Chapter 139

Evelyn turned away without a word, her heels clicking against the pavement as she headed toward Willowbrook Apartments.

Suddenly, Ethan Caldwell lunged from his car, his fingers closing around her wrist like a vice.

He dragged her into the shadowed alley beside the building. "You and Alexander have a marriage contract, don't you?"

Her pulse spiked. "That's none of your concern! Whatever arrangement we have doesn't involve you!"

His grip tightened. "The hell it doesn't. You're mine, Evelyn. If I say it matters, then it does."

She scoffed, wrenching free. "Are you delusional? You're married. I'm married. Since when am I yours?"

Her palm cracked against his cheek. "And let’s get one thing straight—you will address me as Mrs. Whitmore, you insolent little fool."

Ethan’s audacity left her breathless.

Had he been tailing them since they left the Whitmore Manor gathering?

Now that Alexander wasn’t here to shield her, he thought he could corner her like this?

The alley walls seemed to press closer, the air thick with tension.

Evelyn squared her shoulders, meeting his stormy gaze head-on. "Walk away, Ethan. Before this gets ugly."

A slow, dangerous smirk curled his lips. "Oh, sweetheart… it already is."

Was that all Ethan could do? Why couldn't he face Alexander directly? Evelyn thought bitterly.

She attempted to brush past him, her heels clicking sharply against the marble floor.

There was nothing left to say between them.

Yet his grip on her wrist remained unyielding. Her words had cracked his carefully maintained facade.

His stormy blue eyes darkened, the veins in his neck standing out as he stared at her in disbelief.

"You married Alexander? That's impossible—it can't be real!" His voice was rough with desperation. "This has to be some kind of arrangement."

Yes, he convinced himself. It had to be a marriage of convenience.

No love, no passion—just another cold alliance between powerful families, bound by mutual gain and destined to dissolve when the benefits ran dry.

His jaw tightened as he studied her, his mind made up.

"You're doing this because I married Vanessa," he accused, his tone hardening. "You want me to regret it."

Before she could respond, he yanked out his phone, shoving it toward her.

"Unblock me, Evelyn. Add me back—now."

His demand hung in the air, sharp and unrelenting.

Evelyn stared at Ethan Caldwell, and suddenly, she found him…utterly absurd.

The truth was staring him right in the face, yet Ethan stubbornly refused to accept it. He kept demanding answers—whether her marriage to Alexander was merely a business arrangement rather than a union of love.

But what did it matter now? Even if he got his confirmation, could they ever turn back time?

Their issues had never been about Alexander.

"You're married. So am I." Evelyn's voice was calm, detached. "Let's just leave things as they are."

She slipped her wrist free from his grasp. "Let's end this civilly."

"Evelyn, don't you dare walk away!" Ethan's voice cracked like a whip. "Did I say you could leave? You’re not going anywhere!"

He lunged forward, closing the distance between them. "End this civilly? You chased me for seven years, and now you think you can just walk away with a single sentence?"

"Then what do you want?" Her gaze was steady, unflinching.

"You were the one who pursued me first." His jaw tightened. "So, the ending should be mine to decide."

Evelyn almost laughed. She studied him, her expression cool and unreadable.

The rain had started to fall, a soft drizzle that blurred the edges of the world.

Ethan Caldwell stood there, his chest tight, his breath coming in shallow gasps. The words still echoed in his mind, sharp as knives.

"Ethan, are you insane? Let me make this clear—you will call me Aunt Evelyn now. I am Alexander Whitmore's wife."

Her voice had been ice. Unyielding.

"You think this isn't over? Go ask Alexander if he agrees!"

With that, Evelyn had turned away, her heels clicking against the marble floor as she ascended the stairs without a backward glance.

Ethan reached out, as if to stop her, but a wave of dizziness crashed over him. His vision swam. He pressed a hand against the wall, sliding down until he crouched on the floor, his lungs burning.

She didn’t look back. Not even when his knees hit the ground. Not even when his breath hitched.

The realization struck him like a physical blow.

This coldness… this finality…

The woman who had once chased after him, who had always been there when he turned around—she was gone.

Not just from this moment. Not just from the second she had declared her love for Alexander in front of everyone.

No.

She had let him go long before that.