Nathaniel Griffith didn’t mince words.
Clara Walton gave a soft cough, clearly caught off guard.
He seemed to realize it, too.
“Sorry.
That came out harsh.”
“It’s fine.
Thank you anyway,” Clara replied calmly.
What he said wasn’t wrong, after all.
Then Nathaniel shifted tone.
“Where are you headed?
I’ll take you.”
“Elm Street,” Clara said after a brief pause.
Nathaniel frowned.
He’d expected her to want to go home, not to a downtown bar district.
“Relax, I’m just hungry.
Not planning anything reckless,” Clara smiled faintly, her tone light, almost teasing.
“Whoever left me here should be the one to come find me.
Don’t you think?”
Nathaniel understood the meaning behind her words.
“Alright,” he nodded.
“I’ll take you.
Call me if you need anything.”
“Okay,” Clara replied.
Nathaniel moved to carry her, but Clara politely declined.
He didn’t insist.
Soon, Nathaniel drove Clara to Elm Street as she’d asked.
Elm Street was one of the city’s oldest neighborhoods, lively at night with bars and late-night cafés.
“Be careful,” Nathaniel said quietly.
“I will,” Clara nodded.
She stepped out of the car.
Nathaniel watched her figure disappear into the crowd, his gaze dimming slightly.
Only after she was completely out of sight did he finally drive away.
Clara melted into the flow of people.
Her phone vibrated incessantly.
She glanced down—none of the calls were from Ethan Blackwood.
Only her bodyguard.
Then, a text notification popped up.
Ethan: [Where are you?]
Clara’s finger hovered over the screen for a moment.
But she didn’t reply.
Instead, she powered off her phone and turned her attention to the glowing sign of a classic American diner ahead.
She walked directly inside and slid into a booth, ordering a burger and fries.
Clara sat quietly under the warm glow of the diner lights and began to eat alone.
Elsewhere,
Fiona Barrington had already been settled.
Her condition was gradually stabilizing.
Now, he paid it no mind.
Fiona sounded displeased.
“Am I less important than your phone?”
Ethan shot her a cool glance.
Fiona bit her lip, clearly upset.
“It’s Clara, isn’t it?
You saw it yourself—she pushed me!”
She was complaining, playing the victim.
Ethan still moved to answer the call, causing Fiona’s expression to shift.
“Just go.
I won’t stop you.
I’m nothing but a burden to you now,” she choked out.
The next second, Fiona broke down, turning her face away as tears streamed down.
“Don’t keep your perfect wife waiting too long.
She’s pregnant, after all,” she snapped, her voice rising with emotion.
“Wouldn’t want her going to the press and twisting the story—saying I’m some homewrecker trying to steal her man.”
Fiona stared at him.
“Ethan, I can’t handle that.
Just leave.
Go.”
Her emotions surged again; given her recently stabilized condition, it could easily trigger another asthma attack.
“Fiona, calm down.
Don’t make a scene,” Ethan said, controlling his tone, trying his best to soothe her.
Fiona Barrington didn’t hold back.
“Go on, leave!
Why are you still here?
If something really happens later, who knows what rumors they’ll spread about me!”
Her voice was nearly a scream now.
“Leave, Ethan!
Go!
I’m not that pathetic—I won’t humiliate myself by playing the homewrecker.
I never will!”
She didn’t even give Ethan a chance to respond.
But soon, her face began to pale again.
Ethan turned immediately and slammed the nurse call button.
Doctors and nurses rushed in.
Fiona resisted at first, but under Ethan’s firm grip, she gradually calmed down.
Ethan’s phone continued to vibrate nonstop.
The piercing ringtone made it impossible for him to focus.
His thoughts immediately went to Clara Walton.
Something felt wrong—deeply wrong.
With that thought consuming him, and seeing that Fiona was stable under medical care, Ethan finally answered the call.
The moment he picked up, his body stiffened at the panicked voice of his bodyguard: “Mr.
Blackwood, something’s happened to madam.”
The guard quickly explained the situation.
Fiona watched the change in his expression.
Then, without hesitation, Ethan bolted out of the hospital room.
“Ethan!” Fiona’s sharp cry echoed behind him.
Just as Graham Anderson walked in, he saw Ethan charging past, eyes wild with urgency.
And Fiona—completely falling apart.
Graham’s gaze tightened.
He walked over to her and said slowly, “If you care about him that much, why push him away?”
Fiona remained silent.
“You know perfectly well—if you really wanted Ethan back, even getting him to divorce would’ve been easy.” Graham wasn’t sure if he was advising her or thinking aloud.
“But you didn’t need to use emotional blackmail.
He’s not the type to respond to that.”
This wasn’t going to end well for either of them.
Fiona sat there, lips pressed tightly together.
Graham understood her too well.
And remembering the panic on Ethan’s face as he ran out…
He didn’t say another word.
Maybe everything had already shifted.
They just hadn’t realized it.
At the diner on Elm Street,
Clara Walton was slowly eating her burger.
Apparently, it wasn’t spicy enough—she reached for the hot sauce and squeezed a generous amount over her fries.
The first bite made her cough slightly from the heat.
Tears welled in her eyes instantly.
Still, she said nothing, just kept her head down and continued eating.
That was, until a tall figure stepped into the diner, blocking the light.
Suddenly, her hand was stilled as Ethan took hold of her wrist.
“Come home.
Now.” Ethan’s voice was low and strained.
He’d found her through the last location ping from her bodyguard’s call.
Ethan had rushed from the hospital, calling her dozens of times—
But Clara had turned off her phone.
For the first time, Ethan felt real fear gripping his spine.
Out of options, he’d called Nathaniel Griffith.
When Nathaniel answered, his tone was mocking.
“Looking for your wife, Mr.
Blackwood?
Can’t find her, so now you come to me?”
Ethan, teeth clenched, growled, “You were the one who took her.”
“Sure, she left with me.
But if she wanted to go off on her own, who was I to stop her?” Nathaniel didn’t care in the slightest.
“She was bleeding!” Ethan shot back, accusation sharp in his voice.
“And?” Nathaniel replied coolly.
“What’s that got to do with me?
If someone doesn’t value their own life, am I supposed to beg them to care?”
Ethan: “…”
For a moment, he was speechless.
But it didn’t change the fact—there was nothing he could do to Nathaniel.