Chapter 6 - Cracks Beneath the Surface

Catherine has barely stepped out of her bedroom when the noise downstairs reaches her. Pearl leans over the third-floor railing, looks down, and freezes.

Ethan is striding into the house, Claire cradled in his arms. A family physician follows close behind.

Pearl's heart skips. "She...she passed out?"

Catherine covers her mouth in shock. "Fainted? I only asked her to apologize to her brother-in-law. That's all."

"You locked her in there," Pearl says uneasily. "She might've gotten scared."

Catherine's expression hardens. "Don't be ridiculous. That was Julian—your brother. Family. What is there to be afraid of?" Her lips tighten. "She's probably pretending."

Pearl doesn't argue, but doubt lingers.

To the Lowe family, Julian is family. To Claire—who married into this household only three years ago—he is little more than a name tied to death and grief.

If she really fainted...Pearl thinks bitterly that she brought it on herself.

Still, the image of Ethan carrying Claire flashes through her mind again.

He looked tense.

That can't be right.

Everyone knows Ethan and Claire don't even live together. They play the perfect couple only in front of Mr. Lowe. A performance. Nothing more.

But Pearl's unease doesn't fade.

No matter what—Claire is still Ethan's wife.

"Mom," she asks quietly, "what if she really passed out?"

Catherine lifts her chin. "So what? I'm his mother. I'm here."

Downstairs, the doctor finishes his examination.

"Acute fright, irregular eating habits, physical weakness," he says. "She fainted from overstimulation. With rest and proper nutrition, she'll recover."

Ethan stands beside the bed, staring at Claire's pale face.

His hand clenches without him realizing it.

Then he turns abruptly and walks out.

The servants exchange looks. His expression is far from calm.

Ethan has always known what kind of man he is—cold, calculating, selfish.

Empathy has never come naturally to him. Growing up in the Lowe family teaches him early: if he doesn't fight for himself, he gets nothing.

Affection is freely given to his siblings. He earns everything through obedience and results.

Eventually, he stops wanting it.

Blood ties mean little to him. Marriage even less.

If Claire wakes up crying or making a scene, he'll smooth things over, compensate her, keep the peace. That's how things work.

Claire has no powerful family backing her. Women like her either endure—or leave quietly.

That's the rule.

And yet—

There's an uncomfortable pressure in his chest.

Catherine comes downstairs, her voice strained. "I heard she fainted. What did the doctor say? I didn't know she was so timid."

Ethan looks at her. "So it's her fault for being scared?"

Catherine waves it off. "Who's afraid of family? She married you. Julian is her brother now—unless she has a guilty conscience."

Ethan nods thoughtfully. "Then if I locked you beside a stranger's grave overnight and you felt afraid, that would mean you're guilty too?"

Catherine stiffens. "What are you saying?"

"My friend's cousin died two years ago," Ethan continues calmly. "Shall we visit his grave tonight? You wouldn't be scared, would you?"

Her face drains of color. "Ethan, that's enough."

"I am calm," he replies evenly. "Are you scared, Mother? Or does fear only apply to other people?"

Her fingers clutch the maid's arm. "How dare you speak to me like this?"

His tone turns cold. "You're grieving Julian, but I'm beginning to think you need professional help. For everyone's sake, perhaps a private care facility would be appropriate."

"You wouldn't dare!" she snaps.

But fear flickers in her eyes.

She knows it.

Julian is gone. Her husband avoids responsibility. Pearl is immature. Mr. Lowe is distant.

The Lowe family now rests in Ethan's hands.

At that moment, murmurs erupt near the bedroom.

Claire steps out.

Her face is bloodless, her steps unsteady. The maids fuss around her, urging her back inside.

She ignores them.

She walks straight up to Catherine.

Catherine meets her gaze and, for the first time in three years, feels unsettled. Claire has always smiled. Always yielded.

This coldness feels unfamiliar.

"Mom didn't mean to—"

"Mrs. Lowe," Claire interrupts calmly. "Let's stop pretending. You're tired, and frankly, so am I."

She doesn't call her Mom.

Catherine freezes.

Claire's voice is steady, but every word cuts. "I've been your daughter-in-law for three years. Have I ever disrespected you? I listened to everything you said. I learned everything you wanted me to."

"I know I was never good enough for you. You're refined. Powerful. My family embarrassed you." She gives a hollow laugh. "You smiled at my parents, showed them your garden. I was even grateful—knowing it was all an act."

"How many mothers-in-law truly treat their daughters-in-law like daughters? I never expected that. But I called you Mom for three years. Ask yourself—how did I treat you?"

Catherine 's throat tightens.

"When Julian passed, you were sick with grief," Claire continues quietly. "I thought you were just a broken mother. I made soup for you. I stayed by your side. But that was the past, Mrs. Lowe."

Her lips curl into a bitter smile. "Honestly? I despise you now. I hate you."

Catherine reels.

"You love your daughter," Claire says. "But I have a mother too."

She turns and walks away.

Catherine stands there, stunned—like someone who has just found the one person who truly understood her...only to lose them forever.

Claire just wants to leave.

Anywhere but here.

The Lowe estate feels suffocating. Twisted. Wrong.

She walks a few steps before hearing Ethan behind her. "I'll drive you back."

"Thank you, but no," she said flatly. "I have a driver."

He frowns, following her. "You don't look well—"

"I said no."

Annoyance flickers through him, but his feet keep moving.

"Claire," he says again, "slow down."

"You think I'm being difficult?" she snapped.

"What exactly am I being difficult about? Didn't I say my driver would take me? Is it only you who knows how to drive in this world? Does your car smell better than everyone else's?"

He is completely caught off guard.

This woman—this furious, sharp-tongued woman—looks nothing like the one who once plastered love quotes on his door.

Disbelief, not anger, hits first.

"How dare you—"

"Exactly," she cuts in. "How dare you."

Silence stretches.

Finally, he exhales. "I apologize. Today was my mother's fault."

She laughs softly. "Mrs. Lowe is too noble to ignore me. It's my honor, isn't it?"

"If anything else happens, call me."

"My number isn't blocked?" she asks pointedly.

He looks at her. "Not yet. If you want it to be, I can arrange that."

She smiles faintly. "Suit yourself. We're getting divorced anyway."

This time, he has nothing to say.

They walk out together, side by side, for what feels like the last time.

For the first time, Ethan understands—

She is leaving his life.

For real.

And inexplicably, his chest feels tight.

Probably just the heat, he told himself. The weather was stifling today.

Three years of marriage—ended by his mother's final push.

Before today, Claire's talk of divorce had felt unreal.

Now, it was inevitable.

Claire bends down and gets into the car. Just as she sits down, the door opens again—

Ethan gets in as well.

She reminds him flatly, "This car is going back to Maple Ridge Residence."

He glances at her, lips parting slightly.

"Thanks. I'm not stupid. No need to remind me."

Claire is speechless.

If there were rankings, Maple Ridge Residence would definitely be one of the places Ethan hates most. What is he doing now?

Whatever. She doesn't have the energy to care anymore.

She closes her eyes, treating him like air.

Then he speaks again. "Margaret asked what you want to eat."

Claire is past hunger. "Anything. I'll just eat something when we get back."

Ethan thinks of her light weight—and the family doctor's words.

"You don't eat properly?" he asks. "Is that normal for you?"

She is an adult. Is it really that hard to take care of herself? Maple Ridge Residence has chefs. Staff.

And yet she has let herself become so thin. When he carries her earlier, she is frighteningly light.

"Sometimes I just don't have an appetite," Claire replies casually.

"Princess Claire," Ethan says lightly, "do you want me to assign someone to coax you into eating?"

She bristles at his tone. "Have you never lost your appetite before?"

"No," he replies calmly. "I take very good care of myself."

Weekly workouts. Regular health checkups. Nutritionists plan every meal. Assistants manage his schedule. Everything is optimized.

He genuinely doesn't understand how someone who lacks nothing can live like she does.

Claire rolls her eyes.

I take very good care of myself.

Is he bragging? Is he a child?

Her face remains blank. "Wow. That's amazing. Good for you."

"Thank you," he accepts seriously.

"Don't worry about it," she says quietly. "From now on, I'll eat well. I'll live well."

I'll love myself properly.

Ethan pauses.

After a long moment, he says, "Mm."

Her from now on.

A future without him.

They bicker back and forth all the way to Maple Ridge Residence.

Dinner is already prepared.

Margaret rushes over the moment she sees them, grabbing Claire's hands, worry written all over her face.

"Are you okay? Claire?" she asks urgently.

Seeing Ethan there too, Margaret sighs in relief.

"Sir brought you back himself...I told you, Madam, he cares about you—"

"I don't think that's something you should say," Claire interrupts coldly. "It's a bit disgusting to hear."

Ethan freezes—then turns away, suppressing his anger.

"You heard her," he says. "I don't like hearing that either. Please don't say it again."

Margaret looks at them both and sighs.

What has happened?

They seem worse than before.

Claire goes to eat. Ethan sits across from her. His presence is overwhelming.

She finishes quickly and stands up.

"Claire," Ethan calls.

She looks at him without emotion. "Yes?"

"Enough already," he says. "Are you really going to keep talking to me like this?"

"So what?" she replies calmly.

Her indifference irritates him more than anger ever could.

"Are you blaming me?"

"No." She shakes her head gently. "I never expected anything from you."

And that is the truth.

If he had valued her, his mother and sister would have restrained themselves. Everything that happened was enabled by his attitude.

But what can she say?

She is the one who insisted on marrying him. He never begged her.

Why would he ever stand up for her?

She doesn't even have the right to whisper into his pillow.

Maybe he is enjoying this—watching her finally realize it.

This is the price of reaching too high.

Fortunately, it is almost over.