Chapter 37
Alexander and Margaret gasped when they saw Evelyn coughing up blood, but their shock quickly twisted into satisfaction.
They slammed the door without hesitation, leaving Evelyn to her fate. Whether she lived or died meant nothing to them. In fact, they secretly wished for the latter.
Evelyn lay curled between the thorny bushes, her designer dress ruined by mud and rain. Clutching her cramping stomach, she watched through blurred vision as Alexander carried Victoria to his luxury car.
The rearview mirror reflected her broken form, yet he deliberately looked away.
Victoria, however, met Evelyn's gaze through the rain-streaked window. A triumphant smirk played on her lips as she took in Evelyn's ghostly pallor and bloodstained mouth.
Evelyn's outstretched hand dropped limply to the ground as the car sped away.
Tears mixed with rainwater on her cheeks, creating bitter rivers down her face.
He'd been so concerned about Victoria's pregnancy, yet showed no mercy toward the life growing inside Evelyn. He'd even tried to kill their unborn child.
A hollow laugh escaped Evelyn's lips. How tragically ironic her existence had become.
When had her life spiraled into this nightmare? Probably the moment she'd foolishly fallen for a man who was never meant to be hers.
Three days passed in the sterile hospital room. Though battered inside and out, Evelyn's baby had miraculously survived.
Not a single visitor came. Only Nathaniel called, his voice laced with concern she couldn't fully conceal. Evelyn brushed off his questions, determined not to drag him deeper into Alexander's wrath.
At her discharge, the doctor delivered devastating news: "Given your condition, terminating the pregnancy for tumor removal isn't an option."
Evelyn accepted this with eerie calm, her lips curving into a serene smile.
Stepping outside, the winter sun cast golden rays across her gaunt face. Yet no warmth reached her frozen heart—not when memories of Alexander's cruelty had left it shattered, letting icy winds howl through the cracks.
As she headed toward the bus stop, movement near the hospital's side entrance caught her eye. Eleanor Kingsley stood there with her husband William, their expressions grave.
Despite Eleanor's coldness toward her—poisoned by Victoria's lies—Evelyn still found comfort in the woman's familiar features.
Eleanor clutched her chest in visible distress, murmuring about hospitals, birthmarks, and daughters.
Assuming they discussed Sophia, Evelyn turned to leave quietly.
At that moment, Victoria stormed out of the hospital, cursing under her breath. She'd come specifically to torment Evelyn during Alexander's absence, only to learn her rival had already left.
Spotting Eleanor and William, Victoria instantly transformed into her sweet facade. Then she froze, overhearing Eleanor's tearful confession: "Where could our real daughter be? William, we must never tell Sophia she's not our biological child."
William embraced his wife firmly. "Don't worry. We'll find her. No other twenty-four-year-old in Willowbrook has that distinctive butterfly birthmark on her lower back."
Victoria's blood ran cold.
Sophia wasn't their real daughter? That pleased her immensely. But the birthmark detail...
She remembered with chilling clarity—Evelyn bore an identical butterfly mark on her left hip. And both women shared the same birthday. They were the same age.
The implications hit Victoria like a thunderbolt.