CHAPTER FOUR

 

|| Evelyn ||

I'd never felt this hopeful before.

Standing in front of the Silverlake Heights mansion gates, watching them swing open with that mechanical hum—it felt like the sound of my life finally starting.

A real smile spread across my face.

This was mine. My fresh start. The first thing in my adult life that belonged to me alone. Twelve months to figure out who Evelyn Song was supposed to be when she wasn't busy playing the perfect, silent Mrs. Hart.

I was going to make every single day matter.

The past six weeks had been hell. I'd spent them locked in a hotel suite Marcus's lawyers arranged, crying until my eyes swelled shut, staring at beige walls trying to figure out what came next.

Because I genuinely didn't know.

Every dream I'd ever had, every plan, every vision of my future—all of it had revolved around Marcus. Around being his wife, managing his home, fitting into the life he'd built.

Without that? I was nothing. Just an empty shell with no idea how to fill herself back up.

Except that wasn't entirely true.

For six weeks, I'd been haunted by him.

Sebastian.

It was supposed to be a one-night stand. A meaningless transaction with a call boy I'd never see again. One night to help me forget Marcus and move on.

Instead, I couldn't stop thinking about him. Couldn't stop seeing those storm-colored eyes in every shadow, couldn't stop feeling phantom touches on my skin, couldn't stop hearing his voice—rough and commanding and devastatingly gentle—whispering my name.

Every single night, he appeared in my dreams. Not innocent dreams either. Filthy, desperate dreams where his hands were everywhere, where he was inside me again, where that inexplicable ache that had consumed me that night came roaring back until I woke up gasping and soaked with need.

I'd touched myself more times in the past six weeks than I had in five years of marriage, chasing the memory of what he'd made me feel. And it was never enough. Nothing was enough.

It was like he'd cast some kind of voodoo spell on me. Carved himself into my bones and refused to leave.

I should have forgotten him by now. Should have moved on. But instead, I was obsessed. Craving him with an intensity that made no sense, that felt almost supernatural in how completely it consumed me.

The ten billion Marcus had transferred sat untouched in my account. But now, finally, after six weeks of drifting and fantasizing about a man I'd never see again, I had a strategy. A plan.

I was ready to start moving forward.

The mansion was gorgeous—three stories of pale stone and massive windows, surrounded by gardens so perfect they looked painted. Tall hedges gave it privacy, made it feel like a sanctuary.

I walked up the front steps and pushed open the door. Moving boxes were stacked in the foyer, containing the handful of things I'd kept from my old life.

Not much. Mostly clothes and books and photos from before Marcus.

My phone rang. I pulled it out and smiled when I saw the name.

Jade. My best friend, the only person who'd stuck around through five years of disaster.

"Hey," I answered, leaning against a stack of boxes.

"You picked up! I was starting to think you'd gotten lost." Her voice was bright and warm. "So? Are you settled? Do you love it?"

"Just walked in. But yes, I think I love it already. It's quiet. Private. Mine." The word tasted good. "I'm unpacking tomorrow. Tonight I just want to breathe."

"Amen to that. I'm so happy for you, Eve." She paused. "Have you met your landlord yet? I heard the property owner moved into the mansion next door about a month ago. Apparently he's some reclusive billionaire type."

My eyebrows raised. "Seriously? That's kind of creepy."

"Or kind of hot, depending on whether he's a serial killer or just eccentric." Jade laughed. "You should introduce yourself. Neighborly relations and all that."

"Not a bad idea. I'll do it after I rest."

"Perfect. Oh, and Eve? Don't hate me."

I froze. "What did you do?"

"I slipped a pregnancy test into your bag. The blue duffel."

"Jade." I closed my eyes. "We've talked about this. I don't need a pregnancy test."

"Your period is a week late."

"Because I've been stressed for the past few weeks. There is something called hormonal imbalance remember? My body's still trying to figure out normal." I pressed my fingers to my temple. "I can't get pregnant, remember? Less than three percent chance. That's medical speak for 'never going to happen.'"

"Three percent isn't zero. And that night at Obscura was six weeks ago. The timing lines up." She was using her stubborn voice. "Just take the damn test so I can sleep at night."

"You want me to take a pregnancy test to ease your anxiety? Really? Is that what we are doing now?"

"Yes. Take it, send me a picture of the negative result, and I'll shut up forever. Please?"

"Fine. But when it's negative, you're buying me the most expensive wine you can find."

"Deal. But Eve? If it's positive—"

"It won't be."

"But if it is, that's not the end of the world. You've got ten billion dollars and a mansion. You could raise a baby just fine."

I laughed, brittle. "sure because being a single mom with a call boy's baby sounds like a typical dream come true." 

"I'm just saying—stranger things have happened. Take the test. Meet your neighbor. Start your new life."

She hung up before I could respond.

I stood there for a moment, then walked to the blue duffel and unzipped the side pocket. The pregnancy test was right there, mocking me.

This was pointless. But if it would get Jade off my back, fine.

I grabbed the box and headed upstairs.

---

Ten minutes later, I'd peed on the stick, capped it, and set it face-down on the counter. Three minutes, the box said.

I wasn't waiting. I already knew the answer.

Instead, I'd introduce myself to my landlord. Kill time while the test processed.

I ran a brush through my hair, checked my reflection—acceptable—and headed downstairs and out the front door.

The neighboring mansion was almost identical to mine, just mirrored. Same stone, same windows, same pristine landscaping.

My heart beat faster with each step up the driveway.

Just a normal introduction. Hi, I'm Evelyn, I just moved in, please don't murder me.

I knocked. Three sharp raps.

The door opened immediately.

An elderly woman stood there, barely five feet tall with silver hair in a neat bun. Flour dusted her apron.

"Oh! Hello, dear!" Her voice had an Eastern European accent. "You must be the new neighbor. Please, come in! My boss has been hoping you'd stop by."

"I don't want to intrude—"

"Nonsense!" She stepped back, waving me inside. "Come, come. Let me get him."

Before I could protest, she disappeared down a hallway, leaving me in a foyer similar to mine but darker, more masculine.

"Mrs. Chen, who's at the door?" A voice called from deeper in the house.

I froze.

That voice.

No.

I knew that voice. Would recognize it anywhere. Had heard it in my dreams every night for six weeks, whispering filthy promises while his hands—

No. This wasn't possible.

Footsteps approached. And then Sebastian Creed walked into the foyer wearing nothing but grey shorts that showed off every perfect inch of his torso, barefoot, his dark hair still damp.

Our eyes met.

His lips curved into a slow, devastating smile. "Well, hello, Evelyn."

I couldn't speak. Couldn't breathe. The air felt too thick, and that inexplicable pull I'd felt the night we met came roaring back, yanking hard behind my ribs.

"You look surprised." He moved closer, casual. "That's understandable. This must be quite the shock."

"What—" The word barely made it out. "What are you doing here?"

"I live here. This is my house." He gestured around. "Which makes me your landlord. Surprise."

My brain couldn't process this. "But you were—at Obscura, you were an escort. I hired you. I paid you—"

"Ah, that's a long story. But it's a case of mistaken identity. You got the wrong room that night."

His smile widened, predatory. My pulse raced.

"You lied to me!"

"I never lied. You made an assumption. I simply didn't correct it." He took another step closer. Close enough that I could smell his soap, something clean and masculine that made my head spin. "And I'm not sorry, Evelyn. That night was the best thing that's happened to me in ten years."

I frowned. What was he talking about?

"I searched for you." His voice dropped. "For ten years I looked everywhere. Hired investigators. Used every resource. And then you walked into that hotel room six weeks ago, and I couldn't believe it was really you."

My heart was pounding. "Searching for me? We just met six weeks ago—"

"You really don't remember me at all?" His eyes searched mine. "I guess that's normal. You didn't get a good look at my face that night, but—"

"What are you talking about?"

He took a breath, then grinned.

"Come on, Evelyn." He said it softly. "You know who I am. Even if you don't want to acknowledge it yet. Deep down, you recognize me." He paused. "Little storm."

The air left my lungs.

That name. That nickname. The voice from my nightmares and dreams, the boy who'd pulled me from burning wreckage, the faceless hero I'd spent a decade trying to remember.

It was him.

"Oh God," I whispered.

The room was spinning. I couldn't breathe.

I turned and ran.

Stumbled down his driveway, across the lawn, up my steps and through my door, slamming it hard enough to rattle windows.

My chest heaved. My hands shook.

The call boy I'd slept with was my landlord. Who was also the boy who'd saved my life. Who'd been searching for me ever since.

I made it upstairs on autopilot, feet carrying me back to the master bathroom.

The pregnancy test was still on the counter.

Face down. Waiting.

My hand shook when I reached for it. I didn't want to look. But somehow, impossibly, I already knew.

I flipped it over.

Two lines.

Positive.

The test clattered into the sink.

"No," I whispered. "No, no, no."

But the lines didn't disappear. Just sat there, bright and damning and impossible.

I was pregnant.

Six weeks pregnant with Sebastian Creed's baby. The man I'd thought was an escort but who was actually a billionaire landlord and my childhood hero and who was now living next door and who I'd been obsessively fantasizing about for six weeks like he'd put some kind of spell on me.

I slid down to the bathroom floor, wrapped my arms around my knees, and started laughing. Hysterical, unhinged laughter.

"I'm so fucked," I said to the empty bathroom. "I am so, so fucked."