The Rolls Royce Phantom

Chapter 2

Evelyn’s POV

The door closed behind me with a sound that felt final.

Not loud.

Just done.

The rain greeted me like an old accomplice.

Chicago had always known when to rain on my worst days, and tonight it didn’t disappoint. The sky cracked open the moment my foot hit the front step, cold droplets soaking into the hem of my dress within seconds. 

My thin cardigan did nothing against the chill, but I welcomed it. The cold reminded me I was still real. Still standing.

Still breathing.

I didn’t look back.

I didn’t need to.

That house, his house had already stopped being mine long before tonight. I had just been the last to realize it.

I walked down the driveway slowly, suitcase wheels rattling behind me like an accusation. Gravel pressed into the soles of my flats, each step measured, controlled. I refused to run. Refused to look like I was being chased away.

Inside my chest, something fragile was dissolving, not shattering, not screaming, just quietly unravelling thread by thread.

Three years.

I had dimmed myself into a ghost for three years.

The rain plastered my hair to my face, ruined the careful softness I’d arranged in the mirror earlier. I could almost hear Seraphina’s voice in my head, tragic, really and I smiled faintly at the thought.

Let her have the house.

Let her have the man.

I had carried empires in my blood long before Caleb Knight ever learned how to wear power without flinching.

At the edge of the driveway, I stopped.

The street was empty, no taxi, no rideshare, no friendly miracle waiting to scoop me up. Just the rain, the dark, and the quiet hum of a neighborhood that had never truly welcomed me.

For the first time that night, I allowed myself to feel the weight of it.

I was alone.

No…alone again.

I tilted my face up to the rain and let it wash over me, mixing with tears I hadn’t realized were falling.

It’s over, I told myself.

The marriage.

The pretending.

The smallness.

A sharp inhale sliced through my chest.

Behind me, a curtain shifted.

I felt it before I saw it.

Caleb.

He stood at the window of the living room, his silhouette unmistakable even through the rain-streaked glass. Arms crossed. Shoulders stiff. Watching.

Observing.

Always observing.

I wondered what he was thinking. Whether doubt had finally found its way into his perfectly ordered mind, or if he was already categorizing me into the past, ex-wife, mistake, irrelevant.

Maybe he was telling himself this was for the best.

Maybe he was telling himself I’d be fine.

I almost laughed.

The sound of an engine cut through the rain.

My steps slowed.

Then stopped.

Headlights turned onto the street, one car, then another, then another cutting through the darkness like blades. Sleek silhouettes emerged, black against black, gliding over wet asphalt with predatory grace.

I knew that sound.

I had known it my entire life.

The lead car rolled to a stop in front of me, water rippling around its tires. The iconic Spirit of Ecstasy gleamed beneath the streetlight, silver wings spread as if in reverence.

A Rolls-Royce Phantom.

Behind it, two more followed. Then another.

A fleet.

My heartbeat didn’t race.

It steadied.

Behind the glass, I saw Caleb straighten.

Confusion bled into his posture. He stepped closer to the window, rain forgotten, eyes locked on the cars now lining the curb in front of his “modest” villa.

I could almost hear the gears turning in his head.

Who is she with?

How can she afford this?

Is this some kind of performance?

I imagined him scoffing, convincing himself of the only explanation his pride could tolerate.

A sugar daddy.

The corner of my mouth curved.

If only he knew.

The driver’s door of the Phantom opened, and a man in a tailored black suit stepped out, rain beading off his shoulders like he was immune to the weather. He crossed the space between us quickly, holding an umbrella over my head before I could protest.

“Miss Sterling,” he said, voice respectful, unwavering. “We’ve been waiting.”

Miss Sterling.

Not Mrs. Knight.

Not Evelyn.

Sterling.

The name settled over me like a crown I’d set aside too long.

I nodded once. “Thank you.”

He reached for my suitcase.

I didn’t stop him.

As he opened the rear door, warmth spilled out, leather, quiet, familiarity. The interior light flicked on, and for a moment, the rain, the house, the past all blurred into insignificance.

Then I saw him.

Julian Sterling sat inside, long legs crossed, dark suit immaculate despite the weather. His presence filled the car the way authority fills a room, unapologetic, immovable.

His eyes found me instantly.

And sharpened.

“What the hell are you wearing?” he demanded.

I climbed in anyway.

The door closed behind me with a soft, expensive click, sealing me inside the world I had been born into.

Julian leaned forward, fingers gripping his knee as the car began to move.

“Evelyn,” he said, voice tight with fury he was barely containing. “You look like a peasant.”

I let out a breath that might’ve been a laugh if my throat hadn’t been burning. “Hello to you too.”

His jaw clenched.

“You walked out of a billionaire’s house in that?” His gaze raked over me, soaked hair, cheap dress, scuffed flats. “Do you have any idea what you look like right now?”

“Yes,” I said quietly. “Free.”

That stopped him.

For a moment, the only sound was the soft hum of the engine and the rain tapping against bulletproof glass.

Then Julian swore.

A low, vicious sound that carried years of restraint finally snapping.

“He made you leave like this,” he said. Not a question.

I didn’t answer.

I didn’t need to.

His hands curled into fists. “I told you. I warned you. Three years ago, I told you that boy would never deserve you.”

“He’s not a boy,” I murmured.

Julian’s laugh was sharp. “No. He’s worse. A man who mistook silence for submission.”

The car turned onto the main road, accelerating smoothly, leaving the Knight villa, and the man still standing at the window far behind.

Julian reached into the inner pocket of his suit and pulled something out.

A card.

Black. Matte. 

He held it between two fingers before pressing it into my palm.

Black titanium.

Sterling insignia etched in silver.

My card.

My chest tightened.

“Your mourning period for that peasant is over,” Julian said coldly. “Tonight, you become a Sterling again.”

I stared at the card, my fingers curling around it like muscle memory waking up.

“I wasn’t mourning him,” I said.

Julian studied me carefully. “Good.”

He leaned back, eyes dark. “Because mourning is for losses. And losing Caleb Knight is not a tragedy.”

The city lights blurred past the window as the Phantom surged forward, smooth and unstoppable.

I watched my reflection in the glass, pale, wet, stripped bare of illusions.

Not broken.

Never broken.

Just… done pretending.

Julian reached over and snapped his fingers.

The partition slid down.

“Hotel?” the driver asked.

“No,” Julian said. “Penthouse.”

I closed my eyes.

For the first time that night, the ache in my chest eased.

Somewhere behind us, a man was standing in a window, staring at the ghosts of taillights disappearing into the rain, telling himself a story he needed to survive.

That I’d been replaced.

That I’d been bought.

That I was still small.

Let him believe it.

The Rolls-Royce Phantom carried me forward, back into my name, my power, my truth.

Drab Eve was dead.

And Evelyn Sterling had come home.