How My Arranged Marriage to a Comatose Heir Exposed a Family Conspiracy
“Ethan,” Jason whispered loudly. “Can you hear me?”
“Your beautiful wife is taking such good care of you.”
“But I think she’s hiding something from us.”
My breath hitched, but I quickly covered it by adjusting Ethan’s blanket.
“Don’t do that,” I said, pushing Jason’s hand away from the bed.
“The doctor said sudden noises can agitate him, even if he can’t respond.”
Jason looked at me, a cold, calculating smile touching his lips.
“You’re very protective of a man who doesn’t even know you’re in the room.”
“It’s almost as if you think he can hear you.”
“I have hope,” I said.
“Hope is a dangerous thing in this house,” Jason said.
He turned on his heel and walked out of the room, Dr. Phillips following close behind.
I locked the door again and leaned my back against it, exhaling a long breath.
I walked back to Ethan’s side.
His eyes fluttered open, dark and sharp, filled with a quiet anger.
“He suspects,” Ethan whispered, his voice hoarse from months of disuse.
“He knows I am getting stronger.”