Chapter 16 #2
Before she could slip away unnoticed, Aurelia’s lilting voice interrupted her search.
“Oh, Evelyne!” Her sister all but glided toward her, her deep purple gown skimming the floor like liquid silk.
Two champagne flutes dangled from her fingers, one of which she promptly thrust into Evelyne’s hand.
“You both looked absolutely enchanting out there.”
Evelyne accepted the glass with a tight smile. “Did we?” She took a sip, letting the bubbles fizz against her lips before adding, “Then perhaps you’ve seen my enchanting partner? He seems to have vanished.”
Aurelia hummed thoughtfully, glancing over her shoulder as if expecting Alaric to materialize from the shadows.
“I haven’t, I’m afraid. Though I hope he’ll save me a dance before the night is through.
You know, since I return home tomorrow.” She swayed dramatically, lifting her glass in a mock toast to herself.
“Oh, I’d love for someone to sweep me across the floor tonight. Will you ask him for me, please?”
Evelyne smothered a laugh, arching a brow. “So you’d like me to hand over my betrothed for the evening? How generous of me.”
She downed her champagne in two effortless swallows and handed the empty glass back to Aurelia, who gawked at her.
“What was that?” Aurelia asked, her playful tone shifting to something more perceptive. “Everything all right?”
“I hope so.” Evelyne’s reply was crisp but uncertain.
Aurelia’s voice dropped to a gentle murmur as she leaned in close, whispering into Evelyne’s ear, “If it’s Ivan you’re concerned about, rest assured—Mother will never allow him to set foot in our home again.”
“It’s not that, but thank you, Aurelia. Truly.” Evelyne gave her sister’s hand a gentle squeeze in gratitude before turning away, cutting off any chance for further questions, slipping past the gilded double doors and into the quiet beyond.
The manor’s hallways were dim, the flickering sconces sending shifting shadows across the cold stone walls.
Evelyne’s pace quickened, her pulse pounding in time with the rain tapping against the windows.
The warmth of the ballroom—the laughter, the music—felt worlds away now.
She had let Alaric disappear for too long.
If something was wrong, she had to find out.
She rounded a corner, her skirts brushing against the marble, only to stop short. Voices, low and hushed, floated from the room ahead.
She recognized one instantly.
Alaric.
The other sent ice down her spine.
Callista.
Evelyne flattened herself against the wall, scarcely breathing as she turned to look at them.
“It’s arranged, isn’t it?” Callista’s voice was a purr, dripping with amusement. “Does she even know?”
Evelyne’s stomach twisted. What was she talking about?
A pause. A heavy exhale.
“No,” Alaric said quietly. “She doesn’t know.”
No. The word echoed in her mind like a tolling bell.
“I knew it,” Callista mused. “Tell me, why would you agree to it, Alaric? When you and I have such… history.”
The way she lowered her voice and lingered on the word history made Evelyne’s skin crawl.
Alaric was silent. Too silent.
Then, in a voice raw with something Evelyne couldn’t place, he finally answered.
“I didn’t want it to be like this,” he admitted, his tone strained. “But it’s done.”
Evelyne gasped quietly.
Done.
A wave of nausea rolled through her as the truth crashed into her with merciless force. Arranged. Their engagement had been arranged. She hadn’t been chosen. Not willingly.
And he knew.
Evelyne barely registered the rest of their conversation.
Her heartbeat roared in her ears. The candlelight flickered wildly in her blurred vision.
Her fingers curled against the silk of her gown as if she could anchor herself, as if she wouldn’t drown under the weight of this… this lie, this mortifying revelation.
Before she could move or even think, she saw Callista step closer to Alaric. Saw the way her hand trailed along his arm, slow and possessive. Saw the way she tilted her head, her lips dangerously close to his ear.
“You could have had me,” she said, her voice sultry, coaxing. “You still could.”
And then she kissed him. And he let her.
For a single, excruciating moment, the world spun off its axis. The air in Evelyne’s lungs turned to ice, her body frozen in place as reality shattered around her. Something in her snapped. And before she could stop herself, she stepped forward into the candlelight.
Alaric staggered back almost instantly, shoving Callista away, but the damage had been done.
“Evelyne.” His voice was panicked and desperate. He looked as though he’d been struck. “It’s not—”
Callista placed a hand over her mouth, feigning surprise, but her eyes glinted with satisfaction. She’d known Evelyne would find them and now she was drinking in every second of Evelyne’s humiliation.
Alaric pushed off the wall, moving toward her, his expression pleading. “Evelyne, please, let me explain.”
She backed up a step, shaking her head. Explain? Explain what? That her engagement was a transaction? That she was a fool? That she had fallen for a man who had never truly chosen her?
Bile burned her throat.
“This…” Her voice trembled with restrained fury. “This was arranged? And you knew?”
His silence was her answer.
“And you told her!” She spat the words like venom, her eyes flicking to Callista.
Callista smirked, the picture of cruelty wrapped in silk. “Pity, really,” she mused, inspecting her nails. “Did you actually think he would willingly ask for your hand?”
Alaric turned on Callista, his voice sharp. “Be quiet.”
“Oh, don’t be cross with me, darling. I didn’t force you to lie to her.”
Alaric clenched his jaw, then turned back to Evelyne. “Please. This is not what it looks like.”
Evelyne let out a cold, hollow laugh, though it tasted of bitterness. “Not what it looks like?” she repeated, her voice shaking. “Then by all means, do tell me, Alaric. What, exactly, is this?”
His mouth opened, then shut. He had nothing.
She swallowed the lump in her throat and straightened, lifting her chin. “Don’t.” The word was quiet but final. “I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want to look at you.”
She turned away from him, and a quiet gasp broke the silence.
They weren’t alone.
Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted a few lingering guests at the far end of the corridor, Wesley Bavrick among them. Callista’s friends. Their gazes darted between Alaric and Evelyne, their faces painted with intrigue and amusement.
Evelyne’s heart plummeted. The realization struck her like a dagger to the chest. This wasn’t just betrayal. This was humiliation.
Alaric took another step. “Evelyne—”
But she didn’t let him finish. She turned and fled.
Evelyne couldn’t remember how she got to her chambers, but her feet carried her there in a blind, desperate sprint.
The moment she slammed the door shut, her shaking hands clawed at every piece of jewelry, ripping off the earrings, the necklace, the dainty rings that now felt like shackles.
Each item clattered onto the floor as she moved to the pins in her hair, yanking them free until her curls tumbled in disarray around her face.
Rage, heartbreak, and embarrassment burned beneath her skin, clawing at her throat, demanding release. But she wouldn’t cry. Not yet. Not while her blood boiled and her heart thundered with hatred.
The dress had to go. Her fingers fumbled against the intricate buttons and fine embroidery, but she didn’t care about the delicate fabric or the craftsmanship.
She wanted it off. She needed it off. With a frustrated growl, she shoved the gown down her arms, kicking it away as if it were the thing that had deceived her.
Then she reached for the corset, tugging mercilessly at the strings, but her hands were trembling too much—too clumsy, too weak with the weight of what had just happened.
Steady hands appeared at her back, working quickly and efficiently on the loops and ties. Evelyne didn’t need to turn around to know it was Seraphine. Her handmaid said nothing, but her presence was grounding. No pity, no questions. Just quiet understanding.
The moment the corset loosened, Evelyne inhaled sharply, her first real breath since she had heard Alaric’s voice in the corridor.
She stepped out of the discarded garments, now clad in the barest of underclothes.
Without hesitation, she pulled on a pair of men’s trousers and a large shirt, her fingers moving with renewed purpose as she tied the laces at her wrists and braided her hair back.
“Miss,” Seraphine finally said, tone calm but edged with concern. “It’s storming out.”
Evelyne didn’t care. She needed out of this room, out of this house, out of the suffocating deception that threatened to swallow her whole.
She only turned toward the door and said, “I need to run.”
Seraphine didn’t try to stop her. Instead, she reached for Evelyne’s cloak, draping it over her shoulders with a silent nod. Evelyne grasped the fabric, her fingers curling into the wool, then turned and fled into the storm.