Chapter 4: Stained Glass Echoes (Part 1)

POV: Evelyn

The engine of Sophie’s car hummed—a low, rhythmic vibration that felt like it was trying to shake the marrow from my bones. Outside the window, Manhattan was a blurred streak of steel and glass, indifferent to the fact that my world had just imploded in a Midtown bistro.

I leaned my forehead against the cool glass, my breath hitching in jagged, uneven bursts. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw it again. The way Archer had looked at Sienna. The way he’d looked at me—like I was the inconvenience.

"Ev... breathe. You’re going to hyperventilate," Sophie said, her voice tight with a mixture of pity and barely suppressed rage.

I pressed the back of my hand against my mouth, trying to choke back the sob that was clawing its way up my throat. My vision was a watery mess of red and gray.

"Sophie... just take me home," I managed to rasp. "Please. I can't... I can't do this."

I saw her jaw tighten in the rearview mirror. She didn't offer platitudes. In this city, empty words were just more noise. She simply swerved into the next lane, her grip on the steering wheel white-knuckled. She knew I didn't need a lecture; I needed a bunker.

The drive felt like an eternity and a heartbeat all at once. My shoulders wouldn't stop shaking. Every sob I managed to suppress just turned into a dull ache in my chest, a physical weight that made it hard to draw air.

"Soph..." I whispered, my voice sounding like it had been dragged over gravel. "Tell HR I’m sick. Migraine. Whatever. I’m not coming back to Kensington today."

"I’ve got it," she snapped, though her tone softened a second later. "Don't worry about the office. Just... try to hold it together until we hit Tribeca."

I didn't look up. I couldn't. I felt exposed, as if the very air of New York could see the cracks in my skin. Sophie reached over, her hand giving my shoulder a brief, firm squeeze before returning to the wheel. It was the only anchor I had.

"Hang in there, Ev," she murmured.

I gave a microscopic nod. My chest felt like it was being crushed by a hydraulic press.

***

The car pulled up to the curb of my building. The Tribeca penthouse—a place that was supposed to be our sanctuary—now looked like a cold, glass cage. I wiped my face frantically, though I knew my eyes were probably bloodshot and swollen beyond hiding.

"Do you want me to come up?" Sophie asked, her hand lingering on the door lock.

I shook my head, my gaze fixed on the lobby floor. "No. I just... I need to be alone."

She exhaled slowly, a long, weary sound. "Fine. But if you need anything—anything at all—you call me. I don't care if it's 3:00 a.m."

"Thanks, Soph," I whispered, the words barely making it past my lips.

I stepped out of the car, my legs feeling like they were made of lead. The walk to the elevator felt like a mile. I kept my head down, staring at the polished marble of the lobby, praying the doorman wouldn't try to make small talk.

The moment the elevator doors slid shut, I leaned against the back wall and let out a shuddering breath. My hands were trembling so violently I could barely hold my bag.

***

Inside the penthouse, the silence was deafening. I didn't turn on the lights. I just walked straight to the bedroom, my movements mechanical, my mind a hollow shell.

I collapsed onto the bed, the expensive linens feeling abrasive against my skin. And then, the floodgates finally broke.

A scream died in my throat, turning into a raw, guttural sob that filled the empty room. I curled into a fetal position, my fingers digging into the mattress. The betrayal felt like a physical wound—a jagged tear right through the center of my chest.

Archer.

Everything we’d shared just hours ago—the trust I’d placed in him, the way I’d opened myself up—it all felt like a sick joke. How long? The question looped in my head like a broken record. How long had he been seeing her? Was I just the placeholder? The backup plan?

The memory of his promise for next year burned like acid. It was all a lie. Every word, every touch.