Chapter 9

In an instant, only Clara and Ethan remained in the hallway. Ethan stood with one hand still in his pocket. “Do I need to drag you over here myself?” It was a clear, final warning. Clara drew a slow breath, unwilling to cause a scene. She moved toward him, but before she could get close, he pulled her firmly in front of him. He loomed over her, radiating the same suffocating presence she knew all too well. Being near Ethan always felt intense, overwhelming. “You’re carrying my child and still have time to flirt around?” His voice was low and dark, his grip tightening on her wrist. Clara exhaled calmly. “If that’s what you consider flirting, then I suppose I have been.” Ethan let out a cold, humorless laugh. “Since when did you become so sharp-tongued?” “Better late than never,” she replied flatly. She tried to step past him, eager to leave. But as she brushed by, Ethan suddenly pulled her back. Before she could react, his arm wrapped around her waist—a mirror of Nathaniel’s gesture earlier. “Trying to provoke me?” he asked, leaning closer. “I wouldn’t dare,” Clara said stiffly, prying herself loose. “My mother is waiting for dinner. If I’m late, she’ll worry.” Linda had struggled with depression for years, on top of her brain tumor. With surgery scheduled for Monday, keeping her calm was crucial. The reason sounded justified. Ethan said nothing, only watched her. Clara gave a slight nod and moved past him. What she didn’t expect was for Ethan to follow. Now she was truly thrown. She had no idea what he was planning. Even as they reached her mother’s room, he showed no sign of stopping. “What are you trying to do?” she finally snapped, blocking the door and eyeing him warily. Ethan remained unbothered. “Can’t I visit my mother-in-law?” His tone was casual, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Clara was speechless. That… was not something she ever expected to hear from him. Their marriage had always been transactional—he wanted to provoke Fiona, she needed funds for her mother’s treatment. They’d never gone public. Not even Linda knew they were married. If she found out, it could shatter her. Linda despised the Barringtons. She knew all about Ethan and Fiona’s history. If Ethan walked in now, all hell would break loose. “No,” Clara refused immediately. “My mother doesn’t know we’re married.” “So I’m your dirty secret?” His words carried a quiet threat. Clara fell silent. The look in Ethan’s eyes sent a chill through her—she didn’t dare argue further. “I asked you a question.” His long fingers gripped her chin, forcing her to look up. It wasn’t gentle. Clara winced. “Ethan, we agreed—no going public.” “What did you call me?” he pressed. Clara’s voice went dry. “…Husband.” Clara Walton knew when to yield. When softness worked, she wouldn’t push back. She kept her tone gentle, almost coaxing. “My mother can’t handle any shocks right now. Can we wait until after her surgery to discuss this?” Her eyes were clear and pleading, though emotionless beneath the surface. When Ethan didn’t respond, Clara reached for his hand, stood on her toes, and gave him a quick, soft kiss. “Please…” Ethan had always been vulnerable to this side of her. She knew it well. She felt his anger easing, his tension visibly dropping. But his gaze remained dark, fixed on her. “I’ll wait until next week,” he said flatly. Clara breathed a quiet “Okay.” From inside the room, Linda’s voice called out. Clara didn’t hesitate. She turned without another glance at Ethan and hurried inside. … 7 p.m. Clara had stalled until she was sure Ethan had left. Only then did she finally step out of the room. Linda was fast asleep. Clara was starving. Her stomach growled loudly—a protest from the little one inside. But to her surprise— Ethan was still there, leaning casually against the wall, waiting. The moment she emerged, he looked over. “If you’d taken any longer, I would’ve gone in and dragged you out.” Clara blinked. “…You’re still here?” Ethan didn’t flinch. “Is it so strange to wait for my wife?” His words unexpectedly brushed against her heart. Before she could react, he took her hand, calm and natural. She froze. In all their years of “marriage,” Ethan had never held her hand like this. All his tenderness had always been reserved for Fiona Barrington. All Clara ever received was passion behind closed doors. She knew the truth—Ethan only saw Fiona’s shadow in her. She was just a stand-in. And now— Clara looked up at him. “You’re not pretending I’m Fiona, are you?” Ethan frowned, his expression unreadable. For a long moment, Clara thought he wouldn’t answer. Then, in a low, calm voice, he said, “I can still tell you apart from Fiona. I just don’t want my child going hungry. That’s all.” The chill in his tone had returned. They reached the car, and Ethan released her hand. Clara was silent for a beat, then chuckled softly. “So this baby is what finally gives me value, huh?” There was a faint bitterness in her voice. Ethan didn’t respond. He opened the door for her, then circled to the driver’s side and pulled away from the hospital. The drive was quiet. Dinner was equally awkward and silent. … After the meal, Ethan drove Clara back to the rehab center. In the elevator, he received a call from Lucy Hampton—an urgent company matter. Clara was almost relieved. But then— With a loud thud, the elevator shuddered violently, and the lights went out. Clara let out a sharp cry, dropping into a crouch, arms wrapped tightly around herself. She was terrified of the dark. And she was claustrophobic. “Clara.” Ethan reacted instantly. He ended the call. Pulling her into his arms, his voice was low and steady. “I’m right here. Don’t be afraid.”