Caden opened his mouth, but the words tangled inside like a knot he couldn't undo. His throat tightened, and his voice, when it came, was barely more than a whisper.
"Grandfather... I—"
"Caden?" his grandfather's voice sharpened with concern and impatience. "What is it? Speak clearly."
Caden swallowed hard, trying again. "It's Amara... she's... she's very sick."
The pause on the other end stretched unbearably.
"Sick?" his grandfather's tone was cautious now, waiting.
Caden hesitated, struggling to form the explanation. "Last night... something happened. I don't know how to explain... She has bruises. A high fever. She's... not responding well. I'm... I'm scared."
His voice cracked at the end.
Silence.
Then the faint sound of footsteps crossing hardwood floors, a chair scraping.
"Thomas," his grandfather called out, his voice steady but commanding—the name clear as a bell. "Prepare the car."
Caden gripped the phone tighter, the weight of the moment pressing down on him.
"I'm coming," his grandfather said quietly, voice low but firm. "Do not move her. And call Dr. Harren—if you haven't already."
""I have."
Silence again.
"Good," came the short reply. Then the line clicked off.
Caden lowered the phone slowly, the silence in the hallway pressing down on him like a weight. The air was thick, heavy with fear, guilt, and the tension of the unknown. He returned to Amara's room, heart hammering in his chest.
She lay still, her breathing shallow and uneven. The pale pillow beneath her contrasted starkly with the fiery flush on her cheeks, evidence of the relentless fever burning through her. The damp cloth he'd placed on her forehead had long since warmed, sticky with heat and sweat. With trembling hands, he grabbed a fresh cloth from the basin and pressed it gently to her skin. The coolness brought a faint shiver from her, but no other response.
He moved carefully, as if afraid his own touch might shatter what was left of her. Slowly, painfully, he helped her out of the clothes she wore last night. He dressed her in soft, loose garments, warm but light, meant to soothe and not bind. Every motion was slow and deliberate, filled with remorse and reverence. She didn't flinch, didn't acknowledge him, but he could feel the weight of his guilt crushing him from within.
He had broken her.
All he could do now was wait.
Twenty minutes ticked by. Then thirty.
Then the unmistakable sound of footsteps echoed down the corridor, steady, sure, and carrying the quiet authority of decades. The floor creaked faintly under the doctor's polished shoes as Dr. Harren entered, his doctor's bag hanging heavily from one hand, his face grave beneath tired eyes.
"Where is she?" the older man asked softly but firmly.
Caden stepped aside wordlessly.
Dr. Harren knelt beside the bed, his fingers skilled and sure as he checked Amara's temperature, pulse, and eyes. His lips pressed into a thin line, and a dark shadow passed over his face.
"My god," he muttered.
Caden stood behind him, his hands clenched so tightly his knuckles whitened. "She was fine yesterday. She was… okay."
Dr. Harren didn't meet his gaze. "Okay doesn't explain bruises like these or a fever this high," he snapped quietly.
Caden flinched, the doctor's rebuke striking deeper than he expected. "It wasn't supposed to happen. I didn't mean to"
"Stop." The doctor's voice was sharp, no room for excuses. "Now is not the time for explanations or regrets."
His hands moved swiftly, checking Amara's breathing. "She's severely dehydrated. The fever is climbing dangerously. She slips in and out of lucidity. Her immune system is compromised, she's been through a tremendous amount of stress."
Caden's legs gave way beneath him. He sank into the armchair, voice hollow. "What can be done?"
Dr. Harren sighed deeply. "Fluids, intravenous, to rehydrate. Medication to bring down the fever. Cold compresses. Complete rest. Ideally, she should be admitted to a hospital for constant monitoring, but…"
The doctor's eyes flicked toward Caden, sharp and assessing. "You're not in a position to explain this to anyone."
Shame settled over Caden like a suffocating fog, thick and heavy in his chest. The soft hum of the house was broken by footsteps, growing louder, firm and purposeful, echoing down the long hallway with an unsettling certainty. The air seemed to tighten around him, every breath shallow and tight.
The bedroom door creaked open, revealing Mr. Whitmore. But today, the powerful patriarch remained in his wheelchair, the polished wood gleaming under the dim light, his silver hair meticulously slicked back. His eyes, sharp and stormy, locked onto the fragile figure on the bed, then on Caden with an unforgiving glare.
"Where is she?" a voice demanded.
Mr. Whitmore.
Dr. Harren stood. Caden rose slowly as the bedroom door opened, revealing his grandfather.
The man looked sharp, almost regal, his silver hair slicked back perfectly and his dark suit immaculate, but his face was etched with concern and something darker, disappointment, anger, heartbreak.
His eyes locked onto Amara. A crack softened the sternness as he stepped to the bedside.
"Amara," he whispered, brushing a strand of hair from her forehead with gentle fingers. "My sweet girl."
Dr. Harren cleared his throat. "She's stable, for now. But weak; very weak. The fever's dangerously high, but her body is fighting. She needs care, rest, and no stress."
Mr. Whitmore nodded curtly. "Do what must be done."
The doctor opened his bag and began preparing the IV line. Then he turned to Caden with a look that made the younger man flinch.
"You need to understand," Dr. Harren said quietly, "that her recovery depends not just on medicine, but on the environment around her. Stress or conflict could undo all progress."
Mr. Whitmore's eyes never left Caden. "You will explain this."
Caden swallowed hard. "It... it got out of hand."
"Out of hand?" The older man's voice rose, cutting like ice.
"I lost control," Caden admitted, voice breaking. "I didn't mean to hurt her. I never wanted this."
Mr. Whitmore's jaw clenched tightly. "Intentions mean nothing when the damage is done. You think I care what you meant?"
"No." Caden's voice was barely a whisper. "I just... I want to make this right."
"You don't get to 'make this right'," his grandfather said coldly, stepping closer until the space between them was charged with tension. "She trusted you. I trusted you."
The silence stretched, thick and suffocating.
Dr. Harren finished setting the IV, gently securing the drip. Amara lay still, breathing shallow but steady.
"She'll survive this," the doctor said finally. "But it will take time. And she needs peace."
Mr. Whitmore's gaze hardened. "Leave us."
The doctor hesitated only a moment, shooting Caden one last sharp look before packing up and exiting.
The room felt impossibly quiet now. Just Caden, his grandfather, and Amara—the broken girl between them.
Mr. Whitmore's voice dropped to a low, dangerous growl. "You're lucky I don't throw you out of this house."
Caden didn't respond.
"But I won't let this disgrace be aired. Not in front of family. Not hers, not ours."
He turned to the door. "My head housekeeper will move in for the next two weeks. She'll oversee Amara's care. She'll stay in the guest suite next door."
Caden blinked, relief mixing with guilt. "You're not telling the family?"
"No." His grandfather's eyes narrowed, sharp as daggers. "Not a word to anyone. I expect discretion from all involved."
"Does the doctor know about this?"
"Yes." Mr. Whitmore's voice was steely. "I made it clear to him. This is between us—and you."
The older man stepped forward, voice now sharp and demanding. "You don't go near her unless the housekeeper allows it. No touching, no speaking unless she reaches out."
"I understand," Caden whispered.
"No, you don't," his grandfather snapped. "This isn't punishment. It's protection. And maybe just maybe—a chance for you to understand what you've become."
Tears pricked at the corners of Caden's eyes, but he swallowed them down, words of apology choked back.
Mr. Whitmore's voice softened slightly, tinged with sadness.
"She cared for you deeply. She was proud to be with you, even when others doubted her. Do you understand what you've done to that girl's heart?"
Caden nodded slowly, shame heavy in his bones.
"Then do better," his grandfather said quietly. "Or stay away."
The silence stretched on, deeper than before.
Outside, the sky darkened as heavy clouds gathered, rain threatening to fall. But inside the house, a fracture had formed, one that would take more than time to heal.