The Plane Tickets He Hoarded The Wife He Hid novel Chapter 228

228 Chapter 228 A Truth Written In

Bruises

The moment Quinton learned the truth, his entire body went rigid.

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After collecting himself, he tried to move past Amara toward the ward. “I need to see her,” he said.

But Amara stepped into his path, her voice almost begging. “Quinton, Blanche hasn’t slept for days on end. She just managed to fall asleep. Please don’t disturb her. If you do, she’ll be awake all night again.”

Quinton stopped cold at her words.

He wanted to see his sister, but couldn’t bear the thought of disturbing her rest.

Even though Amara’s reasoning seemed shaky, Quinton couldn’t risk it. What if she was right? The worry ate at him.

If his thoughtlessness woke his sister after she’d finally found some peace, he’d never live with himself.

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Seeing Quinton waver, Amara pressed on. “The doctor emphasized that Blanche needs extensive sleep for proper healing.”

Quinton dropped his head, his voice muffled. “Right,

let her rest.”

Amber, still anxious, burst out, “I’ll just take a quick look at Blanche, just for a moment.”

She stepped toward the ward.

After one step, Quinton caught her arm.

Amber glanced back to find Quinton shaking his head.

She understood immediately.

She didn’t push further. Instead, she faced Amara and spoke gently, “I’ll visit tomorrow with food for Blanche. Quinton and I should head home now. When Blanche wakes, please tell her: her brother and I are deeply concerned. Whatever happens, our entire family supports her–she’s never alone.”

Amara’s eyes filled with tears as she nodded. “I will,” she whispered.

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Only after Amber and Quinton departed the maternity ward did Amara return to Blanche’s room.

Blanche’s POV

I lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling, my eyes burning with tears I fought to keep from falling.

I’d caught every word my brother and Amber exchanged outside.

The pain inside me was crushing–so much grief I could barely draw breath.

Amara approached and settled beside me, gently blotting my tears with a tissue. “Blanche, you heard everything, didn’t you?” she asked softly.

I nodded. “Yes,” I whispered.

Amara’s voice shook with worry. “It seems we can’t keep this hidden much longer.”

I hesitated, then said, “Just tell Amber I returned to

Blissfield Villa when she comes tomorrow.”

Amara frowned. “You truly don’t want to tell them?”

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I pressed my lips together, my voice barely audible. “Quinton has a temper. If he discovers I was attacked, he’ll lose control.”

Amara sighed helplessly, nodding. “Okay, I’ll do my best tomorrow.”

After our conversation, Amara quietly brought warm water and a towel, then sat beside me and gently cleaned me, every touch careful and soothing.

With my body freshly washed, I felt some of the physical discomfort ease slightly, a small relief amid everything else.

Some time later, I was drifting off when the sound of the ward door opening made me tense instantly.

These past days, every sound at the door sent me jolting awake—my nerves frayed, braced for anything.

“Who’s there?” I called out, my voice sharp with

wariness.

My caution was clear in every word, as if I expected danger at any second.

The room was completely dark, and even with pale

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moonlight filtering through the window, I squinted but couldn’t identify the figure.

The person said nothing, just moved toward the bed step by step, wrapped in silence.

Sensing someone approaching, I instinctively pressed back toward the corner of the bed.

But then, warm, strong hands gripped my arm–cold

with fear.

In the darkness, I heard a deep, familiar voice say, “It’s

me.”

I recognized the voice–it was Vincent.

Meanwhile, Amara, who had been napping on the couch, opened her eyes. Seeing it was Vincent, she asked, “Blanche, would you like me to leave?”

I panicked at the thought of Amara going. I blurted out, my voice tight with fear, “No, please stay.”

Vincent sat on the bed’s edge, refusing to release my hand. When he looked down, all he could see was shadows–he couldn’t make out my expression in the darkness.

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The room was too dark for him to see clearly, but he could vaguely make out my outline lying there.

He seemed to have debated coming, his intense gaze suggesting a battle fought with himself before giving in and rushing here.

He leaned down, intense eyes fixed on the vague shape of my face—even though he couldn’t really see me in the darkness, the force of his presence was unmistakable. His voice was low, almost rough: “Are you certain about that?”

Feeling Vincent’s commanding presence fill the room, Amara quickly spoke to cut the tension. “Blanche, why don’t you speak with Mr. Aarav briefly? I’ll step outside and return shortly.”

With that, Amara quietly left, softly closing the door behind her–giving us privacy.

Once Amara was gone, heavy silence blanketed the

room.

After what seemed like forever, Vincent finally

shattered the quiet, his voice low and strained. “Are you pregnant?”

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I struggled, trying to pull my hand free, but Vincent only tightened his grip, refusing to let go.

I couldn’t really see Vincent’s face in the shadows—just the outline of his jaw. My tone turned icy as I said, “Vincent, I don’t owe you any explanation.”

Vincent’s anger flared. He squeezed my hand harder, leaning in and demanding, “Just answer me. Is it true?”

As he leaned closer, Vincent’s weight pressed down on me, making it difficult to breathe–and worse, he accidentally pressed against my injuries.

I couldn’t stop the pained gasp that escaped my lips.

I sounded like I was in agony, but I was forcing myself to contain it, desperately trying not to reveal my

weakness.

Vincent immediately sensed something was wrong. He released my hand quickly, his voice filled with concern. “What’s wrong?”

I just bit my lip and stayed silent.

Vincent, still worried, reached over and switched on the light.

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As brightness flooded the room, Vincent’s eyes immediately found the bruises covering my body.

My face, my arms, my neck—there were bruises of every color and size, everywhere visible.

Vincent froze, completely shocked, unable to speak for what felt like an eternity.

Feeling uncomfortable under his stare, I instinctively reached up with my bruised hand, trying to turn off the light. But before my hand could reach the switch, Vincent gently caught my wrist.

His fingers were shaking, and even his voice was unsteady as he demanded, “Tell me. Who did this to you?”

I turned my face away, refusing to meet his eyes.

My voice was frigid. “It’s nobody. And this doesn’t

concern you.”

Vincent couldn’t contain himself any longer. He shot to his feet. “Then I’ll go ask Zain myself. I’m sure he knows.”

Before he could leave, I blurted out, my voice

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desperate, “It was Ophelia and Ashlee.”

A slight tremor ran through Vincent when he heard those names.

His voice dropped, tight and nearly a whisper. “When?”

My nose stung and my voice cracked with tears as I replied. “The night before last.”

As soon as the words left my mouth, tears poured uncontrollably down my face.

Seeing me break down tore Vincent’s heart apart, but fury churned in his chest simultaneously. “If I hadn’t come today, would you have ever told me? Or were you planning to hide this from me forever?”

I just bit my lip and said nothing.

Seeing me remain silent, Vincent’s patience snapped. He raised his voice sharply, “Blanche, answer me!”

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