Chapter 89 Silent Theft
Clara had not planned to betray her father.
That was what she kept telling herself as she stood outside his study that evening, listening to the low hum of his voice through the door. He was on a call, the familiar measured tone he used when speaking to clients. Calm, controlled, and unshaken. The same tone he had used the night before when he said they would not pursue the investigator. When he agreed to let Peter’s parents decide.
She had nodded then. She had even reached for his hand and told him she understood.
But understanding is not the same thing as resting.
The house felt different since that meeting. To empty. As if something had been postponed but not dismissed. Her mother moved carefully around her, as though her pregnancy had wrapped her in glass. Her father checked on her more often than usual, asking if she had eaten, if she had slept, if she felt dizzy. They thought protection meant preventing stress.
They did not realize that not knowing was worse.
The study door opened unexpectedly and she stepped back so quickly that her shoulder brushed the wall. Her father looked at her with a soft crease between his brows.
“You should be resting,” he said.
“I was just getting water,” she replied. Her voice sounded ordinary. She was grateful for that at least.
He walked past her toward the kitchen. He did not take his phone with him.
It was still in his hand when he stepped out, but he placed it on the console table just outside the study as he adjusted his glasses and walked away. He always did that. A habit formed from years of pacing during calls.
Clara stood there, staring at the device like it had grown teeth.
You are not stealing, she told herself. You are protecting your child.
Her palms were damp. She wiped them against her dress and moved slowly toward the table. Every sound felt amplified. The ticking of the wall clock. The distant clink of a plate in the kitchen. The faint rush of water from the tap.
She picked up the phone.
The screen was still bright. The call had ended. His recent contacts were open.
Her heart began to pound in a way that made her lower abdomen tighten. She inhaled carefully. She could not afford to panic. Not now.
There it was.
A name she did not recognize. Saved only as “Investigator.”
No company name. No surname.
Just that single word.
He had saved the number.
So even after agreeing not to pursue it, he had still prepared.
That realization did something to her. It told her she was not the only one unsettled.
She opened the contact.
The number glowed back at her.
For a second, she froze. Her thumb hovered above the screen. She considered memorizing it. She considered writing it down. But her mind felt unreliable under pressure. So she did the only thing she could think of.
She quickly typed the number into her own phone.
Her hands trembled so badly that she mistyped the last digit twice. She erased it and re-entered it. Checked again. Each second stretched.
Footsteps.
She nearly dropped both phones.
Her father’s voice carried down the hallway. “Clara?”
“Yes?” she answered too quickly.
He appeared at the edge of the corridor, holding a glass of water. His eyes moved from her to the phone in her hand.
She forced herself to look confused. “Your screen was lighting up. I thought someone was calling you.”
He walked closer.
For a terrifying moment, she was certain he would ask to see his phone. That he would scroll through the screen and notice the contact had been opened.
But he simply took it from her hand and glanced at it briefly.
“No missed call,” he said.
“I must have mistaken it,” she replied.
Her voice held steady. She did not know how.
He studied her for a moment longer than necessary. Not suspicious. Just concerned. His gaze softened.
“You should not be standing for long,” he said gently. “Go lie down.”
She nodded and turned before he could read anything else in her face.
Once inside her room, she locked the door. That was when her knees finally weakened and she sat on the edge of the bed, pressing her palm against her stomach.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, though she was not sure if she was apologizing to her father or to the life growing inside her.
She opened her phone again.
The number sat there in her call log, newly saved under no name. She stared at it for a long time.
What exactly was she planning to do?
Peter’s parents had been firm. No investigation. No disturbance. They believed peace was the best medicine. They believed gratitude was safer than suspicion.
But she could not erase the image of that man in the hospital corridor. The way he stood at a distance, never entering fully into light. The way he whispered to the administrator and left without looking back. The way the nurses lowered their voices when they spoke about the payments.
Gratitude does not erase patterns.
And silence does not make intentions pure.
She lay back slowly, one hand still resting over her abdomen. The baby shifted faintly, or perhaps she imagined it. She did not know anymore. Everything felt heightened.
If this sponsor was harmless, then an inquiry would reveal nothing and they could all breathe.
If he was not, then waiting might cost them more than money.
Her phone buzzed suddenly in her hand.
She flinched.
Unknown number.
Her breath caught in her throat as she stared at the screen.
It was not the investigator’s number. It was different.
Another unknown.
For a moment she considered ignoring it.
Then it buzzed again.
A message.
She opened it slowly.
One sentence.
You should have let it rest.
The air left her lungs.
She had not called anyone.
She had not spoken to anyone.
The only thing she had done was copy a number.
Her hand moved instinctively to her stomach.
How?
How could anyone know?
She lifted her head toward the closed door of her room, suddenly aware of how thin wood can be.
And for the first time since this began, she realized something far worse than being watched.
They were already involved.