EVELYN

CHAPTER THREE

Evelyn’s POV

The familiar clutter of my desk, my sketchbooks piled high with unfinished drawings, and the bed I’d made with little effort greeted me warmly, but still I couldn’t shake the image of my father and Mr. Langston in the study. Something in their body language unsettled me. My father, typically so confident and controlled, looked almost... deferential to Langston. It was a look I’d never seen before, one that made my skin prickle.

Trying to push the thought from my mind..I dropped my bag on the chair and collapsed onto the bed, my phone buzzing with messages.

Amber had sent me another text:

“Did you talk to Mark today? He looked over at you like, 3 times in class… 👀”

I rolled my eyes and texted back, “I barely even noticed him.”

That was a lie. Of course I noticed. Mark’s quiet presence had a way of drawing attention, especially when I tried not to look.

For the next hour, I forced myself to focus on homework. The assignments seemed to blur together—history notes on the rise of industrialization, math equations I was barely grasping—but it was easier than thinking about anything else. My mind wandered back to the conversation I’d overheard. What was really going on with Mr. Langston? Why did my father act so… different around him?
My thoughts drifted yet again when I heard Max’s voice downstairs, loud and obnoxious, as usual, but it was my mother’s voice that cut through the air, calm and steady. I grabbed my things and went down to the dining room, where dinner was set. The smell of roasted vegetables and freshly baked bread filled the air, but something felt off.

My father was sitting at the head of the table, as always, his eyes flicking over some papers. Mariana was putting the final touches on the meal, and Max was already digging into his food, his face buried in a plate of spaghetti.
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Dinner was quiet for a few moments, but it didn’t last. My mother set her fork down with a soft clink and turned her attention to me, her gaze sharp.

“Evelyn, I’ve been thinking about the future. Your father is pushing for you to help with the company soon, and you need to be prepared, you know?”

I froze. “What?”

“You can’t expect your father to govern all this forever Evelyn, you're the first heir.,” she continued, her voice almost too calm. “You’ll have to make your mark. You’re already of age to begin stepping into a role within the company. You should take this seriously.”

I blinked, taken aback by her sudden shift. “I’m still in school, Mom. I don’t even know what I want to do yet.”

She sighed, her expression turning almost... disappointed. “You’re wasting time. It’s not just about what you want. You’re part of this family, Evelyn. What you want doesn’t always matter.”

My father’s gaze flickered up from his phone, and his silence made everything worse. He didn’t speak up. He didn’t tell her to ease up or let me figure things out on my own. Instead, he just let the weight of her words settle around the table.

Max, blissfully unaware of the tension, shoved another forkful of spaghetti into his mouth, but I could feel the pressure mounting in my chest.

“I’m not ready for any of this, Max should do it, he's fit for it. Plus he's a man like that” I muttered, almost to myself. “I don’t even know what I’m supposed to be preparing for.”

“Evelyn?!” my mother half-yelled, her voice hardening. “would you stop acting immature for a split moment?. We don’t have time for your indecision.”

The words felt like daggers.

“You think it’s that simple?” I shot back, my voice rising despite myself. “You think I’m just supposed to know what to do? Like it’s all mapped out?”

My father didn’t even look up from his phone. My mother’s gaze sharpened even further, and I could tell she was getting frustrated.

“We’re building something here, Evelyn. A future. Don’t waste it.”

Saying nothing, I retreated to my room, the weight of the argument still hanging over me. My mother’s words kept echoing in my head, each repetition making my chest feel tighter.

I grabbed my sketchbook and tried to lose myself in it, but the colors and lines didn’t make sense. The pencil felt heavy in my hand, my thoughts scattered.

I thought about Mark again, the way he looked at me during class. I thought about Mr. Langston, and how something about him always seemed to linger, like he was waiting for something.

Shaking my head, I shoved the thoughts aside.

There was too much to figure out. Too much going on. I just needed to focus on getting through this....whatever this was.