**Chapter 8** At that moment, Victoria’s heart raced, panic tightening its grip around her. She felt as though she had been caught red-handed, exposed in her vulnerability. Yet, within the whirlwind of her emotions, she quickly regained her composure, her pale lips pressed into a thin line. “Didn’t you see everything?” she replied, her voice steady as she regarded Alaric. His piercing gaze softened slightly at her forthrightness, and he moved closer, fixated on the empty medicine bowl clenched in her hand. “I had the kitchen labor over this concoction for you, and you just discarded it?” he questioned, a note of disbelief threading his words. She rolled her eyes dismissively. “I’ve already told you, I am not drinking it.” With that, she spun on her heel, bowl in hand, and left. But Alaric’s footsteps trailed closely behind her, his tone turning sharp and unwavering. “Did you intentionally go out in the rain yesterday?” Caught off guard, Victoria hesitated, instinctively shaking her head. “No, why would I do something like that?” His skepticism only deepened as he continued to scrutinize her, his brow furrowing. “Really? Then why did you refuse to go to the hospital? Why are you so adamant about avoiding this medicine?” She attempted to brush off his questions casually. “It’s just too bitter. I really don’t want to drink it.” “Is that all?” he pressed, narrowing his eyes further. An idea seemed to dawn on him, and he continued, “About yesterday—” He had begun to probe into whether she had received a certain message or recalled any oddities from their last encounter. But a flicker of realization struck him—she hadn’t even been inside the club that day, so there was no way she could know. Victoria, aware of the delicate secrets she held close, had no desire to breach the subject further for fear of revealing too much. Just then, a maid entered, bearing a tray of food, and Victoria seized the moment to start eating. The maid had prepared a simple broth for her as she was still in recovery. Yet, the mere thought of it turned Victoria’s stomach; she picked at the food, ultimately leaving the bowl half-full. The maid soon hovered to collect it, her expression softening with concern. From where he stood, Alaric glanced at her, his lips forming a thin, taut line. An unsettling feeling gnawed at him, intensifying with every passing second. Something felt amiss—almost as if the air in the room had thickened with tension. Usually composed, he found himself engulfed by a whirlwind of frustration and unease. Without another word, he turned abruptly and exited. The moment the door closed behind him, Victoria’s bravado crumbled. She sank onto the edge of the bed, staring blankly at her feet, battling the rising tide of despair. When the maid returned later with another bowl of medicine, she noted Alaric’s absence. Resolved not to feign compliance any longer, she spoke plainly, “I don’t want to drink it. And please, don’t bother making it again.” The maid hesitated, eyebrows raised in confusion. Victoria met her gaze directly, her tone firm. “If there’s nothing else, you should rest. I’m feeling tired today.” With a mixture of surprise and understanding, the maid blinked and left the room, the weight of Victoria’s words hanging in the air. Alaric did not return that evening. The silence of the bedroom enveloped Victoria as she lay there alone. The fever coursing through her left her lightheaded, yet her mind remained lucid. He isn’t coming back... she thought bitterly. She knew too well where he was. As she turned over and closed her eyes, a single thought consumed her: if only I had jumped in to save him that day—would we still be on this path toward divorce? Regret gnawed at her, aching in its familiarity. But time, relentless as ever, marched on, and she could not turn back the clock. Before long, drowsiness claimed her again, and an unbidden tear escaped, rolling down her cheek unnoticed. In the stillness of night, Victoria felt the mattress shift beneath her, stirring her from a fading consciousness. Was he back? Hope flickered, but it was swiftly engulfed by an overwhelming darkness, pulling her back into slumber. The morning sun crept into the room as she awoke, instinctively reaching out to find warmth beside her. All she met was a void, the chill of the sheets mocking her. Her lips tightened, disappointment washing over her. The maid appeared soon after with breakfast and yet another bowl of medicine. The sharp, medicinal smell flooded her senses, sparking irritation. “Madam, this medicine—" the maid began, but before she could finish, Victoria snapped, “Didn’t I tell you not to bring it again? Why is it here?” A harshness laced her tone, a stark contrast to her usual gentle demeanor. Taken aback, the maid blinked in shock, but Victoria quickly recognized her emotional outburst. Pinching the bridge of her nose, she sighed, “I apologize. I’m just not feeling well. Take it away, please.” The maid complied, retreating from the room with the rejected medicine. In the kitchen, Hector noticed the bowl returning empty. His brow furrowed in concern, he turned to the maid. “Does she still refuse to drink it?” The maid nodded, recounting the earlier exchange. Hector frowned. “Don’t take it personally. She’s unwell—her mood is simply affected by that. Remember how kind she usually is to us.” The maid felt a blush rise to her cheeks, shaking her head vigorously. “No, of course not! I wouldn’t hold a grudge against her.” Hector’s expression softened slightly. “That’s good. Regardless of what may happen, she is Mrs. Cadogan to us.” But the thought lingered in the back of the maid’s mind—didn’t they say just yesterday that Claudia Johnson was the one Alaric favored? Wouldn’t that title leave her hands soon enough? While lost in contemplation, an icy voice cut through the air. “She still refuses to drink it?” Both Hector and the maid looked up, startled by the sudden presence. “Sir…” Alaric stood there, his expression cold and unreadable, dressed for the day with suit and car keys in hand. After having breakfast, he had been prepared to leave for the office when he noticed the maid’s tray bearing the untouched bowl of medicine. Pausing, he sought clarity. Hector cleared his throat. “Yes, sir.” Then, with curiosity, he added, “What’s the medicine for?” Alaric’s frown deepened. The reality of Victoria’s persistent refusal to take her medicine gnawed at him—a whole day wasted, and now this? “It’s for reducing fever,” he replied tersely. Hector relaxed slightly, noting the purpose of the medicine, while the maid blinked, startled. “Oh, it’s for reducing fever? I-I thought it was for—" she stammered, but the weight of Alaric and Hector’s gazes silenced her. Realizing she had stepped onto treacherous ground, she quickly adjusted her words, a forced smile on her lips. “Anyway, as long as the madam is fine…” Alaric’s eyes sharpened at her unfinished sentence. “What do you mean?” The maid flinched, her bravado crumbling under his scrutiny. Lowering her gaze, she murmured, “I’m not sure. I just saw something that looked like a hospital report while cleaning the bathroom trash yesterday.” A dark shadow crossed Alaric’s features. “What kind of report?” “I-I’m not certain,” the maid stammered. “It was torn and seemed to be wet from the rain, but I caught a few words…” “Where is it?” Alaric asked, his voice low and dangerous, eyes gleaming with a mix of concern and suspicion.