And then she kissed him. And he let her.
For a single, excruciating moment, the world spun off its axis. The air in Evelyne’s lungs turned to ice, her body frozen in place as reality shattered around her. Something in her snapped. And before she could stop herself, she stepped forward into the candlelight.
Alaric staggered back almost instantly, shoving Callista away, but the damage had been done.
“Evelyne.” His voice was panicked and desperate. He looked as though he’d been struck. “It’snot—”
Callista placed a hand over her mouth, feigning surprise, but her eyes glinted with satisfaction. She’d known Evelyne would find them and now she was drinking in every second of Evelyne’s humiliation.
Alaric pushed off the wall, moving toward her, his expression pleading. “Evelyne, please, let me explain.”
She backed up a step, shaking her head. Explain? Explain what? That her engagement was a transaction? That she was a fool? That she had fallen for a man who had never truly chosen her?
Bile burned her throat.
“This…” Her voice trembled with restrained fury. “This was arranged? And you knew?”
His silence was her answer.
“And you told her!” She spat the words like venom, her eyes flicking to Callista.
Callista smirked, the picture of cruelty wrapped in silk. “Pity, really,” she mused, inspecting her nails. “Did you actually think he would willingly ask for your hand?”
Alaric turned on Callista, his voice sharp. “Be quiet.”
“Oh, don’t be cross with me, darling. I didn’t force you to lie to her.”
Alaric clenched his jaw, then turned back to Evelyne. “Please. This is not what it looks like.”
Evelyne let out a cold, hollow laugh, though it tasted of bitterness. “Not what it looks like?” she repeated, her voice shaking. “Then by all means, do tell me, Alaric. What, exactly, is this?”
His mouth opened, then shut. He had nothing.
She swallowed the lump in her throat and straightened, lifting her chin. “Don’t.” The word was quiet but final. “I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want to look at you.”
She turned away from him, and a quiet gasp broke the silence.
They weren’t alone.
Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted a few lingering guests at the far end of the corridor, Wesley Bavrick among them. Callista’s friends. Their gazes darted between Alaric and Evelyne, their faces painted with intrigue and amusement.
Evelyne’s heart plummeted. The realization struck her like a dagger to the chest. This wasn’t just betrayal. This was humiliation.
Alaric took another step. “Evelyne—”
But she didn’t let him finish. She turned and fled.
Evelyne couldn’t remember how she got to her chambers, but her feet carried her there in a blind, desperate sprint. The moment she slammed the door shut, her shaking hands clawed at every piece of jewelry, ripping off the earrings, the necklace, the dainty rings that now felt like shackles. Each item clattered onto the floor as she moved to the pins in her hair, yanking them free until her curls tumbled in disarray around her face.
Rage, heartbreak, and embarrassment burned beneath her skin, clawing at her throat, demanding release. But she wouldn’t cry. Not yet. Not while her blood boiled and her heart thundered with hatred.
The dress had to go. Her fingers fumbled against the intricate buttons and fine embroidery, but she didn’t care about the delicate fabric or the craftsmanship. She wanted it off. She needed it off. With a frustrated growl, she shoved the gown down her arms, kicking it away as if it were the thing that had deceived her. Then she reached for the corset, tugging mercilessly at the strings, but her hands were trembling too much—too clumsy, too weak with the weight of what had just happened.
Steady hands appeared at her back, working quickly and efficiently on the loops and ties. Evelyne didn’t need to turn around to know it was Seraphine. Her handmaid said nothing, but her presence was grounding. No pity, no questions. Just quiet understanding.
The moment the corset loosened, Evelyne inhaled sharply, her first real breath since she had heard Alaric’s voice in the corridor. She stepped out of the discarded garments, now clad in the barest of underclothes. Without hesitation, she pulled on a pair of men’s trousers and a large shirt, her fingers moving with renewed purpose as she tied the laces at her wrists and braided her hair back.
“Miss,” Seraphine finally said, tone calm but edged with concern. “It’s storming out.”
