Chapter 425

Henry Blackwood's voice carried quiet certainty. His piercing gaze left no doubt—he knew exactly who stood before him.

Evelyn Sinclair maintained her composure, though surprise flickered through her. "Grandfather, you'll live many more years. And I truly am not Evelyn."

The old man's lips curved in a knowing smile, though his silver brows drew together. "Evelyn, would you deny an old man his peace before death?"

Her breath caught.

"They told me you died at Alexander and Victoria's engagement." Henry's sigh carried the weight of years. "That knowledge has haunted me."

His weathered hands trembled slightly as he continued. "You were always too good for this family. Alexander never deserved you. I don't blame you for returning like this—but stay away from Sebastian."

Memories surfaced of Sebastian's revelations about the past. Evelyn studied the elderly man before her—his face lined with age, yet his eyes still sharp with wisdom.

A faint smile touched her lips. "As Alexander's current wife, what connection could I possibly have with Sebastian? Grandfather, I'm not Evelyn. Though we share similar features, we're entirely different people. I won't repeat her mistakes."

Henry turned toward his bedside table without responding. From the drawer, he produced a stack of creased papers, pressing them into her hands.

"What's this?" Evelyn examined the first sheet. A single word stood out—Evie.

Page after page bore the same name in familiar handwriting. Her pulse quickened.

"The staff found these when cleaning Alexander's room after your disappearance," Henry explained.

Evelyn's laugh held no humor. "Are you suggesting Alexander mourned his ex-wife these past three years?"

The idea seemed absurd. When she'd died, only Henry had grieved. The rest of the Blackwoods had celebrated.

Strangers might pity her tragedy—but never Alexander.

"Evelyn," Henry continued, ignoring her denials, "do you recall what I asked when you sought divorce?"

She met his gaze steadily. "Since I'm not Evelyn, how would I remember?"

"No matter." His expression softened. "I'll tell you again. I asked if Alexander had ever been intimate with you after the arranged marriage."

Her fingers tightened on the papers.

"You know the answer." Henry's smile held kindness. "I know my grandson. If he didn't care for you, he'd never have touched you."

Evelyn nearly laughed aloud at the ridiculous notion—that Alexander Blackwood had ever loved her.

With deliberate calm, she set the pages aside. "Grandfather, please don't joke. Had Alexander cared even slightly, Evelyn wouldn't have died so terribly."

'Yes,' she thought bitterly, 'if there'd been any love, he wouldn't have left me bleeding in the snow.'

"As Alexander's wife," she continued, forcing a smile, "I'd prefer you didn't suggest he loved Evelyn. It's not only absurd—it's painful."

She drew a steadying breath. "Rest well, Grandfather. See a doctor if you feel unwell. Don't worry those who care for you. I'll take my leave."

Turning, her gaze caught on the discarded papers. The irony burned.

The door opened to reveal Alexander standing motionless, one hand raised as if to knock. His expression gave nothing away.