Chapter 4

Evelyn Pov 

The man behind the wheel of the black SUV was gone before I could get a proper look at his face.

I rushed to the front window, but all I caught was the vehicle turning at the end of the street. My fingers tightened around my phone as I reread Damien's message.

You have one chance to change what happened to you. This time, find me before December 24.

Then the second message.

Don't trust the man who will knock on your door tonight.

“What the hell does that mean?” I whispered.

“Evelyn, are you talking to yourself again?”

I turned around.

Ethan stood in the kitchen doorway, looking at me as if I had personally offended him by existing. He wore his expensive watch, a navy shirt, and the smug expression of a man who had never seriously considered the possibility that his life might fall apart.

I wanted to throw my phone at his head.

Instead, I smiled.

“I'm trying to figure out why you haven't eaten your breakfast.”

He glanced at the plate on the counter. “Because you haven't made it.”

I stared at him.

“You're standing three feet away from the bread, Ethan. The toaster is right beside it. I'm sure you'll survive.”

His mouth fell open. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

For a moment, I thought he might actually laugh. Then his expression hardened.

“What has gotten into you lately? First, you're acting strange, and now you think you can speak to me however you want?”

I picked up my coffee.

“I'm not speaking to you however I want. I'm speaking to you exactly how you deserve.”

His face turned red. “Watch your mouth, Evelyn. I don't have time for your attitude.”

“Then you should leave. Your meeting is waiting.”

I walked past him before he could respond.

My heart was racing, but I refused to turn around. In my previous life, I had spent years trying to avoid upsetting Ethan. I had learned to measure my words, soften my opinions, and apologize even when I had done nothing wrong.

I had mistaken his temper for something I needed to manage.

Never again.

I went upstairs, locked the bedroom door, and opened my laptop. Before I could do anything else, I needed to establish how much money I could access without Ethan interfering.

My personal savings were still intact, but the money in our joint account was another matter.

I logged in.

Then I stopped breathing.

The balance was nearly twelve thousand dollars lower than I remembered.

I checked the recent transactions. Three transfers had been made over the previous two weeks, each sent to the same unfamiliar account.

The first was for three thousand dollars.

The second was for four thousand.

The third was for five thousand.

All three had been authorized through Ethan's access.

I stared at the screen, my fingers growing cold.

I remembered this.

Not the exact amounts, but the feeling of sitting at the kitchen table in my previous life, trying to work out why our savings had disappeared so quickly. Ethan had blamed his business, the rising cost of living, and unexpected expenses. I had believed him because I thought we were building a future together.

Later, after the outbreak, I learned that he had been helping Vanessa pay for an apartment before the world collapsed.

I had financed their affair without even knowing it.

“Oh, you selfish bastard,” I whispered.

I downloaded the transaction records and saved copies to a private folder. Then I changed my personal email password, enabled two-factor authentication, and checked which accounts were linked to our shared devices.

I wasn't going to confront Ethan without proof.

I was going to protect myself first.

My phone rang.

The number was unfamiliar, but I answered anyway.

“Hello?”

“Evelyn Hart?”

“Yes…. Who is this?”

“Damien Cross.”

I stood so quickly that my chair rolled backward. “How did you get my number?”