EVELYN

CHAPTER 29

Evelyn's POV

The pen trembled in my hand, the weight of its potential betrayal pressing down on me. The room felt stifling, suffocating. Langston sat across from me, his eyes sharp and unyielding. His presence was a living reminder of everything I had lost.

As I glanced at him, the memories came flooding back, unbidden and sharp as a knife.

---

It had been late that night, the party still roaring downstairs, laughter and clinking glasses filling the air

“Evelyn,” he’d said, his voice silky smooth. “you're so pretty, Evelyn.”

I remember how his hand had brushed my arm, how his presence had felt like an invasion. “S..sir” I’d said, my voice trembling.

But he didn’t move. Instead, his hand slid to my wrist, his grip tightening, his breath hot against my skin.

I tried to pull away, but he was stronger. His other hand touched my waist, and I felt panic rising in my chest like a tidal wave. “Please, don’t,” I’d begged, my voice barely audible over the pounding in my ears.

The memory ended abruptly as my hands clenched into fists.

---

I turned to my father, hoping for the man he used to be to return. When I was twelve, he’d carried me on his shoulders at a carnival, pointing out the stars and telling me he’d protect me from anything bad in the world.

“Nothing can hurt my little girl,” he’d said, his voice filled with pride and love.

But now, as he stood there, his face hardened with worry and desperation, he wasn’t the father I remembered. He was a man willing to sacrifice me for his own survival.

The other man in the room—some lawyer, I assumed—watched silently, his hands clasped over his briefcase. He was a bystander, just doing his job. I couldn’t even hate him for it.

Tears blurred my vision as I stared at the paper before me. My heart ached, and my mind raced with questions. What else could they take from me? What more could I lose that hadn’t already been stripped away in the past weeks?

My hand hovered over the page, the pen shaking. And then...

---

A day later.

When my eyes fluttered open, I was greeted by the stark whiteness of a hospital room. The sharp scent of antiseptic stung my nose, and the faint beep of a heart monitor filled the silence.

I turned my head slightly, my vision still blurry. An IV drip was attached to my arm, the clear liquid flowing steadily through the thin tube. The needle pricked uncomfortably against my skin, and a perfusion machine stood beside me, quietly humming.

Confusion clouded my mind. How had I ended up here?

The door opened softly, and a nurse walked in, her presence calm and professional. She wore a pale blue uniform, her hair neatly tied back.

“Good morning,” she said, checking the monitors. Her hands were swift and practiced as she adjusted the IV line and took my pulse.

I tried to sit up, but she gently pressed my shoulder back down. “Take it easy,” she said. “You need rest.”

“What... what happened?” I croaked, my throat dry and scratchy.

The nurse hesitated. “You fainted,” she said finally. “But you’re stable now. Try not to worry.”