Chapter 57

"Can you see them now, Mr. Blackwood? Thank you for your... concern." Evelyn's voice cracked with bitter irony. "You made sure every one of those thousand days in prison was truly unforgettable."

Her bitter smile sent scalding tears dripping onto Alexander's hand. His long fingers twitched involuntarily - he'd never realized tears could burn like acid.

The rain intensified, drumming against the car roof. Evelyn heard the rhythmic swish of windshield wipers struggling against the downpour.

Suddenly, the air between them stilled. Evelyn wiped her cheeks, her gaze turning eerily calm.

"Alexander," she whispered, "if I had a choice, I'd erase every memory of you from my life."

His obsidian eyes darkened further at her words. "You don't get that choice, Evelyn. You'll always be my wife. That's a fact neither of us can change."

A hollow laugh escaped her lips. "Really? You'd chain yourself to me forever? What about your precious Victoria? Won't she slit her wrists when she hears this?"

Alexander's jaw clenched at her mocking tone. The muscle in his cheek jumped, but no words came. Instead, he slammed the accelerator.

Exhaustion finally claimed Evelyn. She awoke hours later in the familiar four-poster bed of her former bedroom.

He'd brought her back to Blackwood Estate. Strangely, nothing had changed - same silk drapes, same antique vanity. Then the realization hit: this was probably where he and Victoria...

Bile rose in her throat. She barely made it to the marble bathroom before dry heaving.

Night had fallen. She'd slept through the entire day without eating.

The mirror reflected a ghost - sunken cheeks, bloodshot eyes. A walking corpse of the woman she'd once been.

Her phone buzzed. Nathaniel's name flashed on screen.

After three rings, she answered. His concern washed over her like warm honey. She murmured thanks, but what could she possibly offer in return?

Knock. Knock.

The sudden rapping made her jump. She hurriedly ended the call.

The door creaked open, revealing Mrs. Harrington with a tray. "Dinner is served, Mrs. Blackwood. Shall I—"

"Victoria! Where the hell is everyone?" A shrill voice echoed up the grand staircase.

Mrs. Harrington paled, nearly dropping the tray. The poor woman had clearly suffered Victoria's tantrums before.

Evelyn almost smiled. After all these years, the staff still called her "Miss Lancaster." Not Mrs. Blackwood. That title belonged to Evelyn alone.

The satisfaction vanished when Victoria stormed in, designer heels clicking like gunshots.

"Miss Lancaster!" Mrs. Harrington gasped. "You shouldn't—"

Victoria's manicured finger jabbed toward Evelyn. "You! How dare you come back here, you scheming whore?"