Claire’s lips trembled, days of buried resentment finally breaking loose.
“Ethan, you’re both ganging up on me!
You know how much Whisper means to me, and she”
“Ethan, it hurts so much…”
Rosalind’s sob cut her off completely.
He turned away from Claire mid-sentence, checking Rosalind over instead.
Two scratch marks.
A swelling cheek from the slap.
His face twisted with sympathy.
“I’m taking you to the hospital.”
He scooped Rosalind up, throwing one last look back at Claire.
“We’ll talk when I’m back.
Calm down first.”
The sound of the car pulling out of the driveway reached her before she sank to the floor, boneless.
“Bastards…
every single one of them…”
Strangely, some part of her felt relief underneath the wreckage.
At least she and Ethan had never consummated the marriage.
No children.
Otherwise it wouldn’t just be her and Whisper paying for this.
“Ma’am, please, a hot bath first,” Aunt Nora urged.
“You had a fever just two days ago don’t let it come back.
And that cut needs proper attention.”
After her bath, Claire’s forehead was burning again.
She caught a cab to the hospital, had the wound cleaned, then went to sit for an IV drip.
“Busy season with the weather changing,” the nurse said.
“Find a seat, and have someone flag a nurse down when it’s finished.”
Claire wandered the waiting area, IV pole in tow, until she spotted an open seat and stopped dead when she saw who was sitting beside it.
Shouldn’t someone like him be in a private room?
Weston seemed to catch her staring.
He glanced up, one eyebrow lifting slightly, like he was waiting for a greeting.
“Uncle.
What are you doing here?”
His eyes went flat.
“Bored, apparently.”
“…What?”
Something close to exasperation flickered across his face.
He lifted his left hand slightly, drawing her attention to the needle taped into it.
He’s here for treatment.
Obviously.
What else would he be doing?
Claire sat down without another word, angling herself as far right as the seat would allow.
“Sick again?”
She flinched slightly at the word again, gave a low hum in response, and chose not to unpack it.
Her phone rang.
Unknown number.
“Hello?”
“Miss Whitman?
I think I spotted your cat, the one from the missing poster but I didn’t want to scare her off by grabbing her.
Could you come take a look?”
“Yes!
Where are you?
Please, just keep an eye on her, don’t try to catch her, I’m on my way!”
The second she had the address, Claire started tugging at her IV line.
A large hand pressed firmly over her wrist.
“The cat’s missing?”
For once, her usual wariness of Weston didn’t stand a chance against sheer panic.
She spilled the whole story in one breath.
“Uncle, I have to go.
I know it sounds ridiculous, but if it’s really her, I”
“Your drip isn’t finished.
Your fever’s still up.
How exactly are you planning to leave?”
Weston pulled out his phone.
“I’ll have people search.
Send me the photos.”
“But”
Before she could finish, he’d already handed over a QR code to add him.
“Ten security guards searching by car will find her faster than you will on foot.”
That, at least, made sense.
She scanned the code.
His private messaging profile.
One word for a display name: Business.
She dug through her camera roll for every angle she had of Whisper and sent them all.
His phone lit up almost immediately.
He made a call.
“Look carefully.
Doesn’t matter if you’re not sure, send me a photo either way.”
After he hung up, Claire said, sincerely, “Thank you…”
“Not necessary.”
“No, really thank you, Uncle.”
“…”
Claire caught his expression darkening and bit her lip.
Is he annoyed again?
He’s the one who offered.
Maybe words alone weren’t enough he’d put in real time and effort.
She should find some concrete way to show gratitude.
But by then the temperature beside her had dropped several more degrees, and Claire didn’t dare breathe too loud.
Eventually Weston held out his phone.
“This one?”
She checked, hope collapsing instantly.
“No.”
He said nothing else, just instructed his assistant to keep looking.
Two hours passed.
Both IVs finished.
A dozen more photos of stray cats arrived, none of them Whisper.
They left the hospital together.
Marcus held the car door open, waiting for Weston.
Claire offered another polite thank-you.
“Even though we didn’t find her today, thank you regardless.
If you hear anything later, would you let me know?
Whether she’s…
alive, or”
Her voice cracked on the last word.
Weston’s mouth pressed thin.
“Hm.
Good thing we didn’t find her, honestly.
Cats are cautious animals.
She’s probably just hiding somewhere safe.”
Tears welled up.
Claire nodded quickly, blinking hard against them.
Once his car pulled away, she raised her hand to flag a cab and heard Ethan’s voice behind her.
“Claire.”
He closed the distance fast, catching her wrist.
“Aunt Nora told me the cat’s missing.
It poured all night, no telling where she ended up.
Chances are she’s not coming back.
Might’ve been hit by a car, for all we know.
If you want a pet that badly, just get another one.”
“And none of this is Rosalind’s fault.
She’s staying with us temporarily, she’s not obligated to babysit your cat.
You lost your own pet, don’t take it out on her.
Come apologize to her at the hospital, properly.”
Claire wrenched her arm free.
“She’s the one who threw Whisper out!”
“That’s not possible.” Ethan’s response was immediate.
“She wouldn’t do something like that.”
Rosalind’s insecure, not cruel.
The ice pack, the ruined dress that was just posturing, staking a claim.
But a cat?
An animal Rosalind had barely acknowledged in two years living nearby, while Claire had raised her from a kitten?
Why would Rosalind, brand new to the house, suddenly care enough to get rid of it?
The logic settled something in him; he was more convinced than ever he had this right.
“I think I’ve genuinely spoiled you rotten.
You used to be reasonable.
Obedient.
Now look at you.
Seems like it’s time I actually taught you something.”
Before Claire could react, Ethan yanked the external processor straight off her ear.
He didn’t realize his own strength in the moment a few strands of hair came away tangled in it.
A flicker of regret hit him instantly.
He looked up, caught the raw fear flooding her face, and something protective stirred in him despite himself.
He knew exactly what this meant to her.
She never left the house when the processor went in for repairs.
Sometimes she didn’t even leave her room.
Safety, for her, meant familiar walls and familiar silence.
And this was happening in front of a hospital, on an open street, surrounded by strangers.
He was about to hand it back when Claire lunged for it herself, grabbing.
Irritation flared up, fast and unreasonable.
She’s getting more difficult by the day.
He stepped back out of reach and tossed the processor to Priya instead, lips moving in a clipped, deliberate shape so she couldn’t mistake the words.
“Don’t forget.
I paid for this.”
Which meant, in his mind, he got the final say in how it was used.
Same as the marriage.
Claire’s already come out ahead in all of this.
I’m not letting Rosalind take another hit.
“Priya.
Take her home.
She doesn’t leave the house for the next few days.”