Chapter 13
Vivian thought she saw scorn in his eyes—mockery, even. He looked down on her. Heat flushed her cheeks; humiliation and rage set her shaking. Her dream shattered. A lifetime of wealth burst like a bubble. She wept, tears and snot flowing. “Ethan Foster, you bastard! You said you loved me!”
She flew at him, pounding his chest, cursing. The shrillness grated, and he shoved her away in disgust. “Vivian, you’re in this for fun too—don’t be naïve. Do you take lovers’ heat‑of‑the‑moment words as truth? Maybe I loved you before, but lately I’ve seen through you. You are too greedy and always want everything. Your gentleness and purity are an act. In truth you’re vicious, wanton, mercenary… you even put Daisy up to acting with you. Enough. This was a game. Now the game is over.”
He turned to leave. His phone rang. He thought—Grace. It was an unknown number. He answered, and a middle‑aged man’s voice spoke. Dread wrapped him like silk thread tightening. “Mr. Foster?”
“Yes.”
“I’m the preschool principal. About the drowning incident in the pool the other day—how is Sophie? Is she out of danger? We can’t reach your wife.”
A hammer struck Ethan’s skull. His thoughts blanked; the world dimmed. The man kept talking, but Ethan heard nothing.
“Mr. Foster, rest assured—we bear responsibility and will accept all consequences. It may have been intentional. We’re investigating. We will give you an explanation.”
“Mr. Foster? Are you there?”
He hung up, face white, heart thundering out of his chest. He dialed Grace—blocked. Panic and despair crashed over him in a wave, knocking the breath from his lungs. He called his assistant. “Find out which hospital Sophie is in—now.”
Minutes later, the assistant called back. “Mr. Foster, I’m sorry. I checked every hospital in the city.”
“Where is she?”
“I’m sorry, sir. I found that Miss Sophie wasn’t saved.”
“What?”
“I found a death certificate. I’m so sorry for your loss.”
Ethan’s legs gave out; he crumpled to the floor. “Impossible. My Sophie can’t be dead.” But then a photo came through—a death certificate
Name: Sophie Foster. Mother: Grace White. Father: Ethan Foster. Cause of death: drowning.
His mind crashed again. He lay on his back and stared at the thin night sky, everything unreal. “No. No.” He muttered it, over and over. His Sophie—so pretty, so sweet, so gentle and sensible—how could she be dead? She was only four. It had to be a lie, a trick. Grace must be trying to cut him off forever.
The thought jolted him upright. He seized Vivian—still gaping—and snarled, “Come with me. We’re going to find Sophie.” He yanked the car door and slid into the driver’s seat, shaking too hard to drive. He hauled Vivian behind the wheel. “You drive. To Grace’s apartment.”
Vivian was rattled too. The call had been on speaker; she had heard everything. If Sophie was truly dead, Daisy had done it. Cold sweat drenched her back. But Daisy was only five—there would be no real consequences. Her juvenile crime record would be sealed, just like back in abroad. The thought steadied her.
Under Ethan’s urging, the car sped toward Grace’s place. At the door, fear tore Ethan open from throat to gut. The door swung wide. Grace stood there gaunt, eyes swollen and shot with blood.
“Where’s Sophie?” he asked, voice shaking.
Seeing him, Grace’s tamped‑down fury erupted. She ground her teeth and slapped him, hard enough to sting her own palm. Vivian shrieked behind him. “Grace, are you crazy? How can you hit him?”
Grace’s eyes were like poisoned arrows, pinned Vivian in place. She stepped forward and slapped Vivian too. Vivian clutched her face, too frightened to cry. The killing intent rolling off Grace froze her. Not done, Grace lunged like a lioness, shoved Vivian to the floor, and kicked her again and again, drawing ragged screams as Vivian rolled across the floor.
Watching Grace this insane, Ethan felt the last fragile thread of hope snap.
