Evelyn swallowed hard. "And if I say no?"
"Then I walk away," he said. "And you'll never hear from me again. You can try to take them down on your own. But you won't win. Not in their world."
Their world.
The world she was born into—but never really belonged in. The one that smiled to your face while burying the knife in your back.
Evelyn looked at him again. At the man with eyes like winter storms and secrets stacked beneath every syllable. She thought of everything she'd lost. Everything they'd taken. How they locked her out like trash. How her own mother couldn't look at her.
She was tired of being broken.
She was tired of surviving.
Adrian said nothing for a moment, just studied her face in the silence. The night air crept in through the barely open window, brushing against Evelyn's skin like a whisper. She looked away, arms folded tightly across her chest.
"I need time," she said at last, her voice hoarse.
He nodded once. "Take it. But not too long. The vultures won't wait."
She let out a breathy laugh.
Evelyn's voice had barely settled between them when her phone vibrated on the table. It was an innocuous sound, easily ignored on another day. But today—after betrayal, humiliation, a world cracked open—it carried a sinister weight.
She hesitated. Her thumb hovered over the screen. Then she glanced at the notification.
VIDEO: Daniel Thorne Exclusive Interview – "The Truth Behind the Breakup"
Her breath caught. Something in her chest squeezed so tightly she thought she might choke. She opened the video.
Adrian's eyes sharpened across from her, watching without asking, his wine untouched. The restaurant around them blurred—chandeliers glowing like interrogation lights, silverware chiming like glass against bone. But Evelyn only heard one voice.
Daniel's.
On screen, he looked too clean. Too polished. A designer suit, carefully tousled hair, his expression perfectly curated for sympathy. Evelyn knew that look. It was the same one he used when charming CEOs, her mother, the media.
He was sitting in a tastefully lit studio, with a host who leaned in conspiratorially, as if delivering national tragedy.
"I never wanted to talk about this publicly," Daniel began, sighing. "But after everything that's happened… I think people deserve to know the truth."
Evelyn stiffened. Her nails dug into the wood beneath the table.
"I did everything I could to make that relationship work," Daniel said solemnly. "But Evelyn… she was unstable. Controlling. She—she couldn't handle pressure. There were signs for months. I begged her to get help. I wanted to postpone the wedding for her sake, but she insisted. She made it impossible to walk away."
Evelyn's hand clenched around the phone so hard her knuckles whitened.
"She's not well," Daniel continued, shaking his head. "I feel for her, I really do. But I won't let her destroy my life because she couldn't control hers."
The video cut to the host's somber nod, then a montage of paparazzi photos—Evelyn disheveled, crying, her public breakdown captured like blood on snow.
Lies. All of it. Weaponized sympathy. Her private pain twisted into his public alibi.
She looked up, eyes wide and empty. Adrian didn't say a word. He didn't have to.
The walls began to close in.
Patrons around them murmured. A few glanced at their phones. Others stared openly. One woman gasped. Two men at the bar were already laughing—watching the clip. Her name spilled from their mouths like poison. One of them raised his voice.
"Hey, is that her?"
Evelyn shot to her feet, the chair scraping loudly against the floor. Her pulse thundered. Panic surged hot and unrelenting. She couldn't breathe.
Eyes. Phones. Cameras. Whispers that sounded like accusations.
Adrian stood with quiet precision. "We need to go. Now."
"No—" Evelyn's voice cracked. "I—I can't—"
"You can," he said sharply. "Look at me."
She did.
"I'm not them," Adrian said. "But I am dangerous. And if you walk out with me, no one here will dare speak your name again without choking on it."
It wasn't comfort. It was a promise.
She nodded, only once. She doesn't trust people but strangely, she felt save with him.
Adrian moved fast. One hand pressed against her lower back, guiding her through the thickening crowd. He dropped a few bills on the table. The maître d' tried to stop them—press credentials in hand—but Adrian's glare froze him in place.
Outside, the air was cold and stinging. Evelyn gasped as it hit her lungs. Paparazzi had already gathered, summoned by Daniel's drama. Flashbulbs exploded. Voices shouted.
"Evelyn! Is it true?"
"Are you mentally unstable?"
"Did you fake the breakdown for attention?"
She stumbled. Adrian caught her by the waist and pulled her close. Cameras caught the moment—her red-rimmed eyes, his hand like steel on her hip. Something feral flickered in him.
"Get out of our way," Adrian growled.
But they didn't. They pressed in tighter, feeding off the blood in the water.
One reporter shoved a mic in her face. "Is it true that you threatened Daniel's family before the wedding?"
She didn't remember moving. Only the blur of her hand as it smacked the mic away. The gasp from the crowd. The hush.
Then—chaos.
Click. Click. Click.
Her face, twisted in fury.
Adrian surged forward, hand shielding her. "Back off!" he barked.
He dragged her to the car waiting at the curb. The door slammed. Silence—thick and breathless—wrapped around them.
Evelyn pressed a trembling hand to her chest. Her heart was racing. Her pulse wouldn't settle.
"He said I was unstable," she whispered.
"You're not," Adrian said.
Her eyes darted to him. "You don't even know me."
"I know enough."
"You saw that video—you saw—" Her voice broke. "They'll believe him. Everyone always believes him. He's the golden boy, and I'm—what? The bitter, hysterical ex-fiancée? The woman who snapped and ruined her own wedding?"