Chapter 11
Evelyn, dressed in an ethereal sky-blue gown, was singing a hauntingly beautiful aria to Nathan, her voice carrying on the morning breeze. Her golden hair was swept up into an elegant chignon, secured with a delicate diamond pin. She looked every inch the captivating enchantress.
Nathan broke into applause when she finished, his eyes warm with admiration. “Impressive. You’ve been well-trained. In another era, you might have been some duke’s prized jewel.”
“Do I look like I want to be anyone’s trophy?” Evelyn scoffed, cracking her knuckles, shattering the illusion of delicate femininity in an instant. “I’d rather be a queen who commands her own destiny. Men are hardly worth the trouble.”
Nathan chuckled dryly. “Spoken like someone with three stepmothers.”
Evelyn adjusted her skirts and sat beside him, her expression darkening at the mention of her father’s other wives.
“Evie, it’s been three years. They miss you. They ask about you—privately, when Father isn’t around.”
“What are you getting at, Nathan?”
“I know you left to work with Doctors Without Borders because you were furious with Father,” Nathan murmured, draping an arm around her shoulders. “But that’s just who he is. We don’t get to choose our family. Everyone has flaws. You loved Sebastian Blackwood for years—haven’t you noticed his imperfections after three years of marriage?”
Evelyn’s fingers tightened around the bracelet on her wrist.
“The difference is, you can walk away from Sebastian. But Father? That bond can’t be broken. Try to accept him as he is. He loves you. And his wives—they’ve kept our home running all these years. None of them are schemers. I swear it.”
What Nathan didn’t know was that she had already made peace with them—two years ago, after a certain incident.
Meanwhile, Maxwell finished dressing Sebastian’s wound and left the room.
Sebastian massaged his temples, exhausted by Vanessa’s earlier tantrum. He remembered her as gentle, kind—an angel in human form. Now, she seemed capable of unraveling at the slightest provocation. People change, he thought with a sigh. But no matter what, Vanessa had been his anchor through the darkest times. He owed her loyalty. He would marry her.
He forced himself to review documents despite the lingering pain when his gaze snagged on the suit draped over the couch. Curious, he picked it up.
Sebastian and Nathan were roughly the same height, but Sebastian was broader, more muscular. Yet the suit fit him perfectly. “Tasteless,” he muttered—yet moments later, he was slipping it on.
He studied himself in the full-length mirror. One flex of his arms confirmed the impeccable fit. The craftsmanship rivaled that of high-end designer brands. “Who knew a country girl had such refined taste?”
A knock interrupted him. Mrs. Winthrop entered with a cup of warm milk. “Oh! You’re wearing the suit Madam Evelyn made for you! She’ll be thrilled!” Her delight was palpable. In the Blackwood household, only Mrs. Winthrop had ever treated Evelyn with genuine kindness.
Sebastian stiffened. “What did you say?”
“The suit you’re wearing. Madam Evelyn had it made for you. She asked me to collect it from the atelier a month ago—made me swear to keep it secret. Said it was an early birthday gift.”
A birthday gift? His birthday wasn’t for months. He stood frozen.
“Mrs. Winthrop, I know you were fond of Evelyn, but she’s gone. There’s no need to keep up the charade.” His voice turned icy.
“I’ve watched you grow into the man you are today, Mr. Blackwood. No one in this house is more honest with you than I am.” She stepped closer, admiring his reflection. “Madam Evelyn said tailoring takes time. Every stitch was done by hand. The fabric was custom-woven. Even the buttons were cast from an original mold. She spent every spare moment at the atelier, between her duties. When it was finished, she hid it—didn’t want you finding out too soon.”
Sebastian’s pulse quickened.
“If you don’t believe me, check the label. Your name is embroidered there.”
He tore off the jacket as if burned and flung it onto the couch. “We’re divorced. I don’t care what she did. Leave.”
“But why did you divorce, Mr. Blackwood? She loved you so deeply—”
“Loved me?” He laughed bitterly. “Then why did she throw herself into another man’s arms the second she left me?”
“Madam Evelyn would never—”
“You never really know someone, do you?”
He unleashed a torrent of accusations, his anger white-hot. “Why pretend devotion when she felt nothing? Did she think I’d fall for her act? Did she take me for a fool?”
“There must be a misunderstanding, Mr. Blackwood. I saw how much she loved you.” Mrs. Winthrop shook her head sadly as she carefully folded the suit.
“Enough.”
“You’ll regret letting her go.”
Evelyn had planned to sleep in, but her body woke her at dawn—old habits died hard. This was when she used to prepare breakfast for the Blackwoods. Now? No more forced smiles, no more enduring their disdain. Divorce was liberating.
After a quick shower, she slipped into form-fitting athletic wear and headed to the estate’s private lake for a morning canoe ride. The air was crisp, birds singing, flowers blooming along the shore. Her powerful strokes sent ripples across the glassy surface.
Post-workout, she showered again, then descended the stairs in a sleek red dress, a chic shawl draped over her shoulders. Her hair was elegantly pinned, her makeup flawless.
Tristan straightened when he saw her, his jaw slack.
“Close your mouth before you drool,” Evelyn teased, snapping her fingers.
“Damn,” he muttered, flushing. “You—you look stunning, Ms. Evelyn.”
“You’re my brother’s chief secretary. Try not to gawk like a schoolboy.” She smirked.
Later, a Rolls-Royce pulled up to Whitmore Grand Hotel.
Though breathtaking, Evelyn’s unannounced arrival sent staff into a panic. After yesterday’s firings, no one dared slack off. The marble floors gleamed like mirrors.
She completed her rounds, offering sharp critiques before retreating to her office.
“You can return to Nathan now, Tristan.”
“No need,” he said brightly. “Mr. Whitmore assigned me to you. I’m your secretary now.”
Evelyn blinked. “Nathan mentioned a gift today. Are you the gift?”
Tristan nodded eagerly.
What kind of present is a grown man? she thought, bemused.
Tristan panicked at her silence. “You’re not going to fire me just because I worked for Mr. Whitmore, are you?”
She laughed. “Of course not! That’s called experience!”
“Then I’ll prove my worth! Maybe even earn a raise?” he joked.
“Money? Do well, and you’ll swim in it. Fail, and I’ll pawn you off like Nathan did.” She propped her chin on her hands, grinning.
He gulped, then launched into his report.
“Per your orders, all Elysian Home linens have been removed. Every Whitmore Hotel nationwide has been instructed to replace them within the week.”
