Chapter 152

The four words slipped from his lips, weightless yet draining every ounce of strength from his body.

"Alexander, I won't let you have Evelyn anymore! Meeting you was the worst thing that ever happened to her. Will you only be satisfied when you've ground her bones to dust?"

Olivia's accusations sent a violent throb through Alexander's temples. His hand shot out, voice steel. "Give her to me!"

"Never! I'd rather die than hand Evelyn over to you!"

When Olivia refused to surrender the urn, something inside Alexander shattered.

He lunged, wresting it from her grasp.

Clutching Evelyn's ashes to his chest, he fled to his car like a thief, Olivia's furious curses chasing after him. The engine roared to life, tires screeching as he sped away.

Alexander Blackwood had always taken what he wanted—no one dared defy him. Yet here he was, dignity in ruins, all for the remains of a woman he'd destroyed.

He drove straight to her old apartment, the one she'd lived in before the end.

The bed still smelled faintly of her perfume. He buried his face in the pillow, chasing ghosts of her warmth.

Her diary lay on the nightstand. He flipped it open, each entry a knife twisting deeper.

'November 6th. Sunny.

Why can't I forget him? What's the point of protecting a man who never loved me? He shattered me. He killed our daughter. And yet, here I am, still aching for him. Evelyn Sinclair, you deserve this torment.

November 11th. Rain.

If there's a next life, I pray I never meet him again. No more pain. No more suffering. If I could freeze time, let it be that moment at Pinecrest Heights—when he smiled at me like I mattered.

November 20th. Snow.

The pain is unbearable. My time's running out. Soon, I'll see Grandpa Henry and my baby again. They're waiting for me. I just want to hold her one more time, tell her how much I love her. Tell her... her father loved her too. He just didn't know it yet.'

Alexander's vision blurred.

What had blinded him all these years?

He turned the page. The final entry, dated the day before his engagement to Victoria, nearly stopped his heart.

'February 20th. Clear skies.

I hope I never meet him again.'

Ten words. Ten nails in the coffin of his soul.

She hadn't just stopped loving him—she'd erased him.

Tears fell, hot and unchecked.

Sleep became impossible without pills. Yet even drugged, she haunted his dreams, her face pale in the moonlight, her voice whispering never again.

By day, he drowned himself in work, desperate to outrun the memories.

Victoria watched, seething.

She brought Ethan, hoping to pull Alexander back. But he barely glanced at their son.

Fury drove her to hire a psychic, to curse Evelyn's name, to burn her birth chart.

She'd thought Evelyn's death would free her.

She was wrong.

Days bled into weeks, and still, Alexander barely acknowledged her. Worse—he'd begun ignoring Ethan too.

Victoria's perfect life was crumbling, and the ghost of Evelyn Sinclair was winning.