Shattered Rings And Her Priceless Hidden Identity

Carter watched Evelyn curl into a tight ball on the stairs, cold sweat instantly breaking out on her pale forehead. The rage in his chest evaporated, replaced by a sharp spike of panic.

He didn't hesitate. He bent down, scooped her up into his arms, and took the stairs two at a time toward the master bedroom.

He kicked the bedroom door open with his foot and laid her gently onto the center of the massive mattress.

Evelyn kept her eyes squeezed shut. Her hands dug deeply into her stomach as a low, pained whimper escaped her throat.

Carter grabbed the thick down comforter and pulled it up to her chin, tucking the edges tightly around her shivering body.

He turned and practically ran down the stairs, heading straight into the cavernous, stainless-steel kitchen.

He stripped off his ruined suit jacket, tossing it onto the marble island, and quickly rolled up the sleeves of his dress shirt.

He dug through the massive pantry until his fingers closed around a box of prescription stomach medication.

Then, he pulled open the refrigerator. He grabbed a knob of fresh ginger and brown sugar, his knife skills clumsy but intensely focused as he sliced the root.

He turned on the gas stove. The blue flame flared to life as he stood there, personally boiling a pot of warm ginger soup.

He placed the pills and a steaming bowl of the dark liquid onto a silver serving tray.

Carrying the tray upstairs, he paused outside the slightly open door of the master bedroom, taking a deep breath to steady his racing heart.

Just as his fingers pushed against the wood, his phone vibrated violently in his pocket.

The screen lit up with Brianna's name, accompanied by that same, customized ringtone.

Carter's jaw locked tight. He answered the call, keeping his voice to a harsh whisper as he asked what was wrong.

Brianna's voice was shaking with sobs. She claimed she had just received a terrifying anonymous phone call from someone who perfectly described the layout of her private hospital room, and her medical monitors were suddenly acting up. She was convinced someone had bribed a nurse to tamper with her IV, and she was having a severe panic attack.

Carter looked through the crack in the door. Evelyn was still clutching her stomach, her face twisted in pain. He was torn in half.

But the deep, rotting guilt over the avalanche years ago forced his hand. He gritted his teeth and told the phone, "I'm on my way."

He set the silver tray down on the hallway console table, turned on his heel, and walked away.

Downstairs, the heavy front door slammed shut, followed immediately by the loud roar of a car engine starting.

The noise jolted Evelyn awake. The sharp pain in her gut twisted harder.

She forced herself to sit up just as the bedroom door opened. Martha, the head housekeeper, walked in carrying the silver tray.

Evelyn stared at the steam rising from the bowl. Her throat was incredibly dry as she asked who had made it.

Martha remembered Carter's strict orders to never tell Evelyn what he did for her. The older woman looked at Evelyn's pale, suffering face, a deep pang of pity tightening her chest. But she knew Mr. Finley's unquestionable temper all too well, and perhaps his cruel directives were meant to protect something she didn't understand. To keep her job and prevent the volatile situation from spiraling further, Martha's eyes darted to the floor. She swallowed her guilt and lied, saying she had heard the commotion and went to the kitchen to make it herself.

The tiny, fragile spark of hope that had just ignited in Evelyn's chest was instantly snuffed out, replaced by a freezing emptiness.

She let out a bitter laugh, mocking herself for actually believing that cold-blooded animal would care if she lived or died.

She threw off the heavy comforter. Without bothering to put on shoes, her bare feet hit the cold hardwood floor.

She pushed past Martha, ignoring the housekeeper's panicked shouts, and ran down the stairs, sprinting straight out into the pouring rain.