Dawn filtered over the Forrester estate with a soft golden glow, the kind that promised serenity despite the emotional storm brewing inside its walls. Donna Logan moved gracefully through the quiet corridors, her silk robe whispering against her skin as she carried a tray of tea toward Eric’s study. Caring for him had become part of her daily rhythm—his trembling hands, his labored breathing, the impression of a man slowly fading. Everyone believed Eric Forrester was living out his final days, including Donna herself.

But on this particular morning, something didn’t sit right.

Eric’s study was empty. His oxygen tank, the constant hissing companion of the past weeks, sat abandoned by the wall. His sketches were arranged too perfectly, every paper aligned with deliberate precision. Donna’s stomach tightened. She called his name, expecting a fatigued voice to answer. Instead, she heard a steady, rhythmic thudding from deeper inside the mansion.

It led her to the private gym.

The door creaked as she pushed it open, and her heart stumbled in her chest. There—standing tall, strong, alive—was Eric Forrester, lifting weights with the effortless grace of a man half his age. No weakness, no frailty, no sign of the dying patriarch he had convinced everyone he was. Sweat trickled down his forehead as he met her stunned gaze.

“Donna,” he murmured, lowering the weight. “This… isn’t what you think.”

But it was exactly that.

Her voice trembled as she set down the tray. “You’re not sick. You’ve been pretending.” The betrayal pulsed through her words.

Eric let out a heavy breath and perched on the bench. “I didn’t lie for cruelty. Ridge is pushing me out of my own company. If he thinks I’m dying, he’ll step aside long enough for me to reclaim what I built. One last chance to show the world who I truly am.”

Donna shook her head, heartbroken and furious. “Eric, this isn’t strategy. It’s manipulation.”

Yet he defended his actions. To him, it was survival—his way of protecting the legacy he created long before Ridge ever dreamed of designing. Donna understood the fear behind his decision, but the deception cut too deeply. She walked out with her heart split in two: loyalty to Eric and guilt toward the family that loved him.

In the following days, the weight of the secret gnawed at her. Watching Ridge pour his remorse into every moment with his “ailing” father made her stomach twist. Eric’s plan was working. Guilt was tightening its grip around his son. Still, Donna said nothing… until fate intervened.

Everything unraveled at the Forrester Creations Winter Gala, billed as Eric’s “final masterpiece.” The fashion elite gathered to honor a supposedly dying legend. When Eric appeared, leaning on a cane, fragile and pale, the crowd rose in reverence. Donna felt physically ill watching him maintain the charade.

But the truth exploded under the spotlight.

As Ridge delivered an emotional tribute, Eric took the microphone and stunned the audience. With slow, deliberate movements, he stood tall, letting the cane fall to the ground.

“I’m not dying,” he announced. “Not even close. And this is not my farewell. It’s my rebirth.”

Gasps rippled across the room. Brooke’s jaw dropped. Donna clutched her chest. Ridge stared at his father in horror as Eric exposed his deception—admitting he’d faked his illness to regain control of the company.

The confrontation was brutal. Ridge accused him of cruelty, manipulation, and breaking the family apart. Eric fired back, claiming Ridge had tried to bury him before his time. Their argument echoed through the hall until Ridge stormed out, humiliated before the entire fashion industry.

The fallout was immediate and devastating. Ridge withdrew from everyone, drowning in shame and hurt. The board feared another scandal and, under Eric’s restored authority, voted to push Ridge out completely. Eric told him to leave Forrester Creations and build something on his own—an exile disguised as advice.

The press devoured the story. Ridge became the disgraced heir. Eric reclaimed the throne, but at the cost of his son.

Months passed before Ridge resurfaced—this time in Paris, launching his own fashion house: Maison Ridge. His debut collection stunned the world, a bold reinvention of the Forrester aesthetic. At home, Eric watched the show online, pride and sorrow battling in his chest.

“He’s my son,” Eric whispered.

Donna softly replied, “Maybe it’s time you both forgave each other.”

But the truth loomed over them both: Ridge had finally stepped out of Eric’s shadow—and Eric had unknowingly created his greatest rival.