Chapter 700
Evelyn's eyes lingered on the faint pool of light cast by the kitchen lamp onto the tiled floor. The darkness enveloped the room, yet that small glow offered a sliver of comfort. She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "Is she...alright?"
She was inquiring about Isabella. Alexander froze mid-motion, knife hovering above the cutting board. He'd always known Evelyn possessed kindness, but even now—after everything—her concern for Isabella's condition surprised him.
She could have screamed. She could have thrown objects across the room in a rage. Instead, when he'd entered, she'd chosen to swallow her emotions, shut her eyes, and feign sleep. "What a foolish woman," he thought.
A flicker of guilt passed through Alexander's gaze. His hands moved with practiced ease as he diced vegetables and arranged them neatly on a plate. "She survived the surgery, but remains critical. The ICU now. Her survival depends entirely on her willpower."
He'd only caught a glimpse of Isabella being wheeled from the operating theater—pale as parchment, unconscious, before the medical team whisked her away to intensive care.
Isabella was hooked to countless monitors. Alexander knew the statistics—perhaps two in a hundred ICU patients walked out alive. The rest? Existing in limbo between life and death, sustained only by machines.
Evelyn's breath caught. "Isabella's in intensive care?"
She'd heard horror stories about ICUs—how being conscious there felt worse than death itself. Never knowing when the patient in the next bed would exhale their final breath. And every bed filled with someone in that exact state. "Who would go this far for her kidney? Who's behind it?" Evelyn asked.
Alexander's expression darkened. "Organ trafficking ring. Police interrogations yielded nothing—they're protecting whoever's pulling the strings."
Evelyn fell silent. Alexander added, "Their methods were...exceptionally brutal. The kind reserved for mortal enemies."
That was what baffled Alexander most. "Isabella's just a vulnerable woman. Spent years abroad. What possible grudge could justify this?"
Evelyn said nothing. The sizzle of cooking filled the air, and soon Alexander presented a steaming plate of pasta—not ordinary pasta, but loaded with every nutritious ingredient imaginable.
Crowning it—a perfectly fried egg, edges crisp and golden, enough to make stomachs growl. Alexander arranged the small dining table and handed Evelyn a fork. "Try it. If it's unsatisfactory, I'll prepare another."
As he spoke, he grabbed his own plate—barely a few strands of pasta, completely unlike the hearty meal before Evelyn. For a moment, words failed her.
Only two days since she'd last seen him, yet Alexander looked haggard. His jawline sharper, frame noticeably thinner.
Soon Simon entered with fresh clothes and towels. Once finished eating, Alexander headed straight for the shower, shedding bloodstained garments.
Evelyn heard the razor's hum, then running water. Her gaze drifted to the window. Unshed tears stung. Alexander didn't need to speak—his exhaustion radiated. The deep, soul-crushing kind. When he emerged, clean-shaven in fresh pajamas, he appeared more composed—but the crimson veins in his eyes stood out starkly. Approaching Evelyn, he asked softly, "May I sleep on the bed?"
Evelyn frowned. "Absolutely not."
"Ah." Disappointment flickered across Alexander's face—so brief she might have imagined it. "Then you rest. I'll remain here. I'm not leaving this time." He pulled a chair to her bedside. Evelyn thought, "Is he seriously going to watch me sleep?"
The house was so silent their whispers carried to the doorway where Simon still lingered. "Mrs. Whitmore, Mr. Whitmore kept vigil at your hospital bed all last night. Didn't sleep a wink. At dawn, he rushed off to rescue someone. Another sleepless night might break him."
Simon spoke truth. Alexander's pallor and hollow cheeks screamed of a man pushed beyond limits.
"Why are you still here?" Alexander scowled, clearly irritated by Simon's presence.
"Passionate about my work, sir. Overtime brings me joy. No extra pay required," Simon added hastily.
"Double your bonus. Now leave," Alexander ordered.
Simon's eyes brightened, though he maintained composure. "Of course. I'll ensure you're undisturbed." Evelyn wondered, "Did he truly stay all night?" She couldn't be certain, but Simon wasn't one for deceit.
She glanced at the empty half of the bed. "Perhaps sharing wouldn't be terrible."
"Evelyn, if you're awake, may we talk?" Alexander's gaze held hers steadily.
Evelyn met his eyes. "About what? That you regret abandoning me to save Isabella?"
Alexander's face remained shadowed.
Evelyn continued. "That you wish you'd been there during my accident? Or that given the chance, you'd choose her again every single time?" Alexander replied, "Yes. I would."
Her lips twisted into a bitter smile—as if she'd expected nothing less. "You had reasons. I understand. But each choice for her leaves me behind."
Frustration tightened Alexander's chest.
Evelyn scoffed. "Perhaps you think me unreasonable—angry when her life hung in the balance. Eventually, will I become a burden? Will resentment grow because I couldn't be more understanding?" "Never!" Alexander interjected sharply.
But Evelyn cut him off. "It doesn't matter. I'll never be first, Alexander. That's not something I can accept."
She held his gaze, voice calm yet firm. "Alexander, we're good people. But rather than dragging this marriage until we despise each other, let's end it now—before it's too late."
Alexander had once been everything Evelyn dreamed of—perfect in every way. So perfect she believed marrying him guaranteed happily ever after.
An exceptional man who overlooked her complicated past—even her involvement with her nephew. He'd supported her, provided safety when needed.
But everything shattered when Isabella appeared. Their coupledom became a trio. Alexander, repeatedly drawn to Isabella, grew distant—physically and emotionally. This wasn't the life Evelyn wanted.
Alexander's voice trembled slightly, bloodshot eyes wide with disbelief. "Evelyn, are you suggesting divorce?"
Evelyn nodded. "I warned you before marrying—if we divorced, I'd leave with nothing."
After all, she'd entered this marriage with nothing. He'd given her everything—security, comfort, unlimited credit for household expenses.
Evelyn was genuinely grateful. She retrieved a sleek black card from the drawer. "The card you gave me at our wedding. Barely used. I'm returning it."
Her expression remained calm, voice soft—merely stating facts. She and Alexander had shared beautiful moments. In this marriage, Evelyn had rediscovered long-lost warmth. Experienced his care, his constant championing of her.
She'd loved him deeply. If asked later, Evelyn would say Alexander had been a good husband. Their divorce wasn't because he was bad—simply because they weren't right.
Life was long. Some people only walk part of your journey with you. Someone always disembarks first. That's why Evelyn refused to let their relationship end in ugliness.
Even without the perfect ending, their shared journey held meaning. She'd always be grateful for his protection, support, and care.
Tears glistened in Evelyn's eyes. Her nose burned sharply. She inhaled deeply, summoning every ounce of courage. When she finally spoke, her voice cracked uncontrollably. "I only want custody of our son. Nothing else. Alexander, let's end this. Let's divorce."
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