Chapter 418

The graveyard stood isolated in the wilderness. Dense thickets surrounded the perimeter, the narrow pathways littered with jagged stones.

A heavy mist clung to the air, distorting all sense of direction. One wrong turn, and the forest became an inescapable labyrinth—deadly for anyone unprepared.

Vivian Lockhart stared at her phone, debating whether to tell Sophia about William Carter's tangled history with Cassandra Delacroix. Then—

Her body lurched forward without warning.

A scream tore from her throat as she plummeted over the cliff's edge. Her skull struck rock mid-fall, and darkness swallowed her whole.

Meanwhile, Ethan Blackwood and Cassandra had already reached the child's grave. A small, weathered headstone bore the infant's name and date of passing.

"Hello, my darling," Cassandra murmured, kneeling before the plot. "Mommy and Uncle Ethan came to visit. Are you warm enough? I brought you new clothes." She placed several neatly folded garments on the damp earth.

Ethan's guilt had long since hardened into irritation. But given Cassandra's fragile mental state, he held his tongue—letting her cling to delusion.

Normally, an unborn child wouldn't merit a burial. Their culture considered such acts an omen of misfortune. But this was different. This was Sebastian Hunt's only heir—the last remnant of his bloodline.

Ethan had only agreed to the burial after Cassandra's relentless pleading. They'd encased the fetus in an ornate coffin, hiring a renowned shaman to inter it in this secluded plot.

As Cassandra continued whispering to the grave, Ethan's gaze flicked toward the cemetery entrance. His jaw tightened.

Where is she?

The path was straightforward—a mile-long walk at most. She should've arrived within twenty minutes. Yet over an hour had passed with no sign of Vivian.

"Ethan?" Cassandra finally rose, wiping her tears. "Should we keep waiting for Miss Lockhart?"

He checked his watch. "A little longer."

Thirty more minutes crawled by. Still nothing.

Cassandra's voice trembled. "Let's go. She's not coming." Fresh tears spilled over. "She feels no remorse for what she did. No guilt over my baby's death."

A bitter laugh escaped her. "Why would she? In her eyes, I'm just the mistress who ruined her marriage. She probably thinks I deserved this—that my child deserved to die."

Ethan's fists clenched. The same thought had crossed his mind.

Her behavior in the car had been unforgivable—gloating about artificial wombs while en route to a dead child's grave.

She was mocking us.

"You're right," he said coldly. "I was a fool to expect remorse. If she'd truly regretted her actions, she wouldn't have vanished for four years."

He exhaled sharply, purging the last shred of hope that Vivian could change. As dusk fell, he drove Cassandra out of the forest.

Under the pale moonlight, Vivian finally stirred. Pain exploded through her skull. Her left leg lay twisted—useless. She couldn't move.