Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
evangeline
Ethan's penthouse feels like a mausoleum. All white marble and glass. I'm sitting on his Italian leather couch, the same one he spent twenty minutes bragging about when he first brought me here.
I didn’t come here to fight. I came to see if he’d give me a reason to stay. Maybe I needed to be sure. Maybe I wanted to hear him say he loved me without conditions.
But deep down, I think I knew. Part of me was already saying goodbye. I just wanted him to prove me wrong.
"You need to think practically about this, Evangeline." Ethan paces in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows, his suit still pristine despite the confrontation at the clubhouse hours ago. "Five children is an enormous responsibility. One that will completely derail our plans."
Our plans. Always our plans, never my plans or what I might want.
"They're not a responsibility," I say, my voice steadier than I feel. "They're family."
"They're Marcus' family. You barely knew them before this happened."
The words hit like a slap. I hadn't seen Calla and the kids nearly enough in the past year. I’d been too busy with charity galas and wedding planning, too caught up in the life Ethan had mapped out for us.
But I know my nieces and nephews. I know what they like and what they don’t.
I know them but I was always too afraid to examine why spending time with my brother's family always left me feeling hollow and fake.
"That doesn't matter," I say. "They need us now."
"They need stability, structure, proper education and guidance." Ethan stops pacing, turning to face me with that patronizing expression I'm starting to hate. "Not to be dragged into some criminal's world where violence and illegal activities are everyday occurrences."
"Hades isn't a criminal."
The words slip out before I can stop them, and Ethan's eyes narrow dangerously.
"He's a member of a motorcycle club, Evangeline. Do you have any idea what that means? The kind of activities these people are involved in?"
"I know he loved Calla. I know he's trying to do right by her children."
"You know nothing about him." Ethan's voice rises, and for the first time since I've known him, his controlled facade cracks completely. "You met him, what? A handful of times at family gatherings? You think that qualifies you to judge his character?"
"I think five minutes with him tells me more about his character than years with you has told me about yours."
The words hang in the air between us, shocking us both. I've never challenged Ethan like this before. Never stood my ground when he decided what was best for everyone.
It feels terrifying and exhilarating at the same time.
"Excuse me?" His voice drops to something dangerous, and I remember what Calla said about him the last time we had dinner together. How she'd watched him order for me at the restaurant, watched him correct my choice of wine, and later pulled me aside.
"You seem different lately, quieter," she'd said, her brown eyes concerned. "Are you happy, Evie?"
I'd laughed it off, made excuses about wedding stress and work obligations. But the truth was, I couldn't remember the last time I'd felt truly happy. Couldn't remember the last time I'd made a decision without first calculating how Ethan would react.
"You heard me," I say now, lifting my chin with a courage I didn't know I still possessed. "I'm starting to see things more clearly."
Ethan stares at me for a long moment, and I can practically see his mind working. Calculating how much pressure to apply, which buttons to push to get me back in line.
"You're grieving," he says finally, his tone shifting to something softer, more manipulative. "You're not thinking clearly. This whole situation with the children, with that biker, it's clouding your judgment."
"My judgment is fine."
"Is it? Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you're about to throw away everything we've built together for some fantasy about playing house with a dangerous criminal and five traumatized kids."
He moves closer, perching on the edge of the coffee table so he's facing me directly. When he reaches for my hands, his touch feels cold against my skin. Clinical. Nothing like the warmth that radiates from Hades even when he's standing across a room.
The comparison hits me like a physical blow, because I shouldn't be thinking about Hades' touch. I shouldn't be remembering the way electricity shot through me when his fingers accidentally brushed mine yesterday, or how safe I felt when he stood between me and Ethan's anger.
"Listen to me," Ethan continues, his thumbs stroking over my knuckles in a gesture that should be comforting but somehow isn't. "There are excellent boarding schools for children who've experienced trauma. Therapeutic programs that can help them process their grief in a healthy environment."
"You want to send them away?"
"I want what's best for them. And what's best for you." His grip on my hands tightens when I try to pull away. "These children need professional help, not to be used as pawns in some biker's attempt to get close to you."
"Pawns? They're not pawns; they're children who just lost their parents."
"Children who are being manipulated by a man who clearly has an agenda where you're concerned."
Heat floods my face, because he's not entirely wrong.
There is something between Hades and me, something that's been simmering beneath the surface for years.
I've felt it at every family gathering, during every polite conversation, and within every careful distance we've maintained out of respect for propriety.
But that doesn't mean he's using the children to get to me.
"You don't know what you're talking about."
"Don't I? I saw the way he looked at you today, Evangeline. The way you looked at him. You think I'm blind?"
It’s the same accusation he made yesterday, but now it carries a different weight. Because I can't deny it anymore. I can't pretend that the pull I feel toward Hades is just misplaced gratitude or shared grief.
"I'm trying to do what's right for those children," I say.
"By abandoning your responsibilities? Your commitments?" Ethan's voice sharpens again, the mask of the concerned fiancé slipping. "We have a wedding in six months. Deposits have been paid, arrangements made. My parents are expecting grandchildren, not someone else's traumatized leftovers."
The casual cruelty of calling the children "leftovers" makes something snap inside me.
"Don't you ever call them that again."
"Evangeline—"
"No." I stand abruptly, pulling my hands free from his grip. "Those children are not leftovers. They're not inconveniences or obstacles to our perfect life. They're human beings who need love and stability and someone who actually gives a damn about their wellbeing."
Ethan rises as well, his height giving him the advantage he's always used to intimidate me into submission. But for the first time, I don't feel small under his stare.
"You're being emotional."
"I'm being human."
"You're being manipulated by a criminal who's using dead children’s parents to get into your pants."
The words explode between us like a bomb, crude and vicious and designed to hurt. I can see the instant regret on Ethan's face, the knowledge that he's gone too far.
But it's too late to take it back.
"Get out," I whisper, my anger taking over me.
"Evangeline, I didn't mean—"
"Get out of my sight." My voice rises to something I barely recognize. "How dare you? How dare you talk about Marcus and Calla's children like that?"
"I'm sorry. I misspoke. I'm worried about you, about us. This whole situation is making us both say things we don't mean."
But he did mean it. I can see it in his eyes, the way he really views this situation. The children are obstacles. Hades is a threat. And I'm property that's been damaged and needs to be repaired.
"The only thing I regret saying is yes when you proposed."
The words come out before I can stop them, raw and honest and absolutely final. Ethan's face goes through a series of emotions; shock, anger, calculation, and finally cold fury.
"You don't mean that."
"I've never meant anything more in my life."
Maybe I was hoping he'd surprise me. Apologize. Show me he still knew how to love me the way I needed. Part of me needed a reason to stay... and he gave me every reason to leave.
"You're upset. You're not thinking straight. Tomorrow you'll realize—"
"Tomorrow I'll realize I should have done this months ago."
My hand trembles as I reach for the ring. For half a second, I hesitate, like my body’s still catching up to the decision my heart already made.
Then I slide it off. The diamond that once felt like a promise now feels like a shackle.
"We're done, Ethan."
"You can't be serious."
"I'm completely serious."
I hold the ring out to him, and for a moment he just stares at it like he can't comprehend what's happening. Like the idea that I might actually leave him has never crossed his mind.
"This is about him," he says finally, the words coming out flat and certain. "This is about that biker."
"This is about me finally remembering who I used to be."
And it's true. Standing here, facing down the man who's been slowly suffocating me for two years, I can feel pieces of my old self clicking back into place. The woman who used to speak her mind, who used to fight for what she believed in, who used to feel alive in her own skin.
"You'll change your mind," Ethan says, but there's uncertainty in his voice now. "When the reality of what you're taking on hits you, when you realize what you're giving up, you'll come crawling back."
"I won't."
"Five children, Evangeline. Do you have any idea what that will do to your life? Your career? Your social standing?"
"I don't care about my social standing."
"You will. When you're sitting in some rundown house mediating sibling fights instead of attending charity galas and planning vacations in Europe, you'll remember what you had with me."
The picture he paints should terrify me, should make me reconsider what I'm giving up for a life of chaos and responsibility and uncertainty.
Instead, it makes me feel more alive than I have in months.
"Maybe I will," I say, and I mean it. "But it'll still be better than this."
Ethan's face hardens into something ugly and unfamiliar. "You're making the biggest mistake of your life."
"No," I say quietly. "The biggest mistake of my life was saying yes to you in the first place."
Part of me came here hoping he’d make it easy. That he’d show me who he really was. I didn’t expect him to do it so thoroughly.
He stares at me for another long moment, and I can see him calculating whether there's any angle left to play. Any way to manipulate me back into the box he's built for our life together.
Finally, he takes the ring from my outstretched hand.
“Fine,” he says, pocketing the ring. “But when you’re drowning in regret, don’t expect me to throw you a lifeline. And just remember this choice when social services come knocking. When those kids start to fall apart under your care.”
"I won't."
"We'll see."
He turns and walks toward his bedroom, leaving me standing alone in the sterile perfection of his living room. I should feel something; regret, fear, uncertainty about what I've just done.
Instead, I feel free.
My phone buzzes in my purse, and I fumble for it with shaking hands. Hades' name on the screen makes my heart skip a beat.
"Hello?"
"Hey." His voice is rough, concerned. "Everything okay? You sound shaken up."
"I'm... I just broke up with Ethan."
Silence on the other end of the line, long enough that I wonder if he's hung up.
"You okay?" he asks finally.
"Yeah. I think I am."
"Good. That bastard didn't deserve you."
The simple words, spoken with such quiet conviction, make my chest tight with emotion. When was the last time someone defended me like that? When was the last time someone saw my worth without trying to change me to fit their vision of what I should be?
"How are the children?" I ask, needing to focus on something concrete and important.
"They're asking for you. Lily's been crying for the past hour and wants her aunt Evie to read her a bedtime story."
The image of that little girl upset and wanting me makes my chest ache with longing. "I'll be right there."
"Evangeline." Hades' voice stops me as I'm about to hang up. "You sure about this? About all of it?"
The question hangs between us, loaded with implications and possibilities and the weight of choices that can't be undone.
"I'm sure," I say, and I mean it.
Because for the first time in years, I'm making a decision based on what feels right instead of what looks right. For the first time in years, I'm choosing love over security, chaos over control, the unknown over the suffocatingly familiar.
"I'll be there in twenty minutes," I tell him.
"We'll be waiting," he says, and something in his voice makes my pulse quicken.
As I gather my purse and keys, I catch sight of myself in the hallway mirror. My hair is mussed from running my hands through it, my makeup smudged from the emotional confrontation. I look nothing like the polished socialite Ethan wanted me to be.
I look real. Alive. Like myself for the first time in months.
The thought should terrify me. I'm about to walk into a motorcycle clubhouse, into a life I know nothing about, to help raise five children who aren't mine.
Instead, it makes me feel like I'm finally coming home.
Twenty minutes later, I'm walking through the doors of the Saint's Outlaws clubhouse, and Lily launches herself into my arms before I've even cleared the threshold.
"Aunt Evie! You came back!"
"Of course I came back, sweetheart." I hold her close, breathing in the scent of her strawberry shampoo and the lingering sadness that clings to all of them. "I promised I would, didn't I?"
Over her head, I meet Hades' eyes. He's watching me with an intensity that makes my skin heat, like he's trying to see inside my soul.
"Everything okay?" he asks quietly.
"Everything's perfect," I say, and for the first time in a long time, I actually mean it.
Because standing here in this chaotic, loud, imperfect place, surrounded by children who need me and watching Hades watch me like I'm something precious, I finally understand what I've been missing.
This is what home feels like.
This is what love should feel like.
And I'm done settling for anything less.