Second Vows Adored by the Billionaire novel Chapter 18

Victor jolted as though he had been struck. His hands went weak for an instant, and he nearly lost his hold, almost pushing Anita off the railing.

They both panicked, scrambling down, and landed in an ugly tumble on the floor.

Victor's mind flashed with sudden fear. He glanced toward the glass door and, for a fraction of a second, thought he saw a white figure.

His heart lurched. He rushed to the door and looked again, but the space beyond the glass was empty.

It must have been an illusion because Eloise was asleep, and she could not possibly suspect him.

Eloise returned to her room and lay back down.

Not long afterward, Victor crept in again. "Eloise?" he called softly, testing.

Eloise lay with her back to him, perfectly still, feigning sleep, though her mind was clearer than it had ever been, and she could not close her eyes again.

The next morning, she rose early.

Laurel had prepared breakfast and, specifically for her, a small piece of cake.

Eloise had just begun eating when Anita came downstairs, a large bruise blooming on her cheek, one hand bracing her waist as Beatrice supported her at the elbow. They sat across from Eloise as though they belonged there.

The moment Beatrice saw the cake, she pouted.

"Laurel is so biased. Why does Eloise get a piece of cake but Mom and I don't?"

Laurel looked uncomfortable. "There wasn't much material left. I only made one piece."

Anita, oddly enough, looked cheerful. She rested her hand on Beatrice's shoulder and said in a gentle, instructive tone, "Beatrice, we're guests here. We don't make demands in someone else's home, understand?"

Eloise lifted her eyes with practiced calm, and the first thing she noticed was the diamond ring on Anita's finger, bright enough to catch the morning light and throw it back like a quiet provocation.

Her grip on the spoon paused. Something in her chest tightened as though a hand had reached in and pulled.

Anita smiled at her with the relaxed confidence of someone who believed she had already won. "Eloise, you've been dizzy a lot lately. Eat more. You need to build yourself up."

As she spoke, Anita's hand pressed down on Beatrice's shoulder.

Beatrice abruptly lifted the bowl of soup in her hands and flung it straight at Eloise's face.

"Daddy said this is my home," the child shouted, voice sharp with entitlement. "I don't want soup. I want cake too!"

Eloise's brows drew together, and she had not yet formed a single word when the sticky liquid hit her full in the face.

She recoiled instinctively, trying to step back, but her heel caught the table leg, and her body went down hard.

Heat stung her skin. The fall jolted through her bones.

For a moment she lay on the floor, stunned and humiliated, hearing only Anita's performative scolding as though the woman were putting on a show for an invisible audience.

"Beatrice, that's rude. How can you pour soup on your godmother?"

Laurel rushed forward and helped Eloise up.

Eloise's eyes fixed on Anita and Beatrice with a cold intensity that made the air feel thinner. The anger that had been simmering for weeks didn't rise gradually this time. It detonated.

She strode toward Beatrice, seized the front of the child's dress in a single grip, and with the other hand reached for the bowl on the table.

Anita's face drained of color. "Eloise, what are you doing?"

Eloise took one deep breath and forced her hand to stop.

"Mrs. Clarkson," Laurel cried, eyes red with panic as she tugged Eloise toward the bathroom, "your face is turning bright red. You have to rinse it now or it'll scar."

Eloise didn't argue. Burns were not a joke. She stepped away sharply and went to the sink, letting cold water run over her skin.

The soup had not been boiling. It had cooled slightly, thankfully, but even so her face remained red and swollen, the sting persistent.

Laurel found burn ointment, and Eloise applied it quickly, changed her clothes, and prepared to go downstairs so she could get checked at a hospital.

That was when she heard Victor and Anita arguing below.

It was a beautiful piece, one Eloise had bought at high cost, and even as it shattered, she felt the sting of the loss like an insult layered onto the moment.

Anita screamed and collapsed, blood immediately spilling down her face.

Victor reacted on instinct. He shoved Eloise hard.

"Eloise, what the hell are you doing?"

He lunged to Anita, pressed his hand against her bleeding forehead, and yelled for help with a strain of panic that made the veins stand out in his neck.

"Call an ambulance. Now!"

"Mr. Clarkson, it hurts," Anita sobbed, clinging to him. "I'm dizzy. I can't—"

Victor swept her up and rushed out of the house.

Behind him, Eloise let out a low, restrained sound, not loud enough to be dramatic, but heavy enough to reveal pain.

Victor's steps faltered.

For a fraction of a second he almost turned back.

Anita suddenly clutched her stomach, her face twisting. "Mr. Clarkson... my belly hurts. It hurts so much."

Her voice broke apart.

Victor didn't turn around again. He carried Anita to the car, shoved her inside, and drove away.

Eloise had slammed into the sharp corner of the entryway console.

She pressed her hand to her waist and bit down on her lip so hard she tasted blood. Sweat beaded on her forehead, cold and immediate.

Laurel was crying, frantic, circling like she could find a solution by moving faster. "What a curse..."

"Laurel," Eloise forced out, voice shaking, "call an ambulance. My stomach... it hurts..."