Evelyn stood with her hand still raised, shaking with rage.
“Youdare,” she whispered, her voice trembling with fury. “You dare come here, after stealing my sister’s future—andmine—and now tell me you were the one who suffered?”
His face twisted, not with shame but with something almost offended.
“You don’t deserve her,” Evelyn spat, every word laced with poison. “You never did. She was too good for you, and so was I.”
The slap had given her just enough space, just enough time. She shoved the door fully closed and slammed the lock shut, leaning her full weight against it.
“Stay away from me,” she hissed through the wood, her voice on the verge of breaking now as her rage turned to something dangerously fragile. “If you ever come near me again, I will not be so polite.”
There was silence on the other side then footsteps. At first slow but then receding. She didn’t move until the hallway was completely quiet.
Her knees buckled as the adrenaline ebbed, and she slid down to the floor with her back still pressed to the door. Her breath came fast and shallow, and her nightdress clung to her damp back. The fear she hadn’t allowed herself to feel earlier flooded her now. It was ice cold and nauseating.
She wrapped her arms around herself, rocking slightly. This was supposed to be over.
She had locked that chapter away, buried it under indifference and anger, but he had brought it back. The shame, the betrayal, the humiliation.
And now, the vile, twisting suggestion that none of it had evenmeantanything to him. That she had simply been interchangeable with her sister. That he could toss aside one woman and lay claim to the other as if they were possessions to be exchanged.
She squeezed her eyes shut.
No more.
Let him rot in whatever marriage he had ruined. Let him chase phantoms to the ends of the earth. She would not run. She would not fall.
She was Evelyn Ellory, daughter of a house that may not have protected her, but now, she was also a duchess-to-be who would carve out her own place in the world.
She wiped her cheeks, not even realizing when the tears had started.
Let tomorrow come.
Let the wedding bells ring.
But heaven help anyone who tried to harm her ever again.
It was already morning although Evelyn could barely tell from the lack of sleep. She was to be a duchess by sundown.
Cordelia burst in first, dramatically flourishing a silk shawl as if entering the stage of a grand theatre. Hazel followed, more composed but smiling nonetheless, carrying a box of pins with acalm sort of determination that always made Evelyn feel just a bit steadier.
“We brought reinforcements,” Cordelia declared, plopping onto the edge of the chaise. “Hair, gown, accessories, and moral support in case you decide to faint. Or flee.”
Hazel gave a patient sigh. “Don’t encourage her.”
Evelyn managed a soft smile, her voice dry. “I’m not fainting. Or fleeing.”
But her friends were watching her too closely to be fooled. Hazel tilted her head. Cordelia narrowed her eyes.
“What happened?” Hazel asked quietly.
Evelyn hesitated. Her shoulders tensed. “He came to my room. Last night.”
Both girls stiffened.
“Thatman?” Cordelia asked, voice rising.
“Yes,” Evelyn replied, keeping her tone measured. She didn’t want it to crack. “The Viscount. He… said things. Nothing worth repeating.”
