Chapter 273

Olivia Sinclair's laughter echoed through the sterile hospital room.

She struggled to catch her breath, her mocking tone cutting through the air like a blade. "Oh, Ethan... You're absolutely hilarious!"

Her smirk widened as she continued, "I thought what you and Vivian Lockhart had was unbreakable. Steel-strong, wasn't it? And yet—here you are, crumbling over something so small."

A bitter chuckle escaped her lips. "Tell me, Ethan... Do you really love her more than you loved me?"

Ethan Blackwood's jaw tightened, his expression darkening.

"I never claimed to love her," he said coldly.

Olivia's eyes gleamed with triumph. "Exactly."

She leaned back against her pillows, satisfaction curling her lips. "If you truly loved her, you wouldn't even question it. But you did. Which means... you don't. Or maybe you just don't know her at all."

Her voice dropped to a whisper. "The real question isn't whether she pushed me. It's whether you believe she could."

Silence settled between them.

Ethan's fingers curled into fists at his sides, his mind racing. Olivia's words struck deeper than he wanted to admit.

"I thought I'd lost," Olivia murmured, closing her eyes. "But it seems the game isn't over yet."

She turned her face away, dismissing him. "I'm tired. Figure it out yourself."

Ethan left without another word.

No answers. Only doubts.

If this was love—real love—wouldn't he trust her without hesitation?

The thought gnawed at him.

Nathaniel Blackwood, he chastised himself, get your damn emotions under control.

The next morning, Vivian woke feeling lighter than she had in months.

Last night's fight with Ethan?

Gone from her mind like morning mist.

The man who once held her heart—who could ruin her mood with a single glance—no longer had that power.

Freedom tasted sweet.

"Good morning, Miss Vivian!"

Evelyn Whitmore entered with a tray of breakfast, her smile warm. "Sleep well?"

"Like a dream," Vivian said, grinning. "Literally."

She sat up, excitement bubbling in her chest. "I dreamed about the babies—two little butterflies, one black, one white. They flew around me, laughing. They talked to me, Evelyn! They're so ready to meet the world."

The dream had been so vivid, so real—it left her heart aching with anticipation.

But Evelyn's smile faltered.

"Butterflies?" she repeated slowly.

Vivian blinked. "Yes... Why?"

Evelyn hesitated. "In some cultures, butterflies... represent souls who've passed on."

A chill ran down Vivian's spine.

"No, no," Evelyn quickly added, knocking on the wooden nightstand. "Bad luck be gone! Just superstition."

But the seed of worry had been planted.

The toadstool soup. The reckless swim in the ocean.

Had she endangered them?

Her hands instinctively cradled her stomach.

"I need a check-up," she said firmly. "Today."