Chapter 2

Evelyn's face drained of color, her once-vibrant eyes turning dull. Those three torturous years should have been enough to open her eyes.

She inhaled sharply, struggling to contain the tempest of emotions raging within her, her nails digging into her palms.

As the car glided beneath an overpass, the flickering light painted shifting shadows across Ethan's face, accentuating his unyielding coldness.

Swallowing the bitterness rising in her throat, Evelyn forced out the question burning inside her. "Ethan... Did you pay those inmates to torment me?"

Behind bars, she had shattered countless times, even contemplating ending it all.

But she couldn't bring herself to let go of Ethan. She feared he wouldn’t survive without her.

She never imagined he could be this merciless.

Ethan's reply was ice-cold. "What answer are you hoping for?"

Evelyn stiffened, then let out a hollow laugh.

Was that his way of admitting it?

To him, she was nothing but a jealous woman who had orchestrated Vanessa’s kidnapping, nearly leading to her assault.

The evidence had been overwhelming, leaving Evelyn defenseless.

Vanessa had been ruthless enough to sacrifice her own reputation—and she had won.

Suddenly, Evelyn realized how absurd her seven years of devotion had been.

Her gaze turned vacant as the car halted in front of what used to be their home.

She had poured her heart into this house—every renovation, every piece of furniture, even the placement of the flowerpots. She had painted the walls herself.

She had spent endless nights dreaming of a future here with Ethan.

Now, the house was littered with Vanessa's belongings.

Evelyn’s chest tightened as if pierced by needles. Her lips paled from how hard she bit them, her heart turning to stone.

Ethan ignored her anguish. He turned to the maid and ordered, "She reeks. Clean her up."

The maid nodded and guided Evelyn to the bathroom.

Inside, the maid wrinkled her nose. "Miss, when was the last time you bathed? You should take better care of yourself."

Easy for you to say when you weren’t beaten daily in prison. But Evelyn stayed silent.

Once the maid left, she locked the door and scrubbed her skin raw for an hour.

The scars from prison still clung to her.

For three years, she had endured relentless torment. Though the last month had brought some reprieve, her wounds hadn’t healed.

Some were hidden—bruises, scratches, jagged gashes.

The prison had offered no medical care, leaving injuries to fester. The worst was the deep scar on her left foot, which ached with every storm, a cruel reminder of her suffering.

Whenever the pain flared, Evelyn repeated to herself that it would fade—eventually.

Stepping out of the shower, she slipped into the fresh clothes the maid had left. They fit perfectly.

But the moment she opened the door, she collided with Ethan.

She staggered, nearly falling back.

His hand shot out, gripping her waist to steady her.

The contact sent a jolt through them both.

Evelyn’s pulse spiked as she found herself pressed against his chest, the scent of tobacco clinging to him.

She quickly pulled away, putting distance between them.

Trying to sound composed, she murmured, "I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to—"

Noticing the cigarette in Ethan’s hand, she realized he must have been on his way outside when they crossed paths.

His eyes darkened. "What did you just call me?" His voice was dangerously low. "What game are you playing now, Evelyn?"

She bit her lip, fighting back the sting of tears.

It seemed no matter what she did, he would always see her as deceitful.

Ethan’s jaw tightened as he brought the cigarette to his lips.

He refused to acknowledge how her sudden absence left him feeling hollow.

And those teary eyes of hers—they ignited something primal in him, a violent urge he had to suppress.

Lighting the cigarette with a flick of impatience, he exhaled sharply. "Three years in prison, and all you’ve learned is how to seduce men better?"

A mocking smirk curled his lips. "That desperate?"