Chapter 222
The sterile white walls of the hospital room seemed to close in as Ethan Blackwood lay in bed, his injured leg propped up on a stack of pillows. The slow process of recovery was testing his patience.
Sophia Kensington placed a steaming bowl of chicken soup on the bedside table, her delicate fingers brushing against the porcelain. “Ethan,” she urged, her voice laced with concern, “you should really eat something. The chef prepared this specially for you—it’ll help you heal faster.”
Ethan gave a distracted nod. “Alright.” He took a few mechanical spoonfuls, but his mind was miles away.
The memory of the abandoned building flashed through his thoughts—Isabella Sinclair, seconds away from being stabbed by Darren Whitlock. His instincts had screamed at him to rush forward, to protect her.
But that was absurd. He despised her. Didn’t he?
“Ethan?” Sophia’s sharp eyes caught his distant expression. “Is the soup not to your taste? Or is it too hot?” She bit her lip, her usual sweet facade slipping just enough to reveal the worry beneath.
Normally, Ethan would have reassured her instantly, but today, his thoughts were tangled. Ever since the kidnapping, something had shifted inside him.
“It’s not your fault,” he muttered, forcing himself to meet her gaze. “We just ran into a madman. I’m just… thinking.”
The truth was, Darren’s accusations had planted a seed of doubt in his mind. The more he pieced things together, the more he feared Sophia’s involvement. But facing that truth felt like staring into an abyss—so he chose denial instead.
Setting the bowl aside, Ethan rubbed his temples. “Sophia, if you’re tired, you should rest. The kidnapping must have taken a toll on you.”
Sophia’s smile remained fixed, but her fingers curled into fists at her sides. Was he only noticing her exhaustion now? Where was the doting man who used to shower her with affection?
Her instincts flared. She wasn’t one to dance around the truth.
“Ethan,” she said, her voice deceptively soft, “when you saw Isabella and me in danger, who were you really trying to save? When you got hurt—was it for her, or for me?”
Ethan’s expression darkened. He looked like a man caught in a lie, his brows knitting together in irritation. “How could you even ask that? Of course it was for you. My feelings for you have never been in question.”
His sharp tone made her flinch. The Ethan she knew would never speak to her like this.
Sophia swallowed the bitter taste of jealousy. She had seen the truth in his eyes that day—the way his gaze had locked onto Isabella, the hesitation before he acted. Pride had held him back, but his instincts had betrayed him.
Forcing a smile, she backtracked. “I’m sorry, Ethan. I didn’t mean to doubt you.” Desperate to steer the conversation away, she brought up the past. “Besides, if you really cared about Isabella, we wouldn’t still be demanding the ten million she lost at the subsidiary, would we?”
Ethan didn’t answer.
The silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken truths.
