**Chapter 13** In the serene yet sterile confines of the master bedroom's bathroom, the nurse diligently patted Elliot dry with a soft towel, his body glistening like a polished statue under the artificial lights. Every movement was delicate, a reminder of his frailty. His legs trembled beneath him, reminiscent of a fawn taking its first steps. He leaned heavily on the nurse for support, the strong but gentle hands of the middle-aged caregiver offering more than just physical aid; they provided a sense of security that Elliot desperately needed since that fateful accident that had changed everything. "You’ve got a nasty bruise there on your thigh, Mr. Foster," the nurse observed, his tone professional yet regretful as he draped the bathrobe over Elliot's shoulders and helped him out of the damp confines of the bathroom. "I'll fetch some ointment for you." Once alone, Elliot sank onto the edge of the bed, the plush mattress cradling him like a weary traveler seeking rest. With reluctant curiosity, he opened the bathrobe to survey the bruise that ached just under the surface of his skin. It wasn’t that he was entirely numb, but recalling Avery's unexpected pinch had urged him to mask his discomfort. Yet, it was not just the physical pain that lingered in his mind but the haunting image of Avery’s tear-stained face that echoed in his thoughts. The unique scent of her fragrance clung to his senses, an intoxicating reminder that lingered far longer than he wished. He had never experienced such profound emotions for any woman in his thirty-odd years. This strange connection — this inexplicable tumult of feelings — seemed utterly absurd, especially considering they were on the brink of separation. Would he truly feel regret for the one he was supposed to leave behind? But in the furnace of anger that had caused him to tear her dress apart, a silent question lingered: did he truly want to end it? Just as the first rays of dawn crept in at 7 a.m., Avery rose early, determined to dodge any potential confrontations with Elliot. She slipped out of her bedroom, her heart heavy as she made her way to the dining room. "Madam! You’re up early today too! Breakfast is ready!" Mrs. Cooper greeted with a beaming smile, the enthusiasm in her voice cracking like a whip in the quiet morning air. The way Mrs. Cooper emphasized "too" left no doubt about who else might be lurking in the house. Avery grimaced inwardly, wishing she could retreat back to her room and hide from the ominous presence of Elliot. "I prepared some vegetarian ravioli just for you,” Mrs. Cooper continued, her voice warm as she guided Avery to her seat at the table. “I remembered you mentioned not wanting meat yesterday. I hope you enjoy it." Despite the well-meaning words, Avery felt like she was sitting on a bed of nails, her face a canvas of trepidation painted with unspoken thoughts that screamed, “I don’t want to see you, Elliot Foster.” Elliot, however, chose not to meet her gaze, his indifference palpable even without direct eye contact. Yet, he could sense the wall of resistance that radiated from her. "We'll be visiting my mother after breakfast. You know what to say and what to avoid," he remarked casually, a tone devoid of warmth or affection. “When were you planning on transferring the money for the dress from last night?” Avery shot back, her voice even, hiding a storm of frustration beneath. There was bitterness in her words. It was acceptable to assist him in meeting Rosalie, but the metaphorical bill had to be settled first. “Not much cash on hand at the moment,” Elliot replied, sipping from his glass of milk, the chaos inside him unusually subdued. “I can wire it to you if you need it immediately.” Avery’s eyes sparked with a hint of defiance. “That works. Here’s my account number!” she said, hastily extracting her phone and displaying the details, her impatience evident. “How much was it?” Elliot asked, placing his glass down but maintaining a scrutinizing gaze on her. “Five thousand,” she stated flatly. His eyes narrowed, and she felt the challenge behind them. The nerve, the audacity he must have thought. How dare she? “Didn’t it say $4,500 on the tag?” “Then why did you bother asking?” Avery retorted, lifting her hand indignantly. “The extra $500 is for medical expenses.” She had no qualms about the additional request. The bruises on her wrist, reminders of his tempestuous anger, needed urgent care, a fact that he hardly seemed to appreciate. Elliot’s gaze drifted to her wrist, and something flickered in his expression before he waved his phone, executing the transfer of $4,500. Avery exhaled, her fury slightly subsiding, realizing the tide was beginning to shift. “Don’t think this means I forgive you. Even if you handed me another $4,500, it wouldn’t change anything,” she warned, each word laced with bitterness as her anger still boiled beneath the surface. Without responding, Elliot wheeled away from the table, his silence snuffing out another third of her ire in an unexpected turn of events. Later, by 9 a.m., the atmosphere shifted as the entire Foster family congregated at the old mansion, a gathering borne from concern for Rosalie, who had just been discharged from the ICU. The tension was palpable; whispers of worry flowed through the air as they observed the grim reality of her more severe condition. “How are you feeling, Elliot?” Rosalie's voice trembled with motherly concern, her eyes softening as she looked at her son. The familiar comfort of her presence belied the emotional burden of the sight before her. "Pretty good," Elliot replied, though the words felt hollow. Rosalie’s gaze flitted to Avery, urgency flooding her expression, “And you, Avery? Is he still making things difficult for you? Remember, you can tell me anything.” Avery shook her head, casting her own anxiety to the side. “He’s not. But you need to prioritize your health.” “I’ll be alright just knowing you and Elliot are okay,” Rosalie said, genuine warmth radiating from her as she attempted to bring the fractured family together. “Avery, Elliot’s never dated anyone before. He might come off as rough, but he’s still my son. Love takes time, don’t you think?” Avery's heart sank as Rosalie's words echoed, revealing a disconnect between mother and son that felt insurmountable. “By the way, I heard your father’s company is in trouble,” Rosalie continued, shifting the topic to something more pressing. "I've made inquiries, and your father’s debts aren’t your responsibility, dear. Just focus on being Elliot's wife." Avery's chest tightened at the condescending reminder of her role in this suffocating arrangement. She recognized Rosalie’s manipulative streak but refused to comply with her expectations. “Father may be gone, but he worked hard for that company. I won’t just let it fall apart,” Avery snapped, her voice steady and defiant, filled with unyielding determination. “I will fight for it.” “But Avery!” Olivia, Elliot’s sister-in-law, interjected. “Your father didn’t exactly lavish you with riches, did he? Now that he’s gone, you cling to a failing company. What’s your plan? Are you expecting Elliot to bail you out?” “Your father owed 125 million!” Henry, Elliot’s brother, chimed in mockingly. “Do you think our family would just hand you that much? Are you waiting for a miracle?” Avery’s frustration peaked amidst their cynical judgments. Their accusatory stares pressed down on her as they awaited her reply. “You all overestimate my ambitions,” she replied, forced calmness wrapping around her like armor. “Even if I asked for Elliot’s help, I doubt he would provide it. I know my circumstances, and I’ll find a way through this.” With those words hanging in the air, relief washed over the Foster family. They believed her, as she spoke with certainty. After all, Elliot had been adamantly pushing her away since waking, so why would he suddenly lend a hand? Morning tea softened the harshness of prior exchanges, until Rosalie gripped Avery’s hand, warmth radiating from her. “Helping your father’s company isn’t impossible, Avery. A child of Elliot’s? That would unlock doors for you. Money wouldn’t be an issue then.” In disbelief, Avery rubbed her belly, a bitter aftertaste in her mouth as she turned to Elliot, who remained nonchalant, sipping his tea like a statue carved from stone. As the sun lowered in the sky, Avery and Elliot departed the old mansion, the tension still crackling in the atmosphere between them as they sat in the car’s back seat, enveloped in a heavy silence. Then, as if sensing her unspoken thoughts, Elliot’s voice sliced through the quiet with chilling finality. “If you were carrying my child,” he said, icy determination underlying his words, “I would end it myself.” Avery's breath caught in her throat, the weight of his statement pressing down with a suffocating grip. The silence returned, each moment deeper and heavier than the last, leaving unsaid truths hanging like the forgotten echoes of a closed door.