At first, I told myself I was being paranoid. I was under stress, I thought. Business expansion, family pressure, it was all getting to me. But deep down, I knew something wasn’t right.

Then one morning, I fainted in the kitchen. Caleb found me on the floor, and his reaction was… underwhelming. He didn’t shout my name in panic or cradle me with trembling hands. He just sighed, called an ambulance, and followed behind my car at a calm pace.

When I woke up at the hospital, I overheard him talking to the doctor in the hallway.

“How long will she be out?” he asked in a flat tone.

“We’re still running tests,” the doctor said. “She’s stable but weak.”

“Hmm. Keep me updated,” Caleb muttered, and left to take a phone call.

Something in his voice told me it wasn’t concern. It was irritating, like my sudden collapse was an inconvenience in his schedule.

That night, the doctor came in privately. Dr. Harper was an old family friend, someone who had known my late father. He leaned close and whispered, “Isabelle, your vitals are normal. There’s no medical reason for you to stay unconscious. But I can tell you’re… worried about something.”