After the incident, Valerie changed.
The group chats were still flaring and her phone rang a hundred times a day but she had no energy to talk to any one of them.
There was nothing she could say, they all knew.
Marco knew.
She rarely left her room. Day after day, she stayed inside with only her canvases and paint. Painting became the only thing she could do without thinking. At first, her family was relieved, but that relief slowly turned into worry.
Her style changed completely.
The gentle colors she once loved vanished. Her new paintings were dark, heavy, and violent, filled with sharp strokes and clashing shades. When Eleanor asked her about it, Valerie only said she wanted to try something new and refused to elaborate.
She stopped eating with the family. Meals were sent upstairs, often left untouched. She no longer cared about her appearance and barely reacted when spoken to. She was often sick.
The fall of the Kingston family did not escape her.
Celeste came to the Sinclair residence several times. Valerie saw her from her bedroom window every time. She never opened the window. She never spoke. She simply turned away.
Eleanor tried to arrange a psychiatrist. Valerie refused.
Her condition worsened quietly.
That evening, Eleanor personally went to her room. She simply said, "Come downstairs. Eat with us."
After a long pause realizing she wouldn't budge, Valerie nodded.
When she walked into the dining room, Charles nearly dropped his cutlery.
"Well," he said, clearing his throat, forcing a smile, "looks like the sun finally decided to come out."
Victor leaned back in his chair, eyes scanning her carefully. "You're alive," he teased lightly. "I was starting to think you'd replaced us with paint and ghosts."
Valerie huffed softly. It was barely a laugh—but it was something.
Eleanor served her food herself. "Eat slowly. No one's rushing you."
"I know," Valerie said quietly. Then, after a beat, "Your soup still smells the same again."
Charles chuckled. "That's because your aunt would declare war on anyone who dares change her recipes."
Eleanor shot him a look. "As I should."
The tension eased.
Victor started talking about work—nothing heavy, just complaints about useless meetings and a client who kept telling him they get along they were an Aries-Leo pair.
"I swear," he said, rolling his eyes, "if one more woman tells me about their horoscope, I'm firing her."
Valerie smiled. A real one this time.
"Vicky," she said, "you can't fire clients."
"I can try."
Charles laughed, the sound warm and full. "See? This is what happens when you come down and eat with us. The house finally sounds alive again."
Valerie lowered her eyes to her plate, embarrassed—but something in her chest loosened. For a brief, delicate moment, it felt like everything really was coming together.
Perhaps it didn't really matter much. She was an adult and it wasn't like her whole life revolved around those days.
She finished her food. More than she had eaten in weeks.
"I'm full," she said, standing up. "Thank you, Auntie."
Eleanor smiled. "Anytime, baby."
When the meal ended, Valerie pushed her chair back and stood up. Her vision blurred with the room spinning violently, before darkness claimed her.
"Valerie!"
Eleanor screamed as she rushed forward. Charles froze in shock. Victor caught her just as she fell, but Eleanor's scream turned shrill when she saw it.
Blood pooling beneath Valerie's body.
The drive to the hospital was chaos.
Valerie drifted in and out of consciousness, hearing voices without fully understanding them.
"At this stage, fainting episodes are often circulation-related," a calm voice said. "The fetus is stable, but the patient is severely malnourished."
Fetus? The word pierced through the haze.
She woke to raised voices.
"Resolve it?" the doctor snapped. "At sixteen weeks, and with her current condition, termination would be life-threatening."
Valerie's eyes flew open.
Her family surrounded her bed. Eleanor was crying openly. Charles looked shaken. Victor's hands were clenched into fists as he argued with the doctor.
"She's awake," the nurse said.
They rushed to her side.
"It's okay, Vivi," Eleanor said quickly, holding her hand. "Don't panic."
"We'll take care of everything," Charles said hoarsely.
Victor forced a smile. "You're not alone. We're all here."
Valerie stared at them, her chest tightening as the truth settled in. "Sixteen weeks... the doctor. What?" She croaked out scared what she heard was true.
A child.
Eleanor and Charles met each other's eyes.
Victor was quick to shake his head, "It's nothing. You are sick because you don't eat properly. Once you are treated, you will be fine again."
His 20-year-old sister was all that was left of his family. He wasn't going to let some slimy bastard ruin her happy life.
Tears slid down the sides of her face as fear and confusion overwhelmed her, but Eleanor immediately leaned down and held her close.
"It's going to be fine," she whispered. "We'll handle everything together. Just treat it as a nightmare, okay."
For the first time since that night, Valerie cried without holding herself back, surrounded by the only people she trusted.
Her whole life was ruined by her single moment of carelessness.