Chapter 74

Tears burned behind Evelyn's eyelids as she spun on her heel and marched out of the police station. She refused to sign the release papers. She didn’t even take her phone back from Dominic.

Dominic signed the documents himself and left shortly after. In the car, he silently handed her phone to her, his voice low. "I didn’t go through it."

Evelyn snatched it back, her breath uneven. "But you already know what’s in there."

"Are they important? Those photos…"

She clenched her jaw, forcing herself not to snap at him. After all, he was the one who had retrieved her phone. Her fingers tightened around the device as she asked, "What if I told you the baby you forced me to abort wasn’t Julian’s… but yours? Would you feel even a shred of guilt?"

Dominic turned his head sharply, his gaze piercing.

Evelyn’s expression was deadly serious.

His throat worked before he answered, voice rough. "From the IVF?"

"Yes," she said, holding his stare. "You killed your own child with your own hands. Do you feel anything at all?"

She searched his face, desperate for even a flicker of remorse—anything to prove he wasn’t completely heartless.

She needed to believe he was human.

But his expression only darkened. He knew his words would wound her, yet he said them anyway, cold and detached. "No. It was never meant to exist."

Evelyn let out a bitter laugh. "Would you be so calm if your own parents had said that about you?"

"I’d thank them," he replied flatly. "Not everyone wants to be born, Evelyn."

Her brows lifted.

He didn’t want to exist?

How?

Dominic’s mother adored him. He had wealth, power, people who worshipped him.

Why such bitterness?

What had happened to him?

"Are you depressed?" she asked, unable to stop herself from slipping into clinical analysis. "There are treatments. If you’re ill, you should see a doctor."

For a fraction of a second, something flickered in his eyes.

Then his lips curled into a sardonic smile. "If pretending I’m sick makes you care, then by all means—treat me like a patient."

They arrived at the mansion close to midnight.

Exhausted, Evelyn collapsed into bed, too drained to think. Sleep claimed her almost instantly.

That night, she dreamed.

She dreamed of Dominic—young and vulnerable.

Of a father with a belt in hand, fury in his eyes.

Of a boy who screamed until his voice broke.

She woke with a gasp, heart pounding.

Dawn light seeped through the curtains.

Sitting up, she whispered to herself, "No. His mother would never have allowed that. Dreams aren’t real."

But deep down, she knew.

Something dark had shaped him.

Something that made him hate the world.

Hate life itself.

Her anger toward him softened, just a little.

He wasn’t the villain.

Neither was she.

Fate had simply woven them together in the cruelest way possible.