“Ethan, you’re kinda in my way.” Nathaniel let out a mocking chuckle.
“Besides, if you don’t even know where your own wife would go, that’s just plain sad.”
With that, Nathaniel hung up on him.
Ethan’s expression darkened even more.
But at least he was sure Clara was safe now.
Nathaniel wouldn’t have let her leave otherwise.
Plus, Lucy had already tracked the last ping from her phone.
So without hesitation, Ethan headed straight to the bustling downtown strip.
It was crowded, packed with people, but somehow, Ethan spotted Clara right away.
She was sitting quietly in a retro diner booth, slowly eating with small bites, like she had no idea the chaos she’d caused outside.
Even when she heard Ethan’s voice, Clara didn’t look up.
Just kept sipping the rich tomato soup one spoonful at a time.
Ethan’s face grew even more tense.
He almost reached out to drag her up, but remembered what the bodyguard said—he didn’t want to risk hurting her.
So in the end, he just stood there, face like thunder, staring at her.
Then finally, Ethan said, voice low and firm: “Let’s go home.”
That tone didn’t leave any room for argument.
His eyes said he wouldn’t ask twice.
But Clara?
She acted like he didn’t even exist.
Just kept her head down, quietly enjoying her meal as if nothing was going on.
Ethan couldn’t take her cold reaction anymore.
His face fully sank, completely giving up the facade.
“Clara, I’m not saying it again.” His tone sharpened.
This time, Clara finally looked up, her voice lazy like she didn’t care: “Can you not be so loud, Ethan?
I can’t hear you over the soft jazz playing.”
Totally on purpose.
Ethan clenched his jaw.
Reminded himself she’s pregnant—don’t lose your cool.
This time, he leaned in, clearly ready to pull her up.
But just then, Clara suddenly picked up the spoon and held it out to him.
“Wanna try some?
I used to love this place when I was a kid.
Mom brought me here all the time.”
She stuck the food right in front of his face.
Ethan’s lips twitched.
The look he gave that spoon could’ve frozen lava.
“Right,” Clara nodded to herself.
“You’d never eat comfort food like this, would you?
Too casual for Mr.
Blackwood.”
She was about to pull the spoon back.
But right as she started reeling it in—
Clara blinked, confused.
Without a word, Ethan guided the spoon into his mouth.
Clara: “…”
Well, that was not part of the plan.
She just wanted to gross him out.
But he straight up ate it.
Then she stared at the spoon, realizing… she’d just eaten from it earlier.
Immediately, she grabbed a napkin and wiped her mouth like her life depended on it.
Ethan: “…”
Seriously?
He hadn’t even pulled a face yet, and she was already looking disgusted?
Like she was the one forced to deal with something nasty?
Under his stare, Clara felt her scalp tingle, goosebumps creeping up her arms.
Well, now she kinda regretted it.
So she went back to eating quietly, not daring to react.
Until Ethan suddenly sat down next to her and said, “Didn’t you say you were feeding me?”
Clara: “??”
Who said that?
But the way he kept staring at her, not even blinking—
She just sighed.
“Fine.”
Then she really picked up the spoon, slowly feeding Ethan Blackwood.
The guy who usually couldn’t stand casual dining was now actually eating it, bite by bite.
One was feeding without hesitation.
The other was eating like it was no big deal.
To any outsider, the whole scene probably looked kinda odd.
But Ethan?
Still calm and composed like always.
Clara Walton, on the other hand, was clearly holding back her feelings.
Eventually, she couldn’t help but comment, “Didn’t you hate eating this?”
“You’re not bad at feeding,” Ethan replied, stressing the word “feeding.”
A totally normal sentence.
Somehow, he made it sound a little…
off.
Clara paused, then went silent.
Since when did Ethan get so good at saying inappropriate things with a straight face?
After a beat of silence, Ethan’s long, jointed fingers suddenly reached over and grabbed her chin.
Forcing her, a bit roughly, to face him.
“Clara, you didn’t know you were pregnant?
And when things went south, why didn’t you call me?
Planning to leave with Nathaniel Griffith instead?”
It came out like he was accusing her—like a husband catching his wife cheating.
Clara gave him a small smile.
“And if I’d called Mr.
Blackwood, would you have picked up?”
“See?
You wouldn’t have.
So what was the point?” she shot back.
When Fiona Barrington fell, who did Ethan shield first?
Fiona.
At that time, no matter how many calls Clara made, he just thought she was overreacting.
Playing the victim.
Only when a third party told him something had actually happened did he believe it.
Seeing Ethan stay silent, Clara gave another soft, dismissive laugh, like it wasn’t worth getting worked up over.
“As for my senior—he just happens to be a doctor.
In that kind of situation, shouldn’t a doctor be my first call?
What, would you rather I waited until the baby was already gone before you bothered showing up?”
Her tone stayed calm, but the sarcasm underneath was sharp as ever.
“And if that ruined your plan of getting your heir, but not making Fiona go through the trouble, what a shame.”
She finished with a shrug, looking all innocent.
Ethan stared at the woman in front of him—cool, composed, not even a flicker of guilt.
She looked so gentle, so harmless.
But her every word was sharp as a needle, stabbing straight into him.
It hurt.
More deeply than he wanted to admit.
Soon Clara glanced at him again, voice soft: “Mr.
Blackwood, I even gave you the perfect chance to play the hero in front of Fiona.
And you still came?”
She sounded genuinely curious.
Like she wasn’t even trying to avoid the topic of Fiona’s “accident.”
“Clara.” Ethan’s face darkened even more.
She didn’t flinch.
“Yes?”
Her tone was polite and pleasant.
She finished the last of her soup like nothing happened—then suddenly, as if something came to mind, asked:
“You left Fiona behind to come find me.
Aren’t you worried she’ll be mad at you again?
After all, chances to act like a knight in shining armor don’t come every day.”
Her tone was light and chilly.
Even while carrying Ethan’s baby, she was acting like he didn’t matter at all.
Ethan felt his pride stomped all over by Clara’s indifference.
For everything she used to love about him—it felt like now she hated just as much.
Her cold demeanor made his face even stonier.
Clara couldn’t help but find it strange.
Strange how Ethan wasn’t yelling at her.
Usually, anything even slightly involving Fiona was non-negotiable.
But now?
He was way too quiet.
Clara’s lips parted like she wanted to say more, but in the end, she didn’t.
Then Ethan clenched his jaw, stared straight at her, and said each word like it cost him, “Why did you push her?”