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 furtherquestions, 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 wordhistorymade Evelyne’s skin crawl.
Alaric was silent. Too silent.
Then, in a voice raw with something Evelyne couldn’t place, he finallyanswered.
“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 heknew.
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.”
