Chapter 8

Evangeline's POV

The empty bed stared back at me, sheets still rumpled where Theo had been lying just hours ago.

"Theo!" My voice came out strangled as I rushed into the room. "Where are you?!"

The room was empty. Silent except for my ragged breathing.

I ran back into the hallway, nearly colliding with a nurse coming around the corner.

"My son!" I grabbed her arm. "Theo Ashford. He was in room 412. Where is he?"

The nurse checked her tablet, scrolling through records. "Oh, yes. Theo Hart was transferred to a VIP ward earlier this evening."

"Transferred?" My grip tightened. "By who? I didn't authorize any transfer!"

"According to the notes, it was authorized by Mr. Hart." She looked up at me with a pleasant smile. "He's in the VIP wing now. Much nicer facilities. You should be pleased—"

"Where?" I cut her off.

"Sixth floor, room 604."

I was already running.

The VIP wing was different—quieter, more luxurious, with private rooms and state-of-the-art equipment.

Room 604 was at the end of the hall, and when I burst through the door, I found Theo exactly where he'd been before. Still unconscious. Still hooked up to machines.

Fury rose in my chest.

Dashiell. Of course it was Dashiell.

He couldn't control me anymore, so he was trying to control Theo. Making decisions without asking me. 

He was already with Sabrina. Already building a new life. Yet he still couldn't let go. Still had to dictate every aspect of my life and Theo's.

My phone buzzed, and I saw Jennifer's name on the screen.

"Hey, are you okay?" she asked, concern threading her voice.

"He moved Theo." I gripped the phone tighter. "Dashiell switched him to a VIP ward without telling me. I… I can’t keep letting him control everything about my own son.”

"What?" Her voice sharpened. "Stay there. I'm coming right now."

Twenty minutes later, Jennifer swept into the room. She took one look at me, then at Theo lying in the expensive hospital bed, and her expression hardened.

"That bastard," she muttered. "He really thinks he can just do whatever he wants."

"I don't know what to do." I sank into the chair beside Theo's bed. "Every time I think I'm free of him, he finds another way to control me."

Jennifer pulled out her phone. "Let me call Ethan."

She stepped into the hallway. Five minutes later, she came back with a determined look on her face.

"Okay." She sat down beside me. "Here's what we're going to do. Ethan can arrange for Theo to be transferred to another VIP ward. Same level of care, same equipment, but under your authorization only. Dashiell won't even know which room he's in."

"Jennifer, I can't afford a VIP ward—"

"I'm paying for it." She held up a hand when I started to protest. "Don't even argue with me. You're my best friend. Theo is my godson."

"No. I can't accept—"

"You can and you should." Her voice was firm but gentle. "This way, Theo gets the best possible care, and Dashiell can't use money or medical decisions to control you. You'll be the only one with authorization to make decisions about his treatment."

Tears burned behind my eyes. "I don't know how to repay you."

"By letting us help." She squeezed my hand. "That's all we want."

The next evening, I stood outside Richard Hart's house, smoothing down my dress and trying to prepare myself for what was coming.

Pretending. Lying. Playing the dutiful wife one more time.

For Richard's sake.

"Where's Theo?" Richard's voice called from inside. "I can't wait to see my great-grandson!"

I stepped past Dashiell into the foyer. "I'm sorry, Grandpa. Theo couldn't make it tonight. He's having a playdate at a kindergarten friend's house."

It wasn't entirely a lie. Theo was supposed to have playdates. He was supposed to be with friends, being a normal five-year-old.

Instead, he was lying in a hospital bed.

"That's disappointing." Richard appeared in the hallway, his face warm with affection. "But I'm glad to see you, my dear. Come, dinner is almost ready."

As Richard turned away, Dashiell leaned close to me, his breath warm against my ear.

"Playing hard to get, were you?" His voice was low and smug. "Pretending you wanted to separate from me, yet here you are. Coming back. Doing exactly what I told you to do."

I turned to face him, keeping my expression neutral. "I came back because of Grandpa. Not because of you."

Dashiell's eyebrow raised, a slight smile playing at his lips. He clearly didn't believe me.

"I don't care why you came." He straightened his tie. "Just don't mention our fake divorce in front of grandpa. And don't say anything about Theo's injury."

The way he said it—so casual, so indifferent—made my blood run cold.

I watched him walk away, his shoulders relaxed, his posture confident.

And in that moment, the suspicion that had been growing in my mind crystallized into certainty.

The accident. The black sedan. The way Sabrina had looked at Theo in the hospital.

Dashiell knew something. 

After he left, I immediately followed.

Dinner was exactly as uncomfortable as I'd expected.

Richard sat at the head of the table, asking questions about work and family. Marguerite sat stiffly beside him, barely concealing her displeasure at my presence. Dashiell played his role perfectly—the attentive husband, the dutiful grandson.

All lies.

"Dashiell." Richard's voice turned stern. "I've been hearing things. About you not treating Evangeline properly. About you spending time with another woman."

Dashiell's fork paused halfway to his mouth.

"Grandpa, those are just rumors—"

"Are they?" Richard's gaze was sharp. "Because I've known you your entire life, boy. And I know when you're not being honest with me."

Marguerite cleared her throat. "Father, you don't understand. Sabrina is an old family friend. She's very ill, and Dashiell is just being charitable—"

"I wasn't speaking to you, Marguerite." Richard's tone silenced her immediately. He turned back to Dashiell. "Your wife sits beside you looking like she hasn't slept in days. You haven't brought my great-grandson to visit in months. Your mother makes excuses for you at every turn."

He set down his glass with a sharp clink. "What do you have to say for yourself?"

"I didn’t notice it, grandpa."

"Why are you treating her like she doesn't matter?" Richard leaned forward. "Apologize to your wife. Now."

The silence that followed was deafening.

Dashiell's eyes met mine across the table. No warmth. No remorse.

"I'm sorry." The words came out flat, mechanical. "For not noticing you."

It wasn't an apology but just words.

Richard opened his mouth, clearly preparing to say more—

Nonetheless, Dashiell's phone rang.

He glanced at the screen, and something flickered across his face. "I need to take this."

"Dashiell, we're in the middle of dinner—"

But he was already standing, already answering. 

After he ended the call, he turned to Richard. "I'm sorry, Grandpa. There's an emergency. I have to go."

"Sit down." Richard's voice was steel. "Whatever it is can wait."

"I can't." Dashiell was already moving toward the door. "I'm sorry. Evangeline can fill you in on everything."

He was gone before Richard could stop him.

The door closed with a soft click. Richard's face was dark with anger and disappointment. "What is happening to this family?"

I looked at the empty chair where Dashiell had been sitting, my hands clenched in my lap.

And I already knew whose call had been important enough to make him leave.