The car came to a halt. Benjamin stepped out and opened the rear door.

“Mr. Blackwood, we have arrived,” he said quietly.

No response came. Ethan’s eyes were closed, his breathing even, as if he were deeply asleep.

“Mr. Blackwood?” Benjamin tried again, his voice a little louder.

Still nothing.

Seeing no other option, Benjamin placed a hand on Ethan’s shoulder and gave a gentle shake. “Sir, you need to wake up. We’re home.”

Ethan stirred. His eyelids fluttered before finally opening. His gaze was unfocused, clouded, as if he were trying to make sense of where he was.

“Where… is this?” His voice was hoarse, barely audible.

“You’re home, sir. Hawthorne Residence,” Benjamin answered.

“Home…” Ethan repeated, his voice fading. A flicker of recognition appeared in his eyes, mixed with longing and confusion.

He remembered. This was his place. The home he shared with Isabella.

But where was she?

Why wasn't she here?

“Isabella… Isabella…” His voice shook with raw emotion, his desperation clear.

He tried to get out of the car, as if driven to find her immediately.

“Sir, please wait. Let me help you,” Benjamin said, quickly moving to support him.

Zoe stepped out as well, watching Ethan with a complex mix of emotions on her face.

“Mr. Blackwood, allow me to assist you inside,” she offered softly.

With Benjamin and Zoe on either side, Ethan was carefully guided into the house.

The living room was brightly lit and warm, yet a palpable tension hung in the air, as if the space itself was waiting for something to happen. Isabella sat on the sofa, waiting.

Sleep had been impossible. She couldn't rest—not tonight.

Then, she heard the sound of footsteps.

Isabella’s heart jumped.

She stood up quickly, her eyes fixed on the entrance.

And there they were—Benjamin and Zoe helping Ethan inside.

Ethan’s face was pale, his steps unsteady, clearly affected by alcohol. And Zoe’s hold on him was firm, her concern obvious. The way their bodies were pressed together sent a clear, unsettling message, a sight that would fuel gossip.

Isabella’s breath hitched, her eyes widening in shock.

“Oh, Isabella, please don’t misunderstand,” Zoe said, her tone a careful mix of sweetness and false innocence. “Ethan simply had too much to drink tonight, so I made sure he got home safely.”

She stood close to Ethan, her hand lingering on his arm before easing him onto the sofa. A polite smile touched her lips, but her eyes held a clear challenge, daring Isabella to say something.

Isabella’s expression remained unreadable. Her gaze swept over Zoe briefly before settling on Ethan—motionless, smelling strongly of alcohol.

She recalled what the driver had told her earlier. “Mrs. Blackwood, Mr. Blackwood mentioned he had a business dinner tonight and might be late.”

A business dinner? Isabella almost laughed out loud. So this was it? Getting drunk with Zoe and letting her bring him home like some prize? Some business dinner.

Zoe, interpreting Isabella’s silence as weakness, felt a surge of satisfaction. The lack of reaction only made her more confident.