Chapter 51
Evelyn
If one more person tried to feed me, I was going to scream. “Another bite, Miss Evelyn—doctor’s orders!” the nanny chirped, waving a fork of grilled chicken toward my face like it was a loaded weapon.
I groaned and flopped back on the couch. “I’m growing babies, not training for a marathon.”
“I’m just following Mr. Hunt’s instructions,” she beamed, then hurried toward the kitchen to blend another green smoothie. The fourth one today.
I stared at the untouched tray of food in front of me and felt tears sting the back of my eyes. Again. Hormones were a bitch.
The penthouse—beautiful, glossy, expensive—felt less like a home and more like a velvet cage. I’d barely left in days. Alexander was working longer hours, replying to my texts with warm but vague messages.
“Handling things.”
“Meetings.”
“Soon.”
Soon never came.
I rubbed a hand over my stomach, now noticeably rounder under the soft cardigan I wore. “You two better be worth it,” I murmured. “Because your mom is losing her damn mind.”
The nanny returned with a blanket and a worried expression. “Let me tuck you in, dear. You look a little pale—maybe a nap would help?”
“I’m not a Victorian widow,” I snapped. Then winced. “Sorry.”
She smiled her perpetually sunny smile and moved away to wipe an already spotless counter, probably to give me space.
I needed out. Or at least something to do. So, I headed to my new office—the one Alexander had built for me because “you’re never going back to that apartment again.” I’d barely used it. Now felt like a good time to make it mine.
I opened drawers, sorted pens and paper, and adjusted the photo frame of Sammy and me.
I even labeled a few folders just to focus on something other than my own spiraling thoughts.
And then I saw it. Tucked in the bottom drawer, beneath a leather-bound notebook, was an envelope.
Thick. Old. Heavy. Sealed with a dark crimson wax stamp that raised the tiny hairs on my arms.
I lifted it carefully. The front wasn’t addressed to me. No. It read in precise, merciless handwriting: Alexander Alaric Hunt.
And beneath it—the seal. Three interlocked rings inside a triangle. Etched runes twisting through the wax like veins. This wasn’t business. This wasn’t romantic. This felt ancient. Final.
A fate sealed long before I ever walked into his office months ago. I swallowed hard and gently shook it. A soft clink answered back. A key. My breath caught in my throat.
There was only one locked door in this penthouse. One door he never mentioned, never explained, never let me near. My stomach twisted. “What are you hiding?” I whispered.
I put the envelope back exactly as I found it, closed the drawer, and leaned against the desk, arms automatically circling my belly. I wasn’t sure who I was living with.