A Quiet Collapse

Letting out a quiet breath, Martha softened her tone over the phone. "When are you heading back, Cleo? After all that heavy rain yesterday, I kept worrying you might come down with another chill. I brought some nourishing soup over to the house for you."

Across the room, Dominic turned a page of his contract and let out a dry scoff. "As if we don't have staff right here who know how to boil soup."

On the other end of the line, Cleo kept her gaze lowered. "I spent the day looking for a job," she murmured softly. "I'm on my way back now."

The tension left Martha's shoulders, and a warm smile touched her lips. "Well, that's wonderful, sweetheart. I was just afraid you were shutting yourself inside that house all by yourself. What sort of position are you after? I can have Dominic arrange an easy, high-paying role for you over at the company. Young people nowadays love that kind of setup, don't they?"

A dull ache pressed against Cleo's chest. The only reason she was keeping quiet about the divorce was to spare Martha the shock. After offering a few noncommittal answers, she ended the call.

The second the phone clicked off, Martha grabbed a throw pillow from the sofa and flung it straight at Dominic. "What on earth is going on here? Is the Vance Group failing so miserably that you have to send your own wife out hunting for work?"

Dominic gave a careless shrug. "She wants her own independence. Why are you making such a fuss over it?"

Dealing with him felt like it was going to take years off Martha's life. Pressing a hand over her chest, she let out a heavy breath. "If you only possessed half the decency Conrad has..."

*Conrad, decent? He's nothing more than a wolf in sheep's clothing,* Dominic thought, his eyes turning cold.

In the seven years since his return to the family, he had walked away from well over a hundred attempts on his life. The sole reason he hadn't exposed Conrad yet was because he simply couldn't be bothered to waste the energy.

Steadying her breathing, Martha finally let the anger go with a weary sigh. "Forget it. Just treat Cleo properly, will you? She's such a gentle girl, and I was fond of her the very first moment we met. Back then, you were the one practically chomping at the bit to marry her. I truly cannot fathom what went wrong to turn your marriage into such a wreck."

Dominic offered no answer. Keeping his mouth shut, he simply stared down at the pages of his contract.

Not long after, the front door opened as Cleo made it home.

"Martha," she greeted quietly while bending down in the entryway to slip out of her shoes. Yet she barely managed a few steps forward before the room tilted violently. Black spots crowded her vision, and her knees buckled underneath her.

Letting out a panicked gasp, Martha hurried forward to catch her before she hit the floor.

Cleo's hand caught the edge of the hallway cabinet, barely keeping herself upright. "I'm sorry, Martha," she breathed out, her face drained of color. "I didn't mean to give you a fright. A wave of dizziness just hit me."

After pressing a gentle hand to Cleo's forehead, Martha whipped her head around to glare at Dominic. "Damn it, Dominic! If this fever causes anything bad to happen to Cleo, you are going to answer to me!"

Whatever else was said faded away—Cleo had already blacked out completely.

Asher pulled up to the villa shortly afterward. Once he finished taking Cleo's temperature and running through a brief checkup, he packed his instruments away. "She's just badly exhausted and running a fever. Give her a few days of solid bed rest and she'll recover just fine. Don't worry yourself, Martha."

Seated beside the mattress, Martha looked down at Cleo's pale, unconscious face. Boiling over with anger, she reached up and twisted Dominic's ear hard. "Is this your idea of looking after your wife? Are you too blind to notice how much weight she's lost?"

Standing nearby, Asher paused for a beat before speaking up again. "She's also showing signs of mild malnourishment."

A dark shadow crossed Dominic's face at once. *My own wife, malnourished? If word of that got out, I'd be a complete laughingstock,* he thought, immediately calling for the two housemaids assigned to look after Cleo at the villa.

White-faced and shaking with dread, both maids dropped straight to their knees on the bedroom floor.

"I-it really isn't our fault," the first one stammered out. "Mrs. Cleo Vance barely has any appetite at all. She stays buried in her books from morning till night and constantly skips her meals."

"That's right," the second maid chimed in hurriedly. "Even when we go up to remind her, she just tunes us out completely."

Dominic looked down at them, his voice dropping low. "What exact dishes have you been cooking for her?"

"Coq au vin, beef wellington, and pork belly confit—every single one is a complex, high-end dish," one of the maids replied cautiously.

A humorless laugh escaped Dominic's throat. "Were you cooking those meals for her, or for yourselves? You've been working in this house for three years, and you still haven't figured out she's severely allergic to red wine? On top of that, she can't stand heavy, greasy dishes like pork belly confit."

Shuddering in terror, the two women bowed their heads toward the floor. "We honestly had no idea!"

Martha had witnessed this exact sort of household rot plenty of times before. Because the help assumed Cleo held no favor with her husband, they cut corners and slacked off at every turn. And since Cleo wasn't the type to make a scene, she had quietly swallowed the mistreatment until her own body broke down.

Cold anger glinted in Dominic's eyes. "Pack your bags and get out of here," he barked, his tone freezing the air in the room.

Having been sent over from the main Vance estate originally, the two maids scrambled across the floor toward Martha. "Mrs. Martha Vance, we've worked for the Vance family for so many years! Please, don't throw us out!"

Filled with disgust, Martha shoved them back with her foot. "The lady of this house is wasting away to nothing while the two of you look plump and well-fed. You've been living the high life off this kitchen for years, haven't you?"

Neither maid dared to make a sound, their faces gray with fear.

Throughout the past few years, Cleo had rarely exchanged more than a few words with them. Day after day, she would sit quietly with a book, pick at the plainest dishes on the table, and spend hours gazing blankly out the window—acting very much like someone sinking into depression.

Of course, the maids hadn't bothered to care. They weren't paid to be doctors, after all, and it was an open secret that Dominic almost never stepped foot in the house.

Growing bolder with each passing month, they had started ordering top-shelf ingredients—king crab, black abalone, whatever carried the highest price tag—and feasting on the lavish spreads themselves while Cleo stayed completely silent.

"We... we..." They parted their lips to make an excuse, yet couldn't find a single word to defend themselves. Hanging their heads in disgrace, the pair scrambled out of the room.

Pressing her fingers against her aching temples, Martha suddenly wheeled around and struck Dominic hard across the cheek.

"Just look at the mess you've made," she snapped furiously. "If you don't have any love for Cleo, then let her go and divorce her! She must have had the absolute worst luck in the world to wind up married to a heartless man like you."

The unexpected blow landed with a sharp crack, knocking Dominic's head slightly to the side.

Hovering near the foot of the bed, Asher shifted his weight uncomfortably. He had always known the old lady cared for Cleo, though seeing her defend her grand-daughter-in-law this fiercely was something else entirely.

Ignoring the red mark blooming across his skin, Dominic reached out to hold Martha gently by the shoulders, steering her toward the door. "All right, go lie down in the guest room for a bit. If you're that determined to see Cleo get her strength back, just stay here at the villa for a while."

Martha jerked her shoulder out of his grasp. "I care a whole lot more about Cleo than I do about a stubborn brat like you. If you refuse to treat her right, I'll go out and find a man who actually will."

Something dark and cold shifted in the depths of Dominic's eyes, and his lips curved into a faint grin. "Who else could she possibly belong to? Grandma, she's been mine since the day she turned twelve."

Back then, Cleo had been a tiny little thing—starving and reduced to skin and bones. He had casually tossed a plain piece of bread her way, yet she had clutched it to her chest as if it were solid gold.