Chapter 6

The sedative's effect ebbed like a tide. When I woke, only I remained in the room.

The wounds on my hand and right arm throbbed dully, reminding me of everything before I'd lost consciousness.

Begging forgiveness on behalf of a mistress who deliberately hurt me.

He actually dared. That cold nausea surged up my throat again.

I struggled to move, trying to sit up, but aggravated my wounds. The pain made me gasp.

I needed to leave. This thought had never been so clear and urgent.

I pulled out the IV, changed into my own clothes, and despite the doctor's protests, left the room.

I had to see my mother first, ensure her safety, then take her away.

Arriving at the private ward where my mother stayed, the corridor was eerily quiet.

The door was ajar. Through the gap, I saw something that made my blood run cold—

Grace was standing by my mother's bed! Her back was to the door, expression invisible, but that posture was definitely not a friendly visit.

Mother was propped up against the headboard, face pale, eyes full of terror and rage.

I shoved the door open hard.

Grace whirled around at the sound. Gone was any trace of her usual fragile innocence. Those eyes gleamed with malicious triumph, mouth curved in a vicious smile.

In her hand—she was holding the glass my mother used for water!

"What are you doing here?!" I shouted, rushing over.

Grace jumped, but then lifted her chin. "I came to see Auntie, is that not allowed? Vincent was worried Auntie would be lonely, asked me to come keep her company."

"Get out!" I snatched the cup from her hand, slamming it heavily on the nightstand with a sharp crack.

"Miss Evelyn, no need to be so hostile." Grace's tone was flippant. "Vincent said he's been a bit busy lately, asked me to come help take care of Auntie. After all... you'll be 'resting' for quite a while soon."

The implication in her words made my whole body go cold.

Resting? Was he planning to lock me up?

Rage instantly consumed all my reason.

I grabbed her arm, dragging her toward the door with all my strength. "Care? You're not fit to touch my mother! Get out!"

"Ah! Let go of me!" Grace screamed, struggling, her nails scratching red marks on my arm.

But she was no match for me. I practically hauled her out, shoving her hard. She fell heavily in the corridor.

"Evelyn! What are you doing?!" Vincent's furious voice rang out at the end of the hallway.

He'd obviously been summoned, face livid, striding over quickly and immediately helping Grace up from the floor.

Grace collapsed into his arms, crying piteously. "Vincent... I came to see Auntie with good intentions... she... she just attacked me..."

Vincent looked at Grace, nearly fainting from crying in his arms, then at me standing in the doorway, chest heaving, eyes frozen, a vein bulging at his temple.

"Evelyn! Do you have to make things this ugly? Grace meant no harm!"

I watched him hold Grace tightly, protecting her, soothing her softly, finding the scene both absurd and pathetic.

He didn't even ask why I'd treated Grace this way.

"Take her and get out." I pointed down the corridor, voice cold as ice.

Vincent looked at me with complex eyes—disappointment, exhaustion, but notably absent was trust.

In the end, he said nothing, just held Grace and turned to leave.

As she turned, nestled in Vincent's arms, Grace looked back at me with a supremely smug, challenging smile.

That smile was the final straw.

I slammed the door shut with a bang, back against it, taking a deep breath, suppressing the metallic taste in my throat.

I walked to my mother's bedside, gripping her cold hand tightly.

"Mom," my voice was eerily calm, "we can't wait anymore. We leave tonight."

Mother looked at me, worry in her eyes but more so complete trust and support. She nodded heavily.

I immediately pulled out the encrypted phone, contacting the emergency number Mr. Carlton had left.

Everything was ready. They were only waiting for my signal.

Hours later, deep into the night, with Mr. Carlton's arranged help, my mother and I quietly left the hospital, getting into an unremarkable black sedan headed straight for the private airport.

There was no turning back.

The plane accelerated down the runway, breaking free of earth's bonds, shooting into the pitch-black sky.

New York's brilliant lights shrank beneath us, finally becoming a blur of glowing dots.

I leaned back in my seat, closing my eyes.

Vincent Rossi, never again!