quivered:
“Leon… why did you have to leave like this?”

A gentle hand rested on her shoulder, making her flinch. She turned—Ethan’s nanny stood there, kind-faced but with sorrow in her eyes.

“Miss Camila, breakfast is ready. Please, come eat.”

Camila shook her head, tears sliding down her cheeks. The nanny sighed and sat beside her, one weathered hand squeezing her shoulder, the other dabbing away her tears with a tissue.

“You must be strong. Ethan needs you. This, too, shall pass.”

At those words, Camila broke down. The dam burst, and she sobbed into her hands. The nanny simply patted her back, quietly, offering no more words. That simple gesture, so warm, made her realize just how fragile she was.

Nine o’clock. The black car rolled away from the hospital. The wheels pressed against the road with a steady, heavy rhythm. Ethan nestled in the nanny’s arms, fast asleep. Camila leaned against the window, watching the city drift past in reverse. Every passing scene blurred into foreign fragments, hazy behind her lingering tears.

The driver was silent, his eyes fixed on the road. No words, no unnecessary movement. She glanced at the rearview mirror and caught his eyes. For a brief moment, they wavered, as if he wanted to speak—but then, just as quickly, his gaze shuttered cold again.

As they arrived, Camila noticed him flick a swift glance toward the villa’s window—exactly where the hidden drawer would later draw her attention. His brows furrowed slightly, then smoothed back into indifference. A chill rippled through her.

She dug her nails into her palm.
He knows. But he won’t say.

The villa loomed ahead, towering in its silence like a soulless giant. The iron gates creaked open, and the car slowly entered the stone-paved courtyard.

Inside, Camila relied on her wheelchair, with the nanny guiding Ethan at her side. She asked for their rooms to be rearranged so Ethan could stay with her, making it easier for the nanny to care for them both. Her own voice sounded strange to her—rigid, weary, yet striving for composure.

Her eyes swept over the house. The motionless paintings on the walls, the heavy wooden cabinets, a thin film of dust on the corners of the table. Everything seemed normal, as if untouched by turmoil.

But then, on the living room table—a half-finished glass of wine, stained faintly with red lipstick. Her heart pounded. She hadn’t touched wine these days. And that lipstick… it wasn’t hers.

On the sofa, a small metal button glinted faintly. Neither hers nor Leon’s.

In Leon’s study, the desk calendar lay open. The nearest date was circled in red, without any notes. That crimson ring glared at her like an open wound.

Later, as the nanny busied herself unpacking, Camila spotted a white envelope half-hidden in the drawer near the living room. Her heartbeat thundered, her hand trembling so hard that the envelope almost slipped. But then Ethan’s laughter—“Mommy!”—rang out, pulling her back. She inhaled sharply, quietly tucking the envelope back in place, concealing her unrest.

Turning to her son, she pulled him into her arms, clutching his tiny hand tightly, whispering like a vow:
“Mommy will find the truth. I’ll bring your father back. I promise.”

Ethan had already drifted to sleep again, hearing nothing. But in the reflection of the glass window, her eyes burned with a fierce, unyielding fire.