The Plane Tickets He Hoarded The Wife He Hid novel Chapter 247

Game

Blanche’s POV

When the nurse mentioned Lucia had regained

consciousness, Vincent didn’t waste a second debating with Demetrius–he bolted without a backward glance.

Watching Vincent disappear down the corridor, I felt a surge of relief wash over me.

Thank God he left when he did. Who knew what other embarrassing revelations Demetrius might have shared if Vincent had stuck around longer.

I slipped my hand free from Demetrius’s grip and stepped back. “I should get going now.”

Demetrius rose to his feet. “I’ll drive you home.”

I shook my head instinctively. “You need rest, Demetrius. I can manage on my own.”

But he wouldn’t budge. “I can’t let you go alone. Please, let me take you.”

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Clearly, he wasn’t going to back down. If I kept refusing, he probably wouldn’t let me leave at all.

Demetrius escorted me all the way to the Callum Mansion before finally heading out.

He kept quiet during the drive, which came as a relief —at least he didn’t try to drag me into another

uncomfortable conversation.

Back at the mansion, only the staff remained. The empty halls felt oddly peaceful.

Exhaustion hit me like a wall. I dragged myself upstairs, craving nothing but sleep.

After a quick shower, I collapsed into bed, ready to

drift off.

Just as sleep began to claim me, my phone buzzed.

I answered without checking the caller ID.

“Hello,” I mumbled, my voice thick with drowsiness.

Camila’s frantic voice cut through the line. “Aunt Blanche, Sue took a fall! She’s awake, but she can’t get

up!”

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Sleep vanished instantly.

I shot out of bed, adrenaline flooding my system.

Racing to my car, I sped toward the kindergarten.

When I arrived, a cluster of children pointed in my direction. “Carry’s mom is here!” one of them called

out.

I didn’t bother correcting them—I marched straight

inside.

The kids scattered as I approached.

Carry lay on the ground, tears streaming down her face. She wasn’t unconscious, just sobbing uncontrollably.

Several teachers hovered nearby, looking anxious but afraid to move her.

Without thinking about my recent surgery, I gathered Carry in my arms and carried her out.

During the taxi ride to the hospital, worry gnawed at

1. me.

I pressed Carry’s fingers gently. “Does this hurt? Can

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you feel my touch?”

Through her tears, Carry shook her head. “It doesn’t hurt, just feels numb.”

Despite being curled up in my arms, she answered every question I asked.

Her response sent anxiety spiraling through my chest. I urged the driver to go faster.

Carry nestled closer and whimpered, “Mommy, my stomach aches, and my head hurts too.”

Hearing those words made my panic spike even higher.

The taxi pulled up to the hospital. I leaped out with Carry in my arms and ran toward Emergency, forgetting to pay the fare.

Being a pediatric surgeon, I followed directly into the treatment room as they examined Carry.

After extensive tests and X–rays, the results showed nothing wrong–Carry was perfectly healthy.

Still anxious I might have overlooked something, I

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requested blood work and vital sign checks.

Everything came back normal, which should have been reassuring, but I couldn’t shake my unease.

Carry could hear the medical staff discussing her case, yet she continued complaining, “Mommy, I feel sick to my stomach, and my head really hurts!”

I studied Carry in the hospital bed. Her cheeks glowed pink, and her bright eyes sparkled—she looked anything but ill.

This doesn’t look like a sick child at all.

The realization hit me suddenly–she’s faking it.

Playing along, I put on my most serious expression and told the emergency doctors, “I think we need to run some… additional tests.”

The doctors looked confused. “What kind of additional

tests?”

I maintained my stern facade. “We’ll need to make an incision in her abdomen and examine her internal

organs to locate the source of pain.”

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Before the doctors could process this suggestion, Carry burst out in alarm, “Mommy, can we go home

now?”

That outburst confirmed my suspicions–she’d been pretending the entire time.

I addressed the doctors. “Could you give us some privacy? I need to speak with my daughter.”

The medical staff filed out quietly.

Once we were alone, I fixed Carry with a serious stare. “Why did you lie?”

Realizing I’d caught her, Carry dropped her act and scowled. “Why do you care?”

Her attitude caught me off guard, but I pressed on. “Were you bullying other kids at school again?”

Carry jutted out her bottom lip defiantly. “I wasn’t!”

I raised my voice. “Then who was spitting at people?

And who called someone a bastard?”

Carry glared at me. “Why do you always interfere?”

My patience snapped. Through gritted teeth, I said,

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“You’re asking for a spanking.”

But Carry just smirked, completely unafraid. “Go ahead!”

She pushed her face closer, taunting me. “Come on, do

it!”

Seeing her brazen attitude pushed me over the edge—I raised my hand and slapped her across the face.

Carry froze for a moment, then exploded into wails.

At the same time, she began pummeling my stomach with her small fists, screaming, “Bad mommy! You’re the worst mommy ever!”

The first few blows caught me completely unprepared.

When I finally registered what was happening, sharp pain shot through my abdomen, forcing out a pained.

gasp.

Hearing that sound, Carry paused, looking momentarily puzzled.

But seeing the pain etched across my face, she looked even more satisfied. “Good! I hope you die!”

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I snapped at her. “Who taught you to speak like that?”

Carry pointed directly at me, shouting back, “You did! You taught me!”

Rage boiled over–I swung my hand to slap her again.

This time, Carry dodged skillfully.

I swung with such force that I lost my balance and

stumbled forward.

My stomach crashed into the bed’s edge.

When I managed to straighten up, sweat beaded on my forehead from the intense pain.

Carry watched me clutch my stomach in agony. Instead of showing any concern, she climbed onto the bed and kicked me directly in the belly.

My strength gave out completely, and I nearly collapsed,

Just then, someone pushed open the emergency room door.

Before I could see who it was, Carry jumped off the bed and ran straight into the newcomer’s arms.

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Zain lifted Carry up. She cupped his face with both hands and pouted, “Daddy, Mommy hit me!”

Zain glanced over at me standing to the side.

After a brief silence, he asked, “Why did you hit her?”

I let out a bitter laugh. “Sometimes I genuinely regret having her.”

I was obviously referring to Carry.

Zain picked up on the resentment in my voice and kept his tone measured. “What’s the point of saying

that?”

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