“Why?” Clara Walton seemed to genuinely ponder the question, as if searching for what could have driven her to such an action.
Then she lifted her head, looked Ethan Blackwood directly in the eye, and offered an unnervingly bright smile.
There wasn’t a trace of guilt on her face over Fiona Barrington’s fall.
Even her tone was breezy, almost careless: “Oh, maybe my hand slipped.
She just… fell.”
As she spoke, Clara mimed a light pushing motion, entirely unapologetic.
Then she smiled playfully at Ethan: “Oops.
My bad.”
There was zero sincerity in her voice—not even a flicker.
Clara was ice cold.
Ethan stared at her, jaw tight, saying nothing.
He’d expected her to deny it, or at least try to explain herself.
He never imagined she’d be this calm—this outright dismissive.
“You do realize Fiona has asthma, don’t you?
Pushing her like that—what if you triggered an attack?
Did that even cross your mind?” His voice was cold, sharp.
Then he added, “And from that height—a fall like that could have been serious.
Do you understand how dangerous that was?”
Oh, please.
She was fine, wasn’t she?
The whole thing had clearly been staged.
As if Fiona would ever truly risk herself.
Tch.
Ethan was the only one still buying her act.
But Clara’s expression didn’t change.
She met his gaze, utterly unbothered.
“Did anything actually happen to her, though?”
“You—” Ethan’s anger was palpable.
Clara shrugged, that faint, smug smile still lingering on her lips.
She was sure Ethan wouldn’t actually do anything to her.
She was still carrying his child, after all.
Unless he stopped caring about that, she was relatively safe.
And just as she predicted, though furious, Ethan didn’t act on it.
The next moment, he grabbed her arm and began pulling her toward the car.
The tug made her stumble slightly.
But Clara didn’t say a word.
Ethan glanced back at her, then slowed his pace slightly.
He was still mindful of her condition.
Soon, they were both in the car.
Ethan turned to her, his tone deadly serious.
“Apologize to Fiona.
Then we’ll consider this over.”
His voice left no room for argument. You are reading on g.com, the official source.
Clara lowered her gaze and replied flatly, “Not happening.”
“Clara.” Ethan’s voice grew even colder.
Not wanting to drag it out, she simply turned to look out the window.
Why should she apologize?
She hadn’t done anything wrong.
Why should she say sorry to Fiona?
Ethan’s low, threatening voice still echoed in her ears: “You have one day.
If you don’t apologize, you’ll face the consequences.”
After that, he fell silent and drove straight back to the villa.
Clara didn’t speak either.
When the car stopped at the villa, Clara got out on her own.
Ethan didn’t even glance her way.
The butler was already waiting at the door, poised and respectful.
Clara offered him a faint smile and walked inside gracefully.
Behind her, Ethan’s car engine roared as he sped away.
Tch.
Probably rushing back to Fiona.
Clara looked down at herself, her smile tightening into something bitter.
Then her hand rested slowly on her still-flat stomach.
Yes—the baby was her last real leverage.
She stayed quiet, freshened up, and after a shower, buried herself in bed, falling asleep quickly.
Ethan didn’t come home that night.
The next morning,
Clara went to visit Linda Walton at the rehabilitation center.
Linda was recovering well after the surgery and seemed much more energetic.
Clara knew all too well—every day here burned money at an alarming rate.
The costs were staggering.
And right now, Ethan Blackwood was footing the bill.
If he decided to stop, all of Linda’s treatment would halt.
And they both knew what that would mean.
Faced with that harsh reality, Clara let out a soft sigh.
After spending some time with Linda, she left the center calmly and steadily.
“Aurelux Hospital,” she said coolly to the driver.
The driver nodded respectfully, and the car moved toward the hospital.
She wasn’t going for fun—she was going to apologize to Fiona Barrington.
An apology wouldn’t kill her.
It wasn’t like losing a limb.
But if it meant keeping her mother safe, then so be it.
Clara had no interest in gambling with her family’s well-being.
When the car stopped, she thanked the driver politely, stepped out steadily, and walked toward the hospital entrance.
“Clara?”
She had barely stepped inside when someone called her name.
She paused, slightly surprised, then turned instinctively.
“Nathaniel,” she acknowledged.
“Why aren’t you resting?
What are you doing here?” Nathaniel Griffith’s gaze was direct, his tone straightforward.
“I’m here to apologize,” Clara replied with a relaxed smile, completely upfront.
Nathaniel studied her for a moment without speaking.
He knew a little about the messy love triangle she was tangled in.
But since Clara wasn’t elaborating, he didn’t press.
Then he said, his tone neutral, “If anything happens, let me know.”
Clara chuckled softly.
“That won’t be necessary.”
This mess was already complicated enough—no need to drag anyone else into it.
“Alright,” Nathaniel didn’t push further.
Clara opened her mouth to speak, but Nathaniel suddenly asked, “Do you really want to keep living like this?”
“Huh?” She blinked, confused.
“With Ethan—are you really okay continuing like this?” he asked bluntly.
Clara fell silent for a moment, then shook her head slightly.
“No.
This can’t last forever.”
Nathaniel let out a low hum.
Just then, a little kid darted out, not watching where he was going, running forward with a carefree grin.
Someone was clearly chasing after him.
“Watch out,” Nathaniel frowned, pulling Clara into his arms to shield her without hesitation.
The child hadn’t expected to bump into anyone, and Nathaniel’s sharp, stern look was enough to make the little one burst into tears on the spot.
Nathaniel instantly looked regretful—dealing with a crying child clearly wasn’t his forte.
Clara quickly crouched down and comforted the child gently.
“It’s okay, don’t cry.
He’s not mad at you.
But remember, hallways aren’t for running—it’s not safe, okay?”
“Okay…” The child sniffled, glancing warily at Nathaniel.
“You scared him,” Clara sighed.
“He should be,” Nathaniel grumbled.
“He almost ran into you—do you have any idea how fragile you are right now?”
Just then, the child’s parents rushed over, apologizing repeatedly.
Clara smoothed things over while Nathaniel stood protectively beside her, his expression still stern, one arm resting almost casually around her waist.
“Thank you for being so understanding,” the parent said, visibly relieved.
Then, looking at the two of them standing close, the parent added without thinking, “You’re so lovely, and your husband is so handsome.
You make such a perfect couple!”
Clara froze for a second.
Before she could respond, a cold, all-too-familiar voice cut through from behind.
“Clara.
Come here.”