Chapter 5: Ghosts of the Past

"Eva Monroe's Point Of View''

I wore a baseball cap pulled low and used the rear entrance of Ridgewood Medical like I’d done a dozen times before. No paparazzi. No curious nurses snapping photos. No one is asking, "Aren’t you Cassian Vale’s fiancée?"

I was just Eva again. Or Evelyn, depending on how far back you wanted to go.

The name on the visitor sheet said Marla Keene. An alias I’d been using since I fled Boston. Since the trial. Since the night everything burned.

The nurse didn’t even glance up as she handed me the visitor badge. “Room 708. Still stable. He had a good night.”

I nodded, throat tight.

Liam. My baby brother.

The only person I hadn’t lied to.

As I strolled down the hallway, the flickering fluorescent lights overhead and the coffee-stained tiles beneath my feet created a familiar backdrop. The sharp smell of antiseptic always transported me back to those hospital waiting rooms I’d sat in across various cities and states, each memory blending into the next.

Back then, I was Evelyn Callahan. Daughter of Declan Callahan—scientist, whistleblower, idealist. The man who tried to take down ValeCorp and ended up dead.

They called it a car accident.

But I knew better.

I stepped into Liam’s room.

He looked so small in the bed. Tubes and machines. He hadn’t woken in two days. The last time he opened his eyes, he whispered, “Don’t trust them.”

I didn’t ask who “them” was. I didn’t need to.

I sat next to him, holding his hand. It felt cold, dry, and utterly still.

The sense of helplessness washed over me in that room. With Cassian, I could wield my charm like a weapon. With Felix, I could dance around his cold logic. But here? I was just a sister, desperately clinging to the last bit of family I had.

“You’re still fighting,” I whispered softly. “So I will too.”

I glanced around the room. No cameras, no microphones. I reached into my purse and pulled out the small, worn photo I always kept tucked in my wallet.

It was a snapshot of my father, Liam, and me at a science fair.  I was nine, holding a ribbon. Dad had both hands on my shoulders. We looked happy. Real.

Then came the whistleblower report.

Illegal clinical trials. Unapproved drugs tested on patients without consent. ValeCorp’s name is buried in the fine print.

My father went public.

Six weeks later, he was dead.

Eight weeks after that, my mother put us in a car and disappeared.

I buried Evelyn Callahan. Became Eva Monroe. Learned to survive in the cracks of the system.

Now, irony had dragged me right into the belly of the beast. Living in Cassian Vale’s penthouse. Wearing his ring. Sleeping under the same roof as the son of the man who ordered my father’s silence.

Sometimes I wondered if Cassian knew.

If that cold, calculating look in his eyes meant he was just waiting for me to break character.

---

Flashback. Boston. Twelve years earlier.

I’d snuck into my father’s home office looking for snacks. Instead, I found him on the phone, voice shaking.

“I have the files, Richard. I’m not letting this go. People died. Kids. You understand me?”

He paused.

Then quietly: “You think I care about the board’s offer? Screw your hush money.”

He turned. Saw me in the doorway.

He smiled.

But it didn’t reach his eyes.

---

I blinked back to the present as a nurse peeked in. “He’s stable for now. We’ll alert you if anything changes.”

I nodded and slipped away before they could start firing off questions.

Once I got back to the penthouse, I found it empty. That meant one thing: silence. Sweet, overwhelming silence.

I changed out of my jeans and hoodie, washed off the cheap drugstore makeup, and transformed into my designer persona: a silk robe, perfectly manicured hands, and just the right amount of smudged mascara to give off that effortlessly chic vibe.

The face of a billionaire’s beloved.

Felix Vaughn showed up at six.

“We have dinner tomorrow,” he said without preamble. “At the Harrington estate. Their daughter just got engaged to the oil heir from Norway. They want a joint cover feature.”

I stared at him. “So I’m a pawn now in someone else’s PR move?”

Felix didn’t blink. “You were always a pawn.”

I stood. “You know, you could try being human once in a while.”

“I’m not paid for humanity. I’m paid for control.”

Later that night, Cassian finally came home. 

He carried the scent of wind, leather, and the vibrant energy of Manhattan nights.

With a casual shrug, he tossed off his coat, loosened his tie, and poured himself a drink. Didn’t look at me.

“I went to see Liam,” I said.

His eyes flicked up.

“I know.”

“Of course you do.”

He took a sip. “How’s the boy?”

“Still breathing. Unlike your conscience.”

His jaw tightened. “You want to talk morality? In this house?”

“You think being rich gives you immunity?”

“I think everyone’s dirty, Eva. Some of us are just better at wearing white.”

I walked over and snatched the glass from his hand. “Your father killed mine.”

It slipped out.

Too fast. Too raw.

Cassian’s expression remained unchanged, yet there was a flicker of something deeper in his eyes.

“What did you say?”

I set the glass down. “Nothing.”

“Say it again.”

“I said—nothing.”

We stared at each other. The air between us cracked.

He turned away. “Go get dressed. Felix wants new press shots tomorrow.”

“Do you ever wonder what it’s like to be someone else?” I asked.

He stopped. “No.”

“Must be nice. Never having to lie to breathe.”

I spent that night wide awake, just staring up at the ceiling. Sometimes, my mind wandered to dreams of fire.

Of metal screeching. Tires spinning. My father’s voice on the phone that night. The report he never got to release.

I still had the files.

Copied from an old USB. Hidden in a storage locker in Brooklyn. Enough evidence to take ValeCorp apart.

But if I used it, I’d lose Liam’s medical support.

Lose the illusion of safety I’d built.

Lose everything.

So I slept in Cassian’s penthouse.

Pretended to love a man who might be my father’s killer’s son.

Played dress-up for the cameras.

And waited.

For what, I didn’t know.

Redemption?

Revenge?

Or just a way out.