Chapter 13
At the hospital.
Lana Reed nestled into Ethan Vance’s arms, playing coy.
“Honey, last night scared me to death.”
“If you’d come a little later…”
Thinking of Fenton Vance’s madness, Ethan’s voice shook.
“Blame me. I didn’t protect you.”
His knuckles blanched around her.
If anything had happened to Lana—or the child in her belly—
he didn’t dare imagine it.
Last night he’d been tricked—led away by Fenton’s ploy.
He thought Fenton would hit the old estate and go after his parents.
He hadn’t expected the mountaintop villa—or that Lana and Claire Lane would be taken.
“Thank God you’re okay.”
He patted Lana’s back,
his hold unconsciously tightening.
Lana gave a muffled hum.
He was holding her too hard.
Yet even with Lana in his arms,
Ethan felt strangely hollow—
as if a vital part of his heart were missing.
“Honey… you’re hurting me,” she complained.
“Oh.”
He snapped back to himself and let her go.
The emptiness yawned wider.
Lana thought of what Ethan had said to Fenton the night before.
“Ethan, what you said to Fenton yesterday—was it true or not?”
She tipped her face up, eyes brimming.
Ethan’s breath stalled.
His mind drifted back to that half‑built villa—to a woman lying on a filthy floor, half‑naked, her face swollen, a ligature mark clear on her throat, her pants soaked with blood.
Curled in a pool of red, she looked like a broken doll.
At the last, she’d looked at him, eyes full of pleading…
The memory hit the softest part of his heart.
Don’t think about it. Every time he did, his chest knotted tight.
“Ethan…”
Lana’s dissatisfied call yanked him back.
Tears fell in glittering strings.
He reached up and wiped them away.
“Silly girl—of course it was a lie. The one I love has always been you.”
For the first time, his own words rang false to his ears.
Lana’s crying finally stopped.
“Humph. You’re so good at lying—how am I supposed to believe you?”
She turned her head away.
“What would make you believe me?”
“Between her and you, I’ll always choose you.”
“She was a wreck yesterday and I still ignored her. Isn’t that enough?
Do you want me to kill her with my own hands?”
The more he spoke, the more irritable he felt.
The indulgence and softness in his gaze vanished.
“Ethan Vance, are you snapping at me?”
Lana whirled on him, eyes blazing.
He remembered the slap she’d laid on his face last night.
In front of so many subordinates—humiliating.
He was angry—but he held it back.
Watching Lana make a scene whether or not she had a point,
Ethan suddenly felt smothered.
Annoyed, even.
Since when had she started to grate on him?
That had never happened before.
Lana was the girl he’d chosen when they were children—he’d liked her arrogance, her hauteur, her imperious ways.
A pampered heiress, raised to be willful—
but soft and coquettish in front of him.
Only a woman like her could be Mrs. Vance.
He’d decided she would be his bride, and he’d spoiled her for twenty years, until she couldn’t live without him.
But now—her tantrums, her tears, her questions all sounded shrill.
And then—
he thought of Claire.
She was always so quiet, so gentle, a deep well of tolerance.
“Boo‑woo… you don’t like me anymore.”
“Then I won’t have it. I won’t have this baby.”
Lana clutched her belly and made to jump off the bed.
He caught her in a swift scoop and set her back.
“Sweetheart, don’t do that.”
His tone gentled.
“The baby was just frightened. If you say that, the baby will be sad.”
Only then did Lana fall quiet.
After coaxing her to sleep, Ethan felt wrung out.
He lit a cigarette in the smoking room.
In the haze, he saw Claire again—
the way she’d grabbed his pant leg, pleading.
What had she said?
“Help… our baby…”
He hadn’t heard clearly in the moment.
Now, thinking back, it seemed like she’d said—
“Ethan Vance, save… our baby.”
Was that really it?
His breath hitched; his heart twisted.
He thought of that storming night—how she’d dragged him out of a car about to explode—her fingernails peeled back, and she hadn’t even felt the pain.
He drew a deep breath, but the ache wouldn’t budge.
He opened ins, wanting to ask how Claire was—but her contact was nowhere.
Then he remembered—after regaining his memory, he’d switched back to his original number.
The “new” number was in another phone he barely used.
He’d lied that he’d gone to sea as a sailor where signals were spotty.
After that, they’d messaged less and less, from inseparable lovers to strangers passing by.
The thought pricked him—an unfamiliar pain.
Pain? Heartache? Impossible.
After his memory returned, he’d felt Claire didn’t fit him—
how could an ordinary woman suit a Vance heir?
If he brought her out in front of everyone,
Lana would tear the sky down—and the rest would mock him.
Yet letting her walk out of his life all at once—that, he couldn’t quite bear.
So he never told Claire the truth.
Not until Lana found her at the hospital.
He didn’t love Claire—so why did it hurt for her?
Gratitude, he told himself. Nothing more than owing a life.
Still, he pulled out his phone to call her—
ask how badly she was hurt, whether she needed admitting.
Just as he tapped the familiar number,
Lana’s sweet voice rose behind him.
“Ethan, I woke up and didn’t see you. I got scared.”
