Chapter 259

The small mole on her left chest was the undeniable proof that she was Evelyn Sinclair.

It was a mark she had chosen to keep, believing Alexander Blackwood would never lay eyes on that part of her body again after her "resurrection."

She had returned for vengeance, not to rekindle anything with him. So, she left the mole untouched.

When she caught Alexander’s lingering gaze, she yanked the towel higher, turning her back to him sharply.

"Didn’t you think to knock before barging in?" she snapped, irritation lacing her voice.

She expected him to retreat, but instead, his footsteps grew closer. He stopped right behind her, his presence overwhelming.

"Get out," Evelyn demanded, her tone icy. She clutched the towel tighter, stepping away. The cold tiles beneath her bare feet sent a shiver up her spine.

But before she could move further, Alexander’s hand closed around her wrist.

His touch was cool, yet it ignited a fire under her skin.

"Why so nervous, Future Aunt-in-law?" His voice was low, teasing. "Afraid I’ll devour you?"

Evelyn’s pulse spiked. Her cheeks burned.

Alexander stepped closer, his warmth pressing against her back.

"Relax," he murmured. "I just have a question."

"Then ask it and let go," she hissed.

For a moment, Alexander stilled. His gaze traced the smooth, flawless skin of her shoulders, so unlike the scars that had once marred Evelyn’s body.

A sharp ache twisted in his chest.

Abruptly, he released her.

"Never mind," he said, his voice turning cold. "Thank you for finding Ethan and staying with him. I’ll repay the favor."

The door clicked shut behind him.

Evelyn exhaled, confused. One moment he was questioning her, the next—gone.

What had changed his mood so suddenly?

Shaking it off, she dressed quickly, locked the door, and slipped into bed beside Ethan.

The boy slept soundly, his delicate features peaceful.

The longer she studied him, the more she saw the resemblance to Amelia.

Siblings, sharing the same father but different mothers.

Yet, Evelyn couldn’t shake the inexplicable pull she felt toward him.

She brushed a finger over his cheek.

"Sleep well," she whispered. "I’m here."

Alexander leaned against the balcony railing, his shirt hanging open.

Smoke curled from his lips as he stared at the wedding portrait above his bed.

She had been radiant that day.

Now, all that remained was this photograph.

"Alexander, you’ll regret this."

Her words haunted him.

"I don’t know the meaning of regret," he had sneered.

Now, he scoffed at his own arrogance.

His gaze drifted toward Ethan’s room, distant and unreadable.

The cigarette between his fingers glowed, then dimmed—like the flickering emotions in his eyes.

The next morning, Evelyn helped Ethan get ready, his rare smile easing her worries.

The maid informed her Alexander had left at dawn.

So, Evelyn took Ethan to school, planning to visit Amelia afterward.

Where had Alexander gone so early?

A secluded cemetery, veiled in morning mist.

Alexander knelt before a familiar grave, placing eighty-eight roses atop it.

His fingers traced the engraved name, his voice barely a whisper.

"You must have hated me," he murmured. "When I destroyed the only proof of your innocence."