Chapter 26

The phone buzzed with Claire's name flashing on the screen. Evelyn swiped to answer without hesitation.

"Sweetheart, I completely lost track of time! Is today your discharge day?"

The distant chatter of a film set hummed through the receiver. Claire must have stolen a moment between takes.

"If you don’t want to return to Hawthorne Estate, you can crash at my place for now. I’ll text you the address and the entry code—"

Evelyn shook her head instinctively. "That’s not necessary. You and Lucas are married. It wouldn’t be right for me to stay there."

Even though Claire and Lucas’s marriage was purely transactional—devoid of any real affection—they were still legally bound.

Staying at their home while Claire was away filming? Absolutely out of the question.

She refused to invite even a whisper of impropriety.

Claire’s voice tightened with concern. "Then where will you go?"

Evelyn exhaled, fingers tracing the edge of her hospital blanket.

"To my fiancé’s place."

Claire's voice erupted through the phone, sharp with disbelief.

"Evelyn Carter, I thought you swore off chasing after toxic men like Ethan Caldwell! What's this nonsense about going back to him? Have you lost your mind? I should fly back right now and shake some sense into you!"

She had seen the scandalous headlines during her layover—Ethan and Vanessa Hart's disgraceful hotel rendezvous splashed across every tabloid. The sheer audacity of those two made her blood boil.

Claire had called to console her best friend, only to hear Evelyn mention an engagement. Her stomach dropped.

"Tell me you're not crawling back to that cheating snake. He humiliated you in front of the entire city, and you're still tolerating it?"

Evelyn exhaled sharply.

"You've got it all wrong. The man I'm engaged to isn't Ethan."

Silence.

Then—

"Excuse me?" Claire's voice pitched higher. "Since when are you seeing someone else? Who is he? What does he do? How did this even happen?"

Evelyn bit her lip.

She couldn't answer a single one of those questions.

Claire knew just as little about her supposed fiancé as I did.

"I'll explain everything soon," I whispered into the phone. "I just got to his place. Talk later."

The keypad beeped softly as Evelyn entered the code. The house stood silent, empty.

Sunlight streamed through the windows, painting golden stripes across the hardwood floors. The space wasn’t grand, but it felt warm—like a place where laughter should live.

Yet, it lacked personality. No scattered books, no half-drunk coffee mugs.

Does Alexander even live here?

She slipped off her heels and padded through the rooms in borrowed slippers. Just as she reached the kitchen, her phone buzzed.

Groceries are stocked. Cook if you want. If not, order in. The black card is on the shoe rack—no limit. Use it.

A second message followed.

Working late. Don’t wait up. We’ll get the license tomorrow at nine.

Evelyn’s fingers hovered over the screen before she turned toward the entryway. The sleek metallic card glinted under the hallway light.

She picked it up, weighing it in her palm.

This wasn’t hers. Not really.

Alexander’s generosity came from obligation—a debt owed for pulling him out of a wrecked car years ago.

And debts, no matter how freely given, weren’t meant to be exploited.

His vow of forever meant nothing to her.

She had learned the hard way that promises were as fleeting as morning dew. Once burned, twice shy.

Meanwhile, Alexander waited. Five minutes passed without a reply from Evelyn. A shadow of disappointment flickered across his face.

His lips pressed into a thin line as he powered off his phone.

"Mr. Whitmore, Titan Capital Group's stocks crashed this morning. Even Mr. Whitmore Sr. has been alerted." Simon placed two documents on the desk. "The media storm is escalating. PR drafted a damage control plan—should we proceed?"

Given the Whitmore name was at stake, the PR team treaded carefully, seeking Alexander’s approval first.

Alexander didn’t bother looking up. His voice was ice. "Tell PR to stand down. Whoever started this mess can clean it up themselves."

Simon nodded and left, shutting the door quietly behind him.

Thirty minutes later, Ethan Caldwell barged in, face flushed with fury. "Alexander, have you lost your mind? This scandal is spiraling, and you’re refusing PR intervention? Do you want the entire Cresthaven laughing at us?"

The silence in the office was suffocating.

Ethan Caldwell stood frozen, his earlier bravado crumbling under the weight of his own recklessness. He had acted without thinking, and now the consequences loomed before him.

Alexander Whitmore remained seated, his gaze fixed on the documents spread across his desk. His fingers moved methodically, flipping through pages as if Ethan hadn’t spoken at all. The indifference was more cutting than any outburst.

Ethan swallowed hard, his pulse hammering in his throat. He had expected anger, a confrontation—anything but this chilling disregard.

He hesitated, then tried again, his voice quieter this time.

"Alexander?"

Still, no response.

The air between them thickened with tension, heavy enough to suffocate. Ethan clenched his fists, frustration warring with unease.

He had crossed a line.

And now, he wasn’t sure how to step back.