Chapter 390

Alexander towered over her like a predator eyeing its prey, his presence radiating an oppressive dominance that made the air feel thick.

"Don't waste my time unless you're eager for an excruciating end," he warned, his voice like ice.

Victoria coughed weakly, forcing herself to meet his gaze. "I—I know I shouldn't have lied to you, Alexander. But my feelings for you are real. I love you—I swear it!"

"Enough," Alexander cut in, his tone devoid of emotion.

She collapsed forward, biting her lip hard enough to draw blood. "Fine. I'll tell you everything."

Her head bowed, but her eyes gleamed with malice. If I can't have him, Evelyn, then neither will you.

Clenching her fists, she forced out the words. "There was an elective Evelyn and I took freshman year. A girl named Lillian was in that class. We stumbled upon her diary and discovered she had a past with you."

She hesitated, then continued, "Lillian transferred later, but I stole her diary before she left. Evelyn wanted to impersonate her too, but I beat her to it."

Desperate, she reached for Alexander's pant leg. "Please, for Ethan's sake, let me go—"

"You dare speak his name?" Alexander snarled. "You were never fit to be his mother."

With a brutal kick, he sent her sprawling. Then, without another word, he turned and walked away, leaving only cold silence in his wake.

"Alexander! Alexander!" Victoria's hoarse cries went unanswered as his figure disappeared beyond the door.

The cemetery gates loomed ahead as Alexander stepped out of his car.

He lit a cigarette, exhaling a slow stream of smoke into the crisp air.

Victoria's confession had unearthed a memory—Evelyn, six years ago, on her knees before him, tears streaming as she accused him of breaking a childhood promise.

For a fleeting moment, he had almost believed her.

Then Victoria had slithered in with her poisonous lies, convincing him Evelyn was the fraud.

But Evelyn wasn't a liar.

She gave without expecting anything in return—a rare soul in a world full of takers.

Would a woman like that steal someone else's identity?

His pulse quickened.

As the cigarette burned down to the filter, realization struck like lightning.

Everything suddenly made sense.

His breath caught.

Then—movement.

A figure in white stood from the grave of Henry Whitmore, Evelyn's grandfather.

The same silhouette he'd glimpsed last time but couldn't identify.

Alexander crushed the cigarette and strode forward.

Evelyn traced her fingers over the engraved name on the tombstone.

"I know you always wanted me to find my parents, Grandfather," she murmured. "But now that I have… I don't know if I should even acknowledge them."

A bitter laugh escaped her.

"It's almost poetic, isn't it? The people I loved most—my parents, the man I thought loved me—they all cherished the woman who destroyed you, my child, and nearly me."

Her lips curled into a dark smile.

"But don't worry. I'm close, Grandfather. So close to making them pay."

The thrill of vengeance burned in her veins as she turned to light a candle—

Only to freeze.

Someone stood just a few feet away, watching her.