Chapter 28
Evelyn
Front Desk
The elevator dings. I glance up. And I stop breathing. Alexander walks out first—broad-shouldered, devastating in charcoal grey. His suit looks like it was tailored by the devil himself. His expression is unreadable, carved from something colder than marble.
Grace trails beside him, fingers looped around his arm like she’s part of the suit’s stitching. She is glossy, golden, effortless— a perfume ad come to life. He's power. She's presentation. And I… am just the girl at the desk trying not to shatter.
I sit straighter. Force my face into something neutral. Something that doesn’t scream. They approach. My grip tightens on the edge of the table until my knuckles turn pale.
He stops right in front of me. But he doesn’t look at her. He looks at me. And somehow—that makes everything worse. “Cancel all my meetings for the day,” he says, voice cool enough to frost glass. “I have a date with Grace.”
I don’t blink. I don’t breathe. I don’t let the pain show. I nod once. “Of course, sir.” His gaze lingers one second too long. Haunted.
Apologetic. Not enough. Then he looks away.
Grace gives me a perfectly polite smile—the kind that feels like a blade dipped in honey. Like she knows something I don’t. Like she owns him. And then they walk away.
I don’t let myself watch them go. My eyes drop to my screen. The words blur. I taste metal. Realize I’m biting the inside of my cheek just to keep myself from breaking. “You idiot,” I whisper under my breath. You believed you were different.
My phone buzzes.
Alexander Hunt: I’m sorry. Later, you will understand.
One quick text. Sharp as a slap. Vague as a ghost.
What the hell does that mean? Sorry for what?
Walking through the lobby with a woman who looks like she belongs in a luxury campaign?
Letting her cling to his arm like history?
Like ownership? Like inevitability? Or sorry for making me believe—just for a moment—that he wanted something more than a weekend in my bed?
I grip the phone tighter. Understand what, Alex? That I was never his type? That this was always temporary? That women like her get the title, and girls like me get the afterthought?
Grace looked at him like she once held the deed to his soul.
That wasn’t chemistry. That was history.
And suddenly I feel stupid. So unbearably stupid.
He never said he was single. I never asked.
We never talked about what we were. And now I’m drowning in a story I didn’t even know I was in, while he walks around with a woman who could destroy me without lifting a manicured finger.
I don’t reply. I slip the phone into my bag, unlock the bathroom stall, and walk out with the same empty calm I learned in every foster home I survived. Because if there’s one thing I mastered in this life—it’s how to vanish in plain sight.