Chapter 62

Blake's POV

The marks on Audrey’s skin held my gaze, an unexpected tightness forming in my chest. Faint traces of the morning’s chaos mapped her pale skin like a silent record of everything that had gone wrong.

Earlier today, when the commotion on the stairs happened, she hadn’t cried out. She hadn’t shown any sign of distress as she simply took Snow’s carrier and walked away. I had assumed she was fine—or perhaps, more accurately, I had needed her to be fine. I had seen the slight unsteadiness in her step, but acknowledging it would have meant confronting a reality I wasn't ready to face.

Dr. Bennett’s expression was dark as she finished her assessment. Her eyes found mine, sharp with unspoken accusation.

"These marks aren't just from a simple stumble, Blake," she said, her voice slicing through the room’s tension. "They're deep, localized. This requires significant force."

"It must have been an accidental collision during the confusion," I said automatically. The defense felt thin even to my own ears. I had been so focused on getting Laurel to safety—had I really missed what happened right in front of me?

Felix stepped forward, physically placing himself between Audrey and me. "Blake," he began, his voice balancing respect with a hard edge of challenge. "Whatever your history with Laurel, Audrey was the one who stood by you when you were at your lowest. Even if there’s no love left, where is the loyalty? She is still your wife."

The words stung. My grandfather’s cane struck the marble floor with a resounding crack. "Exactly! You demand Audrey apologize for a situation she didn't create, yet you ignore the state she's in. Is this the man I raised?"

The weight of their disapproval pressed in from all sides. I turned to Audrey, seeking to deflect the mounting pressure. "Why didn't you tell me you were struggling earlier?" I asked, the words sounding hollow even as I said them.

Audrey met my gaze with a bitter, knowing smile. "Would it have changed anything?" her voice was a quiet testament to years of accumulated disappointment. "This morning, you told me to just move past it. Have you already forgotten?"

The air in the room thickened. My phone suddenly rang—Laurel’s name lit up the screen. Relief washed over me as I answered, a way to escape the accusing stares.

"Blake," Laurel’s voice came through, thin and trembling. "I’m at the clinic... they say I need to stay. I feel so alone... is Audrey coming? I just want to clear the air..."

A surge of urgency took over. "I’m coming right now," I promised. I hung up and turned back, my mind set. The moral quandary from moments ago was eclipsed by the immediate need to resolve the tension at the clinic.

Ignoring the protests from Felix and my grandfather, I took Audrey’s arm, my grip firm. "Laurel’s situation is urgent. We’re going to the clinic. I’ll ensure your medical needs are fully addressed there, I promise."

"Blake Parker! Let go!" she protested, her strength surprising me.

"There's no time for this," I muttered, guiding her toward the car. I didn't want to use force, but the pressure of the day had pushed me to a point of no return. Once we were in the car and moving, the space between us felt like a void.

In the rearview mirror, I saw her staring out the window, her expression cold and defiant.

"Don't expect an apology from me," she said flatly. "Not today. Not ever."

"It's just about peace, Audrey," I gripped the steering wheel. "Why has everything become a battle with you lately? Laurel is fragile; she’s been through so much in Europe."

I remembered the medical files I’d seen—the documented struggles Laurel had faced. It seemed impossible that she could look so vibrant while carrying such a burden. I looked at Audrey again. Compared to Laurel, Audrey seemed... resilient. Unbreakable.

"Laurel has suffered tremendously these past years," I said, my voice softening. "She’s had a hard road."

Audrey's POV

A bitter laugh escaped me. I met Blake’s eyes in the mirror. "So her past hardships justify her actions today? And I’m the one who has to make amends for existing in her way?"

For a moment, uncertainty flickered across his features.

"You weren't like this before," he finally said, a hint of accusation in his tone.

Something flared inside me—a spark of long-suppressed clarity. "And what was I like before?" I challenged.

"The old Audrey understood the bigger picture," he replied, focusing on the road. "You didn't make every small friction into a crisis. You were... patient."

I leaned back against the leather seat, a mocking smile playing on my lips. "Patient. That’s an interesting word for it. It means you’ve always known, haven't you?"

He had witnessed every backhanded comment from his mother, every calculated snub from his sister. I had spent years telling myself he was just oblivious—a typical man who couldn't see the subtle warfare of the household. I had made a thousand excuses for his silence.

But the truth was far worse. He hadn't been blind. He had simply chosen not to see.

His body stiffened, his fingers tightening on the wheel. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet, but it landed with the force of a final betrayal:

"I thought you were used to it."