Evelyn's voice was calm now, no tremor in it. "They want to bury me with shame. But I'll rise. Not like the daughter they discarded. Not like the bride they mocked. As something else."
She stood, steady on her feet now. The collapse was over. The mask had cracked… but behind it, something new had begun to form.
---
But the city wasn't done with her yet.
The next morning, a new headline appeared:
"Sources Say Evelyn Carter Was Never Loved—An Insider Claims She Was Always Just a Pawn in the Carter Legacy."
They quoted her father anonymously. Claimed her own family thought she was "unstable." That Daniel "tried to make it work." That Liliana had "always been closer to the family's values."
It wasn't just defamation. It was assassination.
Evelyn sat hunched at the edge of a barstool in a hotel, her spine stiff, but her fingers trembling around the glass of whiskey she hadn't yet touched. The hum of conversation blurred around her, like static against the roaring silence inside her chest.
Outside, the city pulsed with late-night indulgence. Inside, Evelyn Carter was unraveling.
She'd managed to walk out of the restaurant with her head held high after the confrontation with Daniel—after the eyes, the murmurs, the questions she couldn't answer. She had made it to this bar in one piece. But her armor was cracking.
Her lipstick was smudged from biting her lip too hard. Her gown still clung to her body like a memory she couldn't shake—like it belonged to someone who hadn't been betrayed, who hadn't just screamed across a marble floor in front of the man who shattered her.
Her hands curled tighter around the glass. Just breathe. Keep breathing. Don't fall apart. Not here. Not where someone could see—
But she already was.
A quiet sob broke free from her throat, the kind that didn't sound like crying—it sounded like choking. The bartender cast her a cautious glance but said nothing. That was the magic of wealth. It made your breakdowns invisible.
She pressed her knuckles to her lips. Her shoulders shook. Everything hurt. Her mother's silence, her father's words, the betrayal, the cameras. The loneliness. The humiliation. It had all happened so fast. She was supposed to be someone's wife by now.
Instead, she was an open wound in a room full of strangers.
She didn't see him at first—didn't notice the tall figure who had been lingering near the back of the room, watching her, his expression unreadable.
Adrian Wolfe had spent his life navigating disasters. Boardroom chaos, mergers falling apart, hostile takeovers—he'd made an art of turning pain into profit. But what he saw in Evelyn wasn't a business opportunity. Not tonight.
It was something else. Something raw. Human.
He took a breath and moved toward her, the weight of his footsteps muffled by the plush carpet. Every line of his suit was immaculate. He looked like someone who belonged in this world, yet somehow outside it too—cut from colder stone.
Evelyn didn't hear him approach. She didn't look up until he was standing beside her, close but not too close. When she did, her breath caught—not because she recognized him, but because of how intently he was looking at her.
Dark eyes. Sharp jaw. A stillness about him that unnerved her.
"I think your drink's getting warm," Adrian said quietly.
Her voice was hoarse. "I didn't order it to drink it."
"I didn't think so."
She narrowed her eyes. "Do I know you?"
Adrian smiled faintly. "Not yet."
There was a pause, then she turned away from him, focusing on the melting ice in her glass. "Well, I'm not really in the mood for strangers right now."
"Neither am I." His tone was even, almost disarming. "But we're both here."
She exhaled sharply. "Is this your idea of a pickup line?"
"No." He pulled out the stool beside her and sat down, slowly, deliberately. "This is me choosing to sit beside the only real thing in this bar tonight."
That earned a look. "What do you mean?"
"I saw you earlier," Adrian said. "At the restaurant. With him."
Her body stiffened. The walls came slamming up. "You were there?"
"I was supposed to meet someone. I didn't stay long." He paused, letting the silence settle. "You didn't see me."
She looked away, her face flushing with shame. "Good. Then you don't know how pathetic it was."
"No," he said quietly, "I know exactly how strong it was."
That broke something. She turned to him, eyes brimming now. "I didn't feel strong. I felt like I was screaming into the void, like no one cared."
"I cared. I actually do"
That stopped her. His voice wasn't soft, but it wasn't performative either. It didn't sound like pity. It sounded like truth.
"Why?" she asked, bitterness creeping in. "Why would someone like you care about someone like me?" "I am not important to you in anyway, why?"
Adrian tilted his head slightly. "Because I know what it feels like to be betrayed by the people who should've protected you."
Her breath hitched.
He could see the walls wobble behind her eyes.
"You think you're the only one who's been discarded?" he asked, voice calm. "I've seen this city eat its own. Families with legacies crumble behind closed doors while pretending to toast to success. You're not alone."
She let the silence stretch. Then, finally, her voice cracked. "But it's never just the betrayal, is it? It's how no one comes to your defense. How the people you love the most just… let it happen."
She wasn't just talking about Daniel now. She was talking about Genevieve. Her father. The betrayal that had bled into her veins and told her she was disposable.
"I know," Adrian said. "It's not just the knife—it's who held it."
A tear slipped down her cheek. She didn't wipe it away.
"I don't even know your name," she whispered.
"Adrian Wolfe."