The hospital room was dark, lit only by the flickering blue light of the television. Isolde lay propped against the pillows, her eyes glued to the screen, a venomous smile playing on her lips. `Starlight Serenade` was on.
Caspian feigned sleep in the chair beside her bed, his breathing even, his body still. But he was watching. Listening.
On the screen, Lyra looked impossibly poised. The interviewer started with fawning praise for her music, lulling the audience into a sense of safety before striking.
“There are so many rumors about your sudden divorce from Caspian Hawthorne,” the woman said, her voice sharp with manufactured sympathy. “Can you tell us what really happened?”
The ambush had been sprung. The studio audience held its breath.
Lyra did not flinch. She looked away from the interviewer and directly into the camera, her gaze clear and steady. A universe of pain and strength resided in her eyes.
“Our marriage is a private matter,” she said, her voice calm and measured. The audience leaned in.
“What I will say is that I did not leave my husband for another person.”
A pause. The silence was deafening.
“I left to protect my own well-being.”
Three sentences. No accusation. No details. Just a simple, devastating truth that implied everything. The studio was silent for a beat, processing the weight of her words. Then, it erupted. The applause was not just polite; it was a roar of support, a wave of empathy washing over her.
Online, the world exploded. #ILeftToProtectMyself began trending worldwide within seconds.
In the hospital room, Isolde’s mask of frail beauty shattered. With a guttural scream of rage, she seized the television remote and hurled it at the screen. It bounced off with a dull thud.
“She’s playing the victim!” she shrieked, her voice raw and ugly.
Caspian remained perfectly still, his eyes closed. He heard her snatch her phone, her fingers stabbing at the screen.
“Find something on her,” Isolde snarled into the phone. “Anything. Start with her hospital visits. Find out why she was at `St. Jude’s`.”
The scene cut away in Caspian’s mind. He imagined the call, the associate, the search. He saw a file being pulled up on a dark laptop screen late that night, the clinical text glowing in the darkness.
`Patient: Lyra Hawthorne.`
`Appt: OB/GYN.`
`Dr. Zara Ali.`
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