Chapter 490

The hospital director's face lit up with astonishment after completing the examination. "Mr. Blackwood, Ms. Sinclair's legs are saved. She'll require physiotherapy for full recovery, of course. And the baby—remarkably resilient. Emotional distress must be avoided at all costs. Another miscarriage could..."

Evelyn shifted uncomfortably at being addressed as "Ms. Sinclair."

She and Dominic weren't married yet. Not after the humiliation she'd brought upon the Blackwood family at their engagement ceremony. The title felt like salt on a wound, but since Dominic didn't correct it, she let it slide.

"Thank you, Director," Evelyn said warmly, relief flooding her at the news of her baby's safety.

"Don't thank me," the director chuckled, rubbing his neck. "The credit goes to Dr. Julian Whitmore. I merely assisted. Frankly, his skills put mine to shame."

Decades of medical practice, yet outshone by a young prodigy. The irony wasn't lost on him.

"Regardless, you all saved me. That deserves gratitude," Evelyn insisted.

"How long until I walk again?"

"Patience, Ms. Sinclair," the director cautioned. "Your right leg has a hairline fracture. Rushing recovery risks permanent imbalance. A month of strict bed rest post-discharge, then crutches. Return in six months for X-rays. Only when the bone fully heals can you resume normal activity."

After final checks and dressing changes, he left with his team.

Alone with Dominic, Evelyn studied her mummy-like bandages and exhaled shakily. "That crash... I thought it was over. Is Isabella alright?"

The memory of screeching metal still haunted her.

"Just shaken," Dominic murmured, stroking her hair. "Rest now. Leave the investigation to me. Whoever did this will pay."

Evelyn's hand drifted to her stomach.

At three months, the bump was more pronounced than her first pregnancy. Her fingers trembled—how close she'd come to losing this child.

Fate had granted her mercy.

Their conversation paused as lunch arrived—oatmeal, sausages, raisin toast, eggs—from an upscale diner. The aroma made Evelyn's stomach growl.

Dominic lifted a spoonful of oatmeal to her lips. "Open wide." His tone was playful, coaxing.

Evelyn reached for the bowl. "My hands work fine."

He held firm, spoon hovering. "I'm your future husband. Feeding you is my privilege." A smirk. "Unless you'd prefer someone else?"

Defeated, she accepted the bite.

A knock interrupted them.

"Enter," Dominic called, expecting Sebastian.

Instead, Vivienne Laurent stepped in, poised in a tailored pantsuit. Her wavy hair was slicked into a high ponytail, accentuating sharp cheekbones. Stiletto heels added inches to her already statuesque frame.

"Ms. Laurent." Dominic acknowledged her with a glance before resuming feeding Evelyn, unabashed.

Vivienne's grip tightened on the fruit basket she carried. Her smile was polished. "Mr. Blackwood, Sebastian mentioned Ms. Sinclair's accident. I hoped to visit."

Evelyn's pulse spiked.

She'd never forgotten Vivienne's private warnings—the thinly veiled threats from a woman obsessed with Dominic. Still, manners prevailed. "That's kind of you, Ms. Laurent. Just a fractured leg—a few months' rest."

Disappointment flickered in Vivienne's eyes.

Such a pity. Why didn't the crash finish her?

Watching the mighty CEO dote on Evelyn like some common housewife made her blood boil. A decade of devotion, yet he reserved such tenderness for this... nobody.

She set the basket down. "It's nothing. One mustn't visit empty-handed."

Her gaze swept over Evelyn—pale, fragile, swathed in hospital garb. What did Dominic see in her?

Vivienne's nails dug into her palms.

In every measurable way—beauty, intellect, pedigree—she surpassed Evelyn. Yet Dominic remained blind to her.

The injustice burned.