Chapter 84

The way Beatrice was speaking sent chills down Evelyn's spine. The shock was so intense that she forgot to respond properly.

"Where are you? I need to see you immediately, Evelyn Sinclair. We must have a serious conversation. It's for your own good," Beatrice demanded, her tone dripping with selfish urgency.

The last time they'd met at Blackwood Manor, Beatrice had been warm, even affectionate—calling her "Eve" like family. But now? Full name. Cold. Formal.

A memory flashed in Evelyn's mind—her five-year-old self, knees scraped raw from gravel after being pushed down by neighborhood kids. She'd run home sobbing, begging her grandfather to tell her why she didn’t have a mother like the other children.

That was the first time he'd ever used her full name.

Evelyn Sinclair.

His voice had been stern, his expression uncharacteristically grave. "You don’t have a mother. She didn’t want you. She threw you away for a life of luxury. If not for me, you’d have rotted in an orphanage."

Now, Beatrice was using that same tone.

What fresh horror awaited her?

"Can't we discuss this over the phone?" Evelyn asked, fingers tightening around her device.

"No. This isn't a phone conversation. You won't be able to handle it alone. I need to see your reaction—control the fallout," Beatrice replied sharply. Then, softer but no less threatening: "If you can’t control yourself, I will."

Evelyn's hands trembled.

"I can't meet tonight. I'm visiting my grandfather in his hometown. The earliest I can return is tomorrow." She couldn’t drag the old man back for a midnight drive—his health wouldn’t survive the strain.

A pause. Then Beatrice relented. "Fine. Tomorrow."

Evelyn moved to hang up.

"Wait." Beatrice’s voice turned icy. "Don’t involve Dominic. This stays between us. If you tell him? You’ll regret it. I promise you that."

The call ended.

Her grandfather shuffled toward her, cane tapping against the wooden floor. "Who was that? Your father?"

Evelyn forced a smile, guiding him back to his room. "Just rest, Grandpa. Tomorrow, we’re moving to A City. You’re living with me from now on."

The old man protested, but Evelyn was firm. She knelt, removing his shoes, washing his feet with warm water from a chipped basin. She dried them carefully, tucking him beneath the worn quilt.

"I won’t take no for an answer," she whispered. "You raised me. Now it’s my turn."

Outside, Dominic waited.

The night air was crisp, heavy with dew and the scent of wet grass. Evelyn hesitated. "Where will you sleep tonight?"

Before he could answer, the door creaked open. Her grandfather peered out, worry etched into his wrinkled face. "Young man, you should stay inside. The car’s too cold."

Dominic shook his head. "I’ll be fine. Brought a blanket."

Once her grandfather was settled again, Dominic pulled Evelyn close. His voice was rough against her ear. "Come outside with me."

She followed, heart pounding.

At the car, he turned abruptly, crushing her against him. His breath was hot on her skin. "I’m going insane without you."

Evelyn let him hold her, but dread coiled in her stomach. Beatrice’s call could only mean one thing: an ultimatum. Money? Threats? A classic rich-family ploy to tear them apart.

Reality was always uglier than fiction.

Dominic’s kiss was fierce, desperate—enough to steal her breath. She melted into him until the memory of her grandfather’s watchful gaze made her pull away.

"I should go," she murmured. "Need to pack his things for tomorrow."

As she twisted free, her hand brushed against him—hard, unmistakable. She jerked back, face burning.

The memory of his touch in the hotel suite flashed through her mind. Cheeks flaming, she fled inside without another word.