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Evelyn's POV

I stared at the mirror in my apartment, at the crack running through its top-left corner. I'd been meaning to replace it for months, but money was tight and a new mirror wasn't exactly a priority when I still had rent and groceries to worry about.

Tonight, though, I barely noticed the crack. I was too busy looking at the woman staring back at me, wondering if this might finally be the night everything changed.

The emerald green dress hugged my curves perfectly. I'd spent three months saving for it, skipping lunches and picking up extra shifts at the café. It hadn't been easy, but Marcus loved me in green. He always said it brought out my eyes.

I smoothed the dress over my hips and checked my reflection one last time.

Two years with Marcus Henderson. Two years of whispered promises, stolen moments between his business meetings, and pretending his mother's cold attitude didn't bother me. I'd convinced myself that none of it mattered because Marcus loved me, that he saw something in me beyond the fact that I was Evelyn Smith, a waitress from the wrong side of town.

Marcus was the heir to the Henderson fortune, and I'd spent two years believing I had a place in his future.

Tonight was his twenty-fifth birthday. I wanted to believe it would be the beginning of something real for us.

Still, a part of me couldn't ignore the things I'd spent so long making excuses for. He'd never properly introduced me to his family. He checked his phone during our dinners and canceled plans without much explanation. And his mother, Eleanor, had a way of looking at me that made me feel like I didn't belong anywhere near her son.

I pushed those thoughts aside. Maybe I was overthinking everything. Maybe once Marcus finally made things official, his family would have to accept me.

I wanted to believe that loving him was enough.

The Henderson estate looked like something straight out of a fairy tale. The lawn was perfectly trimmed, chandeliers hung from the high ceilings, and champagne glasses covered almost every table. Guests dressed in expensive clothes moved around the marble-floored hall, laughing and chatting like they'd known each other forever.

I felt completely out of place.

Everyone seemed to know where they belonged and who they should be talking to. I was still trying to figure out what to do with myself.

A server walked past with a tray of champagne, and I took a glass. I didn't even want it that badly, but holding something made me feel less awkward. I took a small sip and looked around the room.

"You must be Evelyn."

I turned to find Eleanor Henderson standing behind me.

She smiled, but something about it felt forced. She was beautiful, with perfectly styled hair, flawless makeup, and an expensive dress that looked like it was made just for her. Everything about her was put together, from her appearance to the way she carried herself.

But when I met her eyes, I found no warmth there.

"Mrs. Henderson," I said, managing a smile of my own. "Thank you for inviting me. Your home is stunning."

"Mm." She took my hand, her grip firm, her eyes scanning me like I was a piece of furniture she was considering returning. "Marcus has mentioned you. The waitress, correct?"

The way she said waitress made it sound like a disease.

"Yes," I said, keeping my voice steady. "I work at The Velvet Rose Café."

"How charming." She released my hand, already looking past me at someone more important. "Do enjoy yourself, dear. The help usually uses the back entrance, but I suppose tonight is special."

She glided away before I could respond, leaving me standing there with my champagne and my stinging pride.

I scanned the crowd for Marcus, but he was nowhere to be found. My eyes searched the ballroom, past the champagne towers, past the clusters of wealthy guests, past the string quartet playing something classical and forgettable.

And then I saw him.

He was across the room, deep in conversation with a woman I recognized immediately. Victoria Sterling. Blonde, stunning, dripping in diamonds. Her family's name was practically stamped on half the buildings in the city. She was laughing at something Marcus said, her hand resting possessively on his arm.

He leaned in close, whispering something that made her laugh harder.

The cold knot in my stomach tightened.

Business, I told myself. It's always business.

But something felt wrong. Something felt very, very wrong.

I found him twenty minutes later, slipping away from the party into a private hallway near his father's old study. I'd been to the estate a handful of times, always through the back entrance, always when Eleanor was conveniently absent. But I knew this hallway. I knew the painting of Marcus's father that hung on the wall, Lucas Henderson, stern and imposing even in oil.

"Marcus."

He stopped mid-step, his shoulders tensing. When he turned, his handsome face was a mask of irritation.

"Evelyn. Not now."

"When?" I stepped closer, my heels clicking against the marble. "You've been avoiding me all night. I thought tonight was going to be special."

He laughed, a cold, hollow sound that sliced through my chest. "Special? You actually believed that?"

The words hit me like a physical blow. "What?"

"God, Evelyn." He ran a hand through his perfectly styled hair, pacing like a caged animal. "I've been trying to figure out how to tell you for weeks."

"Tell me what?"

He stopped pacing and looked at me, really looked at me, and for the first time, I saw something I'd never noticed before. Something cold. Something calculating. Something that made my blood run cold.

"I'm marrying Victoria."

The words didn't make sense at first. They bounced around my brain like foreign objects, refusing to settle. "What?"

"Victoria Sterling." He said it like I was slow, like I needed the clarification. "Her family's fortune will save Henderson Industries. We're announcing the engagement next month."

I shook my head, convinced I'd misheard. "But we've been together for two years. You said you promised—"

"I promised you nothing." His voice was sharp, cutting. "You were convenient, Evelyn. A distraction. Did you really think I was going to marry a waitress?"

Each word was a knife, and he kept twisting.

"My mother was right about you. You were never going to fit into my world. The sooner you accept that, the easier this will be."

I felt tears burning behind my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. "You told me you loved me."

"I told you what you wanted to hear." He shrugged, like it was nothing, like two years of my life meant nothing. "That's what people like me do, Evelyn. We tell people like you what you want to hear so you'll give us what we want."

"What could you possibly have wanted from me?"

He tilted his head, studying me like I was a puzzle he'd already solved. "Your ideas, for one. The way you think about business, it's actually quite impressive. For someone without any real education."

My stomach dropped. The late-night conversations. The brainstorming sessions. The business plans I'd sketched out on napkins, excited to share with someone who seemed to believe in me.

"You stole my ideas?"

"I used them." He corrected me like it was a minor distinction. "And they were useful. But Victoria brings something you never could. Money. Connections. A future."

I felt like I was drowning. "Marcus, please. I love you. We can figure this out—"

"There's nothing to figure out." His voice was final. "It's over, Evelyn. It was always going to end this way. You were just too naive to see it."

I turned to leave, but his hand shot out and grabbed my arm. His grip was bruising, his fingers digging into my skin.

"Marcus, let go of me—"

"You know too much." His voice had changed. The casual cruelty was gone, replaced by something harder. Something dangerous. "You've heard things. Seen things. I can't have you running to the press or whoever."

"I would never—"

"I can't take that chance."

Before I could react, he was pulling me toward the study, his hand clamped over my mouth. I struggled, but he was stronger than me, and the champagne had made me dizzy. He shoved me against the wall, one hand still covering my mouth, the other reaching for something on the desk.

A glass. Champagne. Something clear and bitter dissolved inside.

"Drink it."

I shook my head, but he pinched my nose, forcing me to gasp for air. The liquid burned going down, and I choked, trying to spit it out, but he held me there until I swallowed.

"There." He released me, stepping back, watching with cold satisfaction as I slumped against the wall. "That should keep you quiet."

The room already felt strange. The edges were blurring, the colors too bright. My limbs were heavy, and my skin was starting to burn.

"What did you do to me?"

"Nothing permanent." He pulled out his phone, typing something quickly. "Just something to make sure you don't cause any trouble. My men will take you to a guest room. By morning, you'll be gone, and we'll never have to see each other again."

"Why?" The word came out broken, barely a whisper. "Why are you doing this?"

He looked at me, really looked at me, and for a moment, I saw a flicker of something almost like regret. But it was gone in an instant, replaced by that cold, calculated mask.

"Because you were never part of the plan, Evelyn. And I don't have room for mistakes."

Two men appeared in the doorway. I tried to run, but my legs wouldn't cooperate. They grabbed me by the arms, dragging me down the hallway as I struggled weakly.

The last thing I saw was Marcus's face, watching me go with the same expression he'd wear watching a piece of trash being taken out.

They threw me onto the bed.

The room spun around me, the ceiling fan whirling like a tornado. My dress was twisted around my legs, and my skin felt like it was on fire. The drug, whatever Marcus had given me, was burning through my veins, making my body ache with a heat I'd never felt before.

I tried to sit up, but the room tilted. I fell back against the pillows, gasping for air.

Please, I prayed to no one. Please make it stop.

The door opened.

I forced my eyes to focus, and through the blur of tears and drugs, I saw him. A man. Tall. Impossibly broad-shouldered. Dark hair, dark eyes that held a storm of emotions I couldn't begin to name.

He was older. Commanding. The kind of man who filled a room just by entering it.

And he looked at me like he understood exactly what I was feeling, because he was feeling it too.

"You—" His voice was strained, rough. "You're not—"

"Please." I reached for him, my fingers grasping at his shirt, his arm, anything I could hold onto. "Please, make it stop. I can't—I can't—"

He was fighting something. I could see it in the tension of his jaw, the way his hands clenched at his sides. He was trying to resist.

But the drug was stronger.

"I don't know your name," I whispered. "I don't know who you are. I just—I need—"

"I know." He closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, I saw something shift. Something give way. "I know."

He came to me, and the world narrowed to just the two of us. Two strangers caught in a web of someone else's cruelty, desperate to escape the fire consuming us both.

"You don't know what you're doing," he managed, his voice thick. "You don't know who I am."

"I don't care."

I pulled him closer, and for a moment, he hesitated. I could feel the battle raging inside him, the war between what he wanted and what he thought was right.

But then his hands found my face, gentle despite their size, and he looked at me like I was something precious instead of something discarded.

"Please," I whispered again, and this time, I wasn't begging for relief. I was begging for something else entirely. Something I couldn't name but felt with every fiber of my being.

He gave in.