Chapter 278

The sheets still held his warmth when he left. Alexander could be scorching between silk sheets yet ice-cold in boardrooms. The same hands that traced constellations on Evelyn's bare back signed corporate death warrants without blinking.

How did this man—who whispered poetry into her hair at dawn—command such terror from the entire Whitmore dynasty? Evelyn's fingers tightened around her coffee cup. She knew the charming facade hid depths even she hadn't plumbed.

Her phone shattered the silence.

"Evelyn." Richard Hayes' voice carried the weight of decades-old disappointment. "Christmas Eve dinner. Your mother's making crown roast." A calculated pause. "Oliver flew in from Geneva."

The mention of her brother stayed Evelyn's finger over the 'end call' button. Oliver was four years younger, the only Hayes who'd smuggled birthday cakes into her attic bedroom.

Maple syrup sunlight pooled across the kitchen island as memories surfaced—Oliver's thirteen-year-old hands bandaging her scraped knees after Vanessa "accidentally" pushed her down the marble stairs.

"Tell Mom..." Evelyn watched Alexander's tailored silhouette through the glass doors as he barked orders into his headset. "...I'll bring dessert."

The lie tasted bitter. She wouldn't step foot in Hawthorne Estate without Alexander's security detail. Not after last Thanksgiving's "knife incident" with Vanessa.

Her phone buzzed again—a Geneva area code. Oliver's text glowed: Bring that husband of yours. I want to see if he flinches when I test the silverware for poison.

Evelyn's laugh startled the passing housekeeper. Some bonds even Richard's manipulations couldn't tarnish.

The phone screen lit up with an all-too-familiar name.

Evelyn hesitated before answering, her fingers hovering over the call button.

Richard Hayes.

Her father.

The man who had once turned his back on her when she needed him most.

She exhaled sharply and swiped to accept the call.

"Evelyn, darling," Richard's voice oozed false warmth. "It's been too long."

She clenched her jaw.

Three years.

Three years since she had walked away from the Hayes family.

Three years since they had chosen reputation over her.

"Mr. Hayes," she said coolly. "What do you want?"

Richard chuckled, undeterred by her tone. "Now, now, is that any way to speak to your father? It's Christmas. The family misses you. Oliver especially."

Oliver.

Her younger brother.

The only person in that house who had ever truly cared for her.

But Oliver had been abroad when everything happened.

If the Hayes family had kept him in the dark, he might not even know the truth of what she had endured.

Not that it mattered.

She had no intention of returning to Hawthorne Estate.

If she wanted to see Oliver, they could meet anywhere—a café, a park, anywhere but that gilded cage.

She knew Richard's real motive.

This wasn’t about family.

This was about Alexander Whitmore.

Her husband.

And the power and connections he represented.

"Mr. Hayes," Evelyn repeated, her voice steady. "I cut ties with the Hayes family a long time ago. Oliver is no longer my brother. Whatever business you have with me—or with Alexander—ends here. Don’t call me again."

Richard sighed dramatically. "Sweetheart, I’ve already apologized. How long are you going to hold onto the past? It’s been years. You need to move forward, not dwell on petty grudges."

Petty.

As if betrayal could ever be petty.

"Come home," Richard pressed. "We’re family. Blood binds us, no matter what. It’s Christmas. We should be together. Besides—" His voice dropped, laced with false sincerity. "There’s something important I need to discuss with you."

Evelyn’s grip tightened around the phone.

She knew that tone.

It was the same one he had used before dropping life-altering "news" on her in the past.

"Goodbye, Mr. Hayes," she said flatly.

Then she ended the call.

Evelyn didn't bother responding. She ended the call with a sharp tap of her finger.

What was the point of this hollow, staged family reunion?

On the other end, Margaret studied Richard's stormy expression. "So, Evelyn still refuses to come home?"

Richard clenched his jaw. "That girl! She's always been stubborn. Oliver was the only one she ever listened to, and now even with him back, she won’t set foot in this house. Ungrateful!"

The young man lounging on the sofa stiffened at the words. His dark brows drew together. "Ungrateful?" Oliver's voice was dangerously soft. "After everything you’ve done to her, you dare call her ungrateful?"

Oliver Hayes had the kind of striking features that commanded attention—thick, tousled hair, a blade-sharp nose, and eyes that glittered like frost under moonlight. Right now, those eyes were locked onto Richard with icy disdain.

Richard swallowed hard, wisely choosing silence. The last thing he needed was his volatile son storming out.

Just then, Vanessa swept into the room, clutching a gaudy gift box. "Oliver, darling! I heard you were back. I picked this out just for you!"

Oliver didn’t even look at her. "Did I just hear you call yourself my sister?"

Without another word, he shoved to his feet and strode out, leaving Vanessa clutching her unopened gift, her smile frozen in place.

Vanessa's cheeks burned with humiliation.

Richard attempted to diffuse the tension, saying, "He's still young and doesn't understand. Vanessa, give him a break."

"Young?" Vanessa nearly scoffed aloud.

Oliver was already twenty-one—far from a child.

The audacity of his behavior made her blood boil.

She clenched her fists, nails digging into her palms.

Richard’s dismissive tone only added fuel to the fire.

Vanessa exhaled sharply, forcing herself to remain composed.

She wouldn’t let Oliver’s immaturity get under her skin.

Not again.

Not when she had far more important matters to deal with.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket, a welcome distraction.

She pulled it out, glancing at the screen.

A message from Alexander.

Her pulse quickened.

Whatever he had to say, it had to be better than this pointless argument.

She turned away without another word, leaving Richard and Oliver behind.

The tension in the air was thick enough to cut with a knife.

But she refused to be the one to break first.

Not this time.

Not ever again.

Vanessa's blood boiled with rage, but she kept her expression carefully neutral.

Richard had always preferred sons over daughters. Over the years, Vanessa had only dared to bully Evelyn, never Oliver.

Oddly enough, it was as if they were destined to clash. Even before Evelyn was brought back into the family, Oliver had never gotten along with Vanessa.

Margaret glanced behind Vanessa and raised an eyebrow. "Vanessa, it's Christmas. Why didn't Ethan come back with you?"

At the mention of Ethan, Vanessa's face tightened.

She forced a smile. "The Caldwells have so many relatives. Ethan couldn’t get away right now. He promised to visit in a few days."

Margaret let out a soft, mocking laugh. "Couldn’t get away? We’re his in-laws! And this is your first Christmas as a married couple. Has he already forgotten about you?"

Vanessa’s irritation flared. How could she possibly admit that Ethan was in the middle of divorcing her?

Just then, something hard pressed uncomfortably against her back.