The question Vivian asked did not get an answer.
Not because anyone ignored it.
But because there was no space left for answers anymore.
Everything was moving too fast to contain meaning.
The drive to the hospital was swift.
No delays. No hesitation. No uncertainty.
The convoy cut through traffic like a blade through fabric—horns blaring, escort vehicles forcing lanes open, security motorcycles clearing intersections before the main car even arrived.
It looked less like transport and more like an operation already beyond control.
Inside the main car—Silence.Heavy.
Pressing.
Almost suffocating in its density.
Vivian sat in the middle seat with the baby in her arms, holding him firmly, but something had shifted in her grip. Not fear exactly—but distance. As though she was now aware that even certainty could suddenly become unreliable. Beside her—Isabella Vale.
She had refused to sit with her husband.
Not argued.
Not negotiated.
