Chapter 223

"No, Aunt Gwendolyn, I can't wear those..."

Evelyn pushed the scandalous lingerie away, her cheeks burning crimson. The delicate fabrics her aunt had selected looked more like trouble than clothing.

She kept her gaze firmly on the floor, unable to even glance at the provocative items.

Gwendolyn sighed dramatically. "You're twenty-four, Evelyn! Not some prudish old maid! If you don't wear these now, when exactly do you plan to? When you're sixty?"

With surprising strength, Gwendolyn dragged her reluctant niece toward the fitting room.

"I really can't—they're too—" Evelyn's protests fell on deaf ears as both her aunt and the enthusiastic saleswoman bombarded her with reasons why every young woman should own seductive lingerie.

Evelyn understood the importance of celebrating one's femininity, but these selections crossed every line of decency she knew.

Gwendolyn lived life with reckless abandon. Given her terminal diagnosis fifteen years ago, she'd vowed never to deny her body or soul any pleasure.

Inside the fitting room, Gwendolyn efficiently stripped Evelyn of her modest clothing while lecturing, "Thank heavens I never had daughters. I'd go mad dealing with your puritanical attitudes. There's nothing shameful about desire, especially with someone you love. Life's too short for such ridiculous modesty."

"Please, Aunt Gwendolyn..."

Evelyn stared at the flimsy scraps of fabric that supposedly constituted underwear. Her face burned so hot she could have powered a small generator.

Gwendolyn fixed her with a serious look. "Listen to me. A woman is like a rare orchid—she needs proper cultivation. Pleasure should be your priority, whether physical or emotional. Why must you act so embarrassed?"

Evelyn wanted nothing to do with the lingerie. "Stop resisting," Gwendolyn warned. "My health isn't what it used to be. One wrong shove and I might collapse right here."

Through a combination of persuasion and veiled threats, Gwendolyn finally succeeded in dressing Evelyn in the scandalous undergarments.

Evelyn's porcelain skin glowed under the boutique lights. She flushed deeper when Gwendolyn remained in the fitting room, critically examining her niece's transformation.

"Wait here," Gwendolyn ordered, scooping up Evelyn's sensible cotton underwear. "I'll be right back."

"Where are you taking those?" Evelyn called out too late.

Gwendolyn unceremoniously dumped the plain underwear in a trash bin. She couldn't tolerate such prudishness.

Alone in the fitting room, Evelyn studied her reflection. Her breathing quickened as she took in the daring design. This wasn't lingerie—it was a provocation.

"Try these next."

Gwendolyn returned with another set, freshly sanitized and warm from the steamer.

Evelyn examined the new offering with trepidation. "What is this?"

She reluctantly put it on, then gasped at her reflection. "This isn't underwear—it's practically nothing!"

"Don't you dare take it off," Gwendolyn commanded, admiring how the fabric accentuated Evelyn's curves. "You look exquisite. At your age, I'd own fifty sets and wear them daily."

Evelyn had reached her limit. Silk and lace were one thing, but this bordered on fetish wear. She'd never voluntarily wear such a thing.

"Your old underthings made you look like a nun," Gwendolyn said bluntly. "I threw them all away."

"You what?"

Realization dawned—this was an ambush.

"It doesn't matter," Evelyn said stubbornly. "No one will see under all my layers anyway." Thankfully, autumn's chill meant heavy sweaters and coats. She'd rather freeze than wear such scandalous lingerie.

An odd mixture of shame and guilt twisted in her stomach.

Gwendolyn finally relented. When she emerged from the fitting room with the lingerie, Evelyn was already waiting outside the store.

At the register, Gwendolyn scribbled an address. "Deliver everything here."

Meanwhile, across the mall, Sophia stood frozen before a display of bras, watching Evelyn disappear into the crowd.

She pulled out her phone and texted Maxwell: "Where are you?"

"Just got off the escalator," came the immediate reply. "Your location?"

After Lillian's latest tantrum—crushing Sophia's fingers under her heel—the other assistants had taken over pampering the starlet. Sophia had gone to get her injuries treated, then sought solace in retail therapy.

Forty minutes ago, she'd spotted Evelyn having coffee with an elegant older woman.

The green-eyed monster of jealousy reared its head. Sophia had always envied Evelyn—what made her so special to capture first Nathan's heart, then Dominic's?

Now Maxwell—the man of Sophia's dreams, her provider and protector—turned out to be Evelyn's husband!

If not for that news leak, she'd never have known. How did Evelyn keep attracting such men?

The injustice burned. Sophia couldn't bear to see Evelyn happy. If Maxwell's marriage was as troubled as rumors suggested, she'd make sure it ended in ruins.

After all, Evelyn clearly didn't value what she had.