Chapter 128

The winter air was biting cold, the kind that seeped into your bones. Snowflakes drifted lazily from the sky, blanketing the world in white.

Ethan Caldwell had intended to slip away for a quick smoke, craving the burn of nicotine in his lungs. But as he rounded the corner of the school building, a sound stopped him in his tracks—soft, muffled sobs coming from the locked stall of the girls' restroom.

Teenagers were cruel. He knew that better than most. Bullying was practically a rite of passage in high school.

Yet, as he exhaled the last drag of his cigarette, the quiet weeping grew louder, tugging at something deep inside him. Normally, he wouldn’t have cared. But today, his feet moved on their own, as if pulled by an invisible force.

With one sharp kick, the stall door flew open.

There, huddled in the corner, was Evelyn Carter. Small. Shivering. Her thin sweater did nothing against the winter chill.

Even now, years later, Ethan could still picture her face perfectly—those wide, tear-filled eyes, so clear they seemed to hold the entire universe.

His heart stuttered.

That one look. That single moment of connection.

It was as if something dormant inside him had suddenly awakened.

The sight of Evelyn Carter struck Ethan Caldwell like a bolt of lightning to his soul. Her presence was magnetic, impossible to ignore.

His pulse raced wildly. He could feel heat creeping up his neck, grateful for the dim bathroom lighting and the way he stood silhouetted against it. Surely, she hadn’t noticed.

To mask his unease, he forced an air of indifference, turning away before tossing his charcoal-gray scarf toward her.

Evelyn stood there in nothing but a soft butter-yellow sweater, her lips tinged blue from the cold. He knew she must be freezing.

That scarf had been the first thread binding them together—a silent promise.

Ethan had assumed she cherished it. Yet, just a month ago, she had tossed it aside without hesitation.

After nearly a decade of keeping it, she had discarded it like it meant nothing.

The memory cut off abruptly. Staring at Evelyn now, he felt as though he were looking at a stranger.

She still wore pale yellow, but everything else about her had changed—especially the way her gaze held his, cool and detached.

"I wasn’t looking for you," Evelyn said flatly, taking two deliberate steps back to widen the distance between them.

His jaw tightened. "Really? Then who? Vanessa?"

Ethan's brows furrowed as he tilted his head, studying her with suspicion. "You can't seriously be here to see Alexander, can you?"

His expression darkened, lips curling into a mocking smirk. "Still haven't given up? Still trying to use him to get under my skin?"

Evelyn didn't bother answering. She brushed past him, her heels clicking against the marble pathway as she strode toward the grand entrance of Hawthorne Estate.

Ethan's hand shot out, gripping her wrist. "Evelyn, enough games. What the hell are you playing at?"

She met his gaze with icy defiance, unwilling to waste another second.

With deliberate slowness, she lifted her hand, the sunlight catching the dazzling diamond on her finger. "I'm Alexander's wife now. So from this moment on, you’ll address me as 'aunt.' Understood, nephew?"

Ethan froze, his grip slackening as if struck by lightning.

He had noticed the ring days ago, but dismissed it as just another piece of jewelry. Young women wear rings all the time—it doesn’t mean anything.

The sheer absurdity of her claim made him scoff. He quickened his steps to catch up, his voice dripping with derision. "Did you pick that up from some street vendor? Honestly, Evelyn, this is pathetic even for you."

Evelyn's fingers curled around the velvet box in her pocket, the weight of it burning against her thigh. She didn't flinch when Ethan's voice cracked through the air like a whip.

"An engagement ring? Really, Evelyn?" His laugh was sharp, mocking. "What kind of pathetic lie is that? Do you even hear yourself?"

She kept walking, her spine straight, her gaze fixed ahead. The grand doors of Whitmore Manor swung open before her, the polished wood gleaming under the chandelier's glow.

Ethan grabbed her wrist. "Stop this nonsense!"

The air in the foyer hummed with tension. Every branch of the Whitmore family had gathered tonight—faces Evelyn recognized from society pages and whispered warnings.

Alexander might have been absent, buried in work as usual, but the rest of them were there. Watching.

Ethan's grip tightened. "You're making a scene."

She yanked her arm free just as the murmur of voices in the drawing room cut off.

All eyes turned toward them.

Silence.

Then—

"Evelyn?" Grace Caldwell's voice, sweet as poisoned honey, rang out first. "What a... surprise."

Evelyn smiled. It wasn't the brittle, practiced one she'd worn for years. This one was different.

Dangerous.

She reached into her pocket.

The velvet box snapped open with a click that echoed through the room.

A collective inhale.

The diamond caught the light, scattering prisms across the shocked faces of the Whitmore dynasty.

Ethan paled.

"Surprise," Evelyn said softly.

And the chaos began.