Chapter 100
“Mr. Blackwood, you’re truly fortunate to have a wife as devoted as Madam Sinclair.”
Zachary Blackwood froze at those words. For a fleeting moment, he could almost see Evelyn gazing up at him with those wide, doe-like eyes—soft yet filled with quiet sorrow.
She would never look at him that way again. And if he claimed it didn’t ache, he’d be lying.
“Evelyn isn’t a blessing,” he muttered under his breath. “She’s a curse.”
With a heavy heart, Zachary retreated to his bedroom, only to pause at the sight of an elegant box resting on the coffee table.
He recognized it instantly—the tailor’s package. His fingers brushed over the lid as he pried it open, expecting to find his repaired suit inside.
And there it was.
The fabric was pristine, not a single stitch out of place. The craftsmanship was impeccable, as though the suit had never been damaged at all. A faint smile tugged at his lips before he could stop it.
“Mr. Blackwood, you still care for Madam Sinclair, don’t you?” Mrs. Winthrop observed, her voice warm with hope.
“I appreciate the suit,” Zachary replied coolly, his fingers tracing the crisp lines of the collar. “It’s well-made. No reason to discard it.”
“But Madam Sinclair went through so much trouble for you, sir.” Mrs. Winthrop sighed, her expression pained. “Please, come with me.”
She led him to Evelyn’s old room, where she opened the innermost door of the towering closet.
“Look inside, Mr. Blackwood.”
Shelves stretched from floor to ceiling, each meticulously organized with boxes of varying sizes and colors. Zachary’s breath caught.
“What… is all this?”
“These are the gifts Madam Sinclair prepared for you over the past three years,” Mrs. Winthrop explained softly. “Every occasion—your birthday, Valentine’s Day, the anniversary of your first meeting—she never missed one.”
Zachary’s chest tightened.
“She knew you never acknowledged them,” the housekeeper continued. “But she kept giving them anyway. As if… as if she hoped one day you might.”
His hands clenched into fists.
“I may not understand what Miss Delacroix means to you,” Mrs. Winthrop said firmly, “but Madam Sinclair loved you with everything she had. And I’ll stand by her until my last breath.”
Her voice turned sharp. “That necklace you gave Miss Delacroix—it appeared at the charity auction, didn’t it? Did her family sell it?”
Zachary stiffened. “That’s enough, Mrs. Winthrop.”
“Madam Sinclair adored that necklace,” the housekeeper pressed on, undeterred. “When she heard you were giving it to Miss Delacroix, she cried herself to sleep!”
Zachary’s knuckles turned white.
Evelyn had cried over a necklace she couldn’t have?
Mrs. Winthrop pulled a velvet box from the closet and opened it before him.
Inside lay treasures Zachary had long forgotten—a pair of crystal cufflinks he’d misplaced, a discarded tie, even an old lighter he hadn’t used in years.
His throat went dry.
“Madam Sinclair would never throw away anything that belonged to you,” Mrs. Winthrop murmured. “Not even the things you left behind.”
Zachary’s jaw clenched.
Was he really making excuses for Vanessa?
“You can keep pretending, Mr. Blackwood,” Mrs. Winthrop said, shaking her head before leaving with a disappointed sigh.
Alone, Zachary stood motionless, his mind reeling.
Evelyn hadn’t been the cold, unfeeling wife he’d believed her to be. She had loved him—deeply, silently, painfully.
So why had he never seen it?
His fingers dug into his palms as bitterness coiled in his chest.
And why, when he finally looked into her eyes, had he found nothing but ice?
