Isabella fought to keep her voice steady. “Please don’t worry so much, Grandma.”

“I’m old, my dear. Not much use to anyone now. I only want to see you happy,” Eleanor Vance murmured. Her tone softened into a gentle plea. “Tell me… does Ethan treat you well?”

Isabella’s entire body went rigid. Her hand clenched the curtain beside her, knuckles bleaching white. “Your health is all that matters to me right now. We can discuss other things another time.”

“My sweet girl,” Eleanor sighed, her voice heavy with resignation. “You always do this. Carry every burden alone. I know you’re strong, but some weights aren’t meant for one person.”

Isabella squeezed her eyes shut, battling the hot press of tears.

She turned back to her grandmother, forcing a bright smile. “I’m perfectly fine. Please, don’t fret over me. I promise to take good care of myself. And of you.”

Eleanor studied Isabella’s strained expression. With a pained shake of her head, she let the subject drop.

Isabella returned to the bedside. She picked up another apple and began to peel it.

Her movements were slower now. More deliberate. The peel fell away in a thin, even spiral.

But her hand still trembled. A tiny, telling betrayal.

Meanwhile, Ethan Blackwood pushed open the heavy door to his villa.

Silence greeted him. A cold, empty stillness.

The vast living room was profoundly quiet. He could hear his own breath.

He shrugged off his coat and tossed it carelessly onto a sofa, a frown creasing his brow.

“Does it feel… unusually quiet today?” he mused aloud.

Henry Wilson, the butler, paused while polishing an antique vase. He glanced around, confused. “No, Mr. Blackwood. Everything seems in order.”

Ethan walked to the floor-to-ceiling window. He stared down at the dark garden, his voice laced with a subtle irritation. “I meant…”

Understanding dawned on Henry’s face. He set down his cloth. “Ah. Mrs. Blackwood has been at the hospital these past few days. Caring for her grandmother. She hasn’t returned home.”

Ethan’s gaze shifted. It landed on the small figure eating alone in the dining room. A cold smile touched his lips. “How trusting of her… to leave her child here all by himself.”

He strode purposefully into the dining room.

Liam was eating his cereal. One slow, methodical spoonful at a time. His little face was calm, but his eyes held a deep, profound loneliness.

He heard the footsteps and looked up. Seeing Ethan, he swallowed his food. “Mom always took me to KFC on Saturdays,” he said softly. His voice was quiet. Almost wistful.

Ethan looked into the boy’s eyes. They were so much like Isabella’s. A complex surge of emotion tightened his chest.

He paused briefly. Then he sighed, his tone unexpectedly gentle. “Get your coat. I’ll take you.”