Chapter 103

Evelyn felt her cheeks burn with humiliation. Alexander noticed everything.

"Evelyn Carter," Ethan Caldwell sneered, his voice dripping with contempt. "You're doing this just to spite me, aren't you? And now you're shamelessly chasing after Uncle Alexander? Have you no dignity?"

Ryan Fletcher, who had remained quiet until now, suddenly let out a low chuckle.

"Ethan, you're mistaken," Ryan said, amusement lacing his words. "A woman pursuing a man isn't shameless—it's bold. Didn't you hear her? She's done with you. Who she chooses now is none of your concern."

Ethan's eyes narrowed dangerously.

"Ryan, you went on a blind date with her too," he snapped. "She rejected you and is now after my uncle. And yet, here you are, stirring the pot like it doesn't embarrass you."

Ryan smirked. "Why should I be embarrassed? You're the one who cheated, not me. Besides, hardly anyone knows about our blind date."

His grin widened. "Or are you just scared she’ll actually end up with Alexander and become your aunt?"

The tension between them crackled like live wires.

Fists clenched, they squared off, ready to throw punches.

Unfazed, Evelyn grabbed her bag and strode out of the infirmary without a backward glance.

Vanessa Hart hurried after her.

"It was you playing the cello in the music room that day, wasn’t it?" Vanessa called out.

Evelyn didn’t stop walking.

The question hung in the air, unanswered.

Evelyn kept walking, ignoring the voice calling after her.

"I recognize you!" The words cut through the chilly evening air. "After what happened, you swore you'd never touch a cello again. Evelyn, you lied!"

The plaza outside Titan Capital Group was nearly empty at this hour.

Darkness had settled over Cresthaven.

Eighteen-year-old Ethan Caldwell had been in a horrific accident.

The impact had left him clinging to life, unconscious for days. His mother Eleanor had flown in specialists from across the globe, pulling him back from death's door through sheer willpower.

Almost no one knew the truth—that Evelyn was the reason he'd been behind the wheel that night.

Rain had been pouring in sheets when she'd finished her late-night rehearsal. Stranded without a taxi, he'd insisted on picking her up himself.

She remembered standing beneath the theater's awning, her cello case clutched tightly, watching in horror as his car skidded across the slick pavement and slammed into a lamppost.

During those endless days when Ethan lay motionless in the hospital, Evelyn had drowned in guilt. She believed with absolute certainty that she'd destroyed his life.

Back then, she'd been too naive to recognize the signs.

He had loved her.

The evening air was crisp as Evelyn found herself drawn to the hospital garden. Seeking solace, she settled by the flower beds, her fingers trembling as they hovered over the strings of her cello.

The melody she played was hauntingly tender, wrapping around her like a shroud of memories she couldn’t shake. Each note carried the weight of her grief, pulling her deeper into the fog of her thoughts.

Then Eleanor stormed in, her face twisted with fury. Without a word, she snatched the cello from Evelyn’s grasp and smashed it against the ground. The sound of splintering wood echoed in the silence.

Evelyn didn’t protest.

She’s right, she thought numbly. Ethan nearly died because of me. What right do I have to play?

From that moment on, she abandoned the cello, locking away that part of herself—until now.

“Back then, I stopped playing out of guilt for Ethan,” Evelyn said, turning to face Vanessa with a faint, defiant smile. “But he’s dead to me now. Why shouldn’t I play again?”

She had sacrificed her passion for Ethan once.

But Alexander’s quiet request—his longing to hear her play—had reignited something in her.

After a quick dinner near Titan Capital Group, she returned to finish her IV treatment. The fever had broken, leaving only the last of the anti-inflammatory medication dripping steadily into her veins.

Ethan and the others were long gone.

The room was silent.

Alexander returned to the hospital after a late-night business dinner, his tie slightly loosened from the evening's formalities.

The sterile white walls of the infusion room greeted him, but his attention was immediately drawn to the lone figure slumped in one of the chairs.

Evelyn.

An IV needle was taped to the back of her slender hand, her head tilted to the side in restless sleep. The harsh fluorescent light above cast shadows beneath her eyes, making her look even more fragile than usual.

His jaw tightened.

Without hesitation, he shrugged off his tailored suit jacket and draped it carefully over her shoulders, the fabric swallowing her petite frame.

The moment the warmth settled over her, Evelyn stirred, her lashes fluttering open.

Blinking up at him in confusion, her voice came out hoarse from sleep. "Alex? What are you doing here?"

The surprise in her tired eyes made something in his chest twist.

He hadn't planned on seeing her like this—vulnerable, exhausted, and completely unaware of how much it affected him.

But here they were.