The buzz of my phone dragged me out of the dark hours later. Ethan’s small, bandaged hands rested against my chest. For a moment, I thought everything had been a nightmare.
Then I saw the screen.
Dominic.
My hand shook as I answered.
His voice exploded through the line. “Where the hell are you? Why aren’t you home? Do you think you can just vanish and humiliate me? You think I won’t deal with this?”
I looked down at Ethan—his fragile face, the way his lashes brushed his cheeks, his body swallowed by white sheets.
Without saying a word, I ended the call.
I shut the phone off completely.
The silence afterward was thick—but it felt like rebellion. For the first time, I chose quiet instead of his fury.
By morning, my body ached from the narrow bed. My clothes were stiff with dried sweat and rain. I smelled like fear and antiseptic. Ethan stirred, and I smoothed his hair, forcing a smile.
“Mama will be right back,” I murmured. “I’ll get us clean clothes. Then I’ll come back looking pretty for you.”
I stepped into the hallway.
The world spun instantly.
A gurney rushed past, wheels shrieking. Medics crowded around it. On top lay Asher—pale, clutching his stomach, crying in sharp, piercing sobs. Marina hovered beside him, shrill and frantic, screaming for help. Dominic followed, barking orders, panic twisting his face.
Then he saw me.
He broke away and seized my arm, fingers crushing bone.
“Vivienne!” His hand flew before I could react. The slap split across my face, blinding and hot.
“How dare you,” he snarled, grip tightening. “You ordered one of the maids to poison Asher’s food last night. Did you really think you could murder my son and escape punishment? You disgusting bitch.”
My cheek burned. My chest burned worse.
I swallowed the scream clawing up my throat. No denial left my lips—I knew it wouldn’t matter. Dominic had already decided what to believe.
Asher cried louder. “Dad… Dad!”
Dominic released me and ran after the gurney, chasing the child he adored. Over his shoulder, he threw one last sentence that sliced me open.
“We’re not done talking.”
Marina passed by moments later, her perfume thick and suffocating. Her lips curved ever so slightly.
Calm. Satisfied.
That was all the proof I needed.
She had done this. She had poisoned her own son—and pinned it on me.