CHAPTER 2

Evelyn stared at the phone.

Mother-in-law.

The name pulsed on the screen like a warning light. She didn’t want to answer, but a grim compulsion forced her to swipe. 

Her hand trembled as she pressed the phone to her ear.

“Hello?” Her voice was a pained croak, raw from the pressure Julian had exerted on her throat.

“Ah, there you are, Evelyn.” Beatrice Hart’s voice was cool, polished, and dripping with false sympathy. “I was beginning to worry you’d gone into hysterics and forgotten how to operate a simple cellular device.”

Evelyn swallowed, a sharp sting shooting through her bruised neck.

“Tell me, dear, have you finally received the divorce papers?”

Evelyn froze. Beatrice knew. This wasn't a random check-in; it was a confirmation. She was part of the execution.

“You… you knew,” Evelyn whispered. The air in the room felt thin.

“Of course I knew,” Beatrice scoffed, her polite facade dropping instantly. “Do you honestly think a decision this significant—the future of the Hart family—is left to Julian alone? We’ve been planning this for months, darling. The only shocking part is how long it took him to finally pull the trigger.”

The grief and humiliation coiled like a snake around Evelyn’s chest.

“Five years, Evelyn. Five years of occupying my son’s home, managing his accounts, and presiding over his table. And what did you give us? Nothing. A barren uterus and a stack of expensive IVF bills. Did you really think Julian would tolerate that forever?”

Each word was a poisoned dart. Evelyn squeezed her eyes shut, fighting the bile rising in her throat.

“Why?” she choked out. “Yesterday… Julian smiled at me. He kissed me. Why now? Why this cruelty?”

Beatrice laughed, a high, sharp sound that grated like glass on stone. 

“Oh, you poor, sentimental fool. Julian is a superb actor. Keeping you compliant and quiet was far easier than dealing with your dramatics. Julian needs a woman who understands her primary function: giving him what he needs.”

The implication hung in the air like a lethal gas.

“Now, stop whining and go sign those papers. You’ll be compensated, of course. But the longer you delay, the less generous we feel. Don’t make this uglier than it already is. You have no leverage. You never did.”

The line went dead.

The tears Evelyn had been holding back streamed freely. 

They had planned this. Her eyes fell on the shredded strips of paper on the rug; her act of defiance now felt childish and small.

Yet, a stubborn, irrational voice whispered in her mind: 

‘No. Not Julian. Not really.’

She couldn't accept that the man she loved was a monster. She needed to see the rejection in his eyes one last time. She needed the truth from his lips, not his venomous mother's.

“I’ll wait,” she muttered, fixing her gaze on the front door. “I’ll ask him again.”

She sank onto the living room couch, but the plush cushions offered no comfort.

Exhaustion from the emotional warfare finally claimed her. She lay there fully dressed, staring into the darkness until she drifted into a fitful sleep.

The sun rose, casting pale light through the tall windows. 

Evelyn was jolted awake, not by a slamming door but by the sound of soft voices and playful giggling.

Julian.

A rush of adrenaline, part fear, part desperate hope, pulled her upright. 

Perhaps he had cooled off. Perhaps his heart had softened. She hurried toward the entryway, her silk robe brushing the floor.

She reached the threshold just as the front door swung open.

There stood Julian. But he was not alone.

Julian was turned inward, his head nuzzled into a woman’s shoulder. 

The woman giggled, light and airy.

“Oh, stop, Jules, you’re tickling me,” she whispered.

Julian chuckled, a warm, intimate sound Evelyn hadn't heard in years. He pressed a kiss to the woman's neck. 

“Just checking on my two favorites,” he murmured.

The terrifying coldness of yesterday was gone, replaced by a devastating tenderness. Then, Evelyn’s gaze drifted downward.

Her breath hitched.

The woman’s stomach was large, which meant she was undoubtedly heavily pregnant.

The truth crashed down on Evelyn.

Julian hadn’t been preparing for a divorce; he had been preparing for a replacement. He hadn't left because she was "barren"; he was leaving because he had already succeeded with someone else.

Beatrice’s words echoed like a death knell: ‘He needs a woman who can give him what he needs.’

Evelyn stood frozen, unable to move or breathe, watching her world collapse.

Then the woman’s gaze shifted. Her smile vanished as her eyes landed on Evelyn.

Displeasure flashed across her face, and she tightened her arms around Julian’s neck.

“Julian,” she demanded, her voice sharp with suspicion. “Who is this woman? Why is she in your house?”

Julian stiffened. 

The affectionate mask shattered. 

The coldness returned, magnified by the presence of his mistress. His eyes snapped to Evelyn, blazing with a mix of shock and feral fury.

Before Evelyn could speak, he crossed the room in three strides.

“What the hell are you still doing here?” he snarled.

His hand swung.

A sharp crack echoed through the foyer as his palm connected with Evelyn’s face. 

Her head snapped sideways, and she stumbled, pain exploding across her cheek. The metallic taste of blood filled her mouth.

Julian loomed over her, his chest heaving. 

“I told you to be gone,” he spat. “Why are you still here, Evelyn?”