Semua Bab The Governor’s Wife, His beautiful ruin: Bab 91 - Bab 100

Evelyn I left Mrs. Reeves’s house and got in my car. Diana’s face was burned into my mind—young, scared, sitting across from me in that coffee shop saying she just needed enough money to disappear. Now she’d disappeared permanently, and she’d taken her seventeen-year-old sister with her. My phone buzzed. Alfred. I declined it. It buzzed again. Grace and I still declined. Diana was dead because of Alfred. Rosa was dead because of Alfred. And now I had to go home and look him in the eye and pretend I didn’t know what he’d done. I pulled out of the neighborhood and headed home. Not because anyone told me to. Because that’s where Alfred kept his secrets his files, his laptop, the evidence I needed to destroy him properly so I knew I needed to go back home and finish what I started. The drive took twenty minutes. I practiced what I’d say, how I’d hold my face when he asked where I’d been. I’d be calm. Reasonable. The woman he’d trained me to be for two decades. When I pulled i

Evelyn I drove home with the note crumpled in my fist. My hands were shaking on the wheel, not from fear but from pure rage. Alfred had gotten to her. Threatened her, paid her off, made her disappear. And now I had nothing. No proof. No witness. Just an empty apartment and a note that made me look insane. When I pulled into the driveway, Alfred’s car was already there. He’d come home early, probably got tipped off somehow that I’d gone snooping. I walked in through the front door and found him in the living room, tie loosened, drink in hand. He looked up when I entered. “Where have you been?” I threw the note on the coffee table between us. “Harper’s gone.” He picked it up, read it slowly. His face gave nothing away. “Harper who?” “Don’t.” My voice was deadly quiet. “Don’t you dare play stupid with me right now.” “I’m not playing anything. I told you last night I helped a woman named Harper financially years ago. If she’s moved, that’s her business.” “Her entire apar

Evelyn The house was quiet when I walked in. Alfred’s car was in the driveway but I didn’t see him downstairs. I wasn’t ready to pretend everything was fine, wasn’t ready to play the dutiful wife after what had happened today. I went upstairs and changed into pajamas, washed my face, went through all the normal nighttime rituals that felt surreal after the day I’d had. How was I supposed to brush my teeth and moisturize my skin like a regular person when Diana was dead and Harper had vanished and Alfred was gaslighting me into thinking I’d imagined everything? I was sitting at my vanity when the bedroom door opened. Alfred walked in, already changed into pajamas, his hair damp from the shower. He looked almost normal. Almost like the man I’d married years ago instead of the monster I’d discovered him to be. “You’re still awake,” he said. I didn’t respond. Just kept brushing my hair, watching him in the mirror. He moved closer, stood behind me. His hands landed on my shoulde

Evelyn I sat on my bed and dialed the number Theo had given me weeks ago. It rang three times before a gruff voice answered. “Pemberton.” “Mr. Pemberton, my name is Evelyn Cole. Theo Martinez gave me your number. I need someone found.” “Alright. Who?” “A woman named Harper Piers and her daughter Isabella. They lived at 847 Maplewood Avenue, apartment 4C, but they disappeared about a week ago. Completely. No forwarding address.” “You have a photo?” “Yes. I’ll send it to you right after this call.” “Last known contacts? Friends, family, employer?” “I’ll get what I can and send that too.” “My rate is two hundred an hour plus expenses. Three thousand dollar retainer up front. You can wire it or I’ll send account details for transfer.” “I’ll wire it today.” “Good. Send me everything you have on Harper Piers. Photos, address, any details. More I have, faster I find her.” “I’ll send it within the hour.” “I’ll start soon as I get the money and information.” He hung up. I sat th

Evelyn I was in my car outside a coffee shop three blocks from the house with my laptop balanced on my knees and a burner phone I’d bought at a gas station yesterday sitting on the dashboard. The photo was already uploaded to a secure file-sharing site, untraceable, anonymous, exactly what I needed. Alfred and Isabella at what looked like a park, Isabella maybe five years old, sitting on his shoulders while he grinned at the camera like he didn’t have a wife and two other kids at home. The date stamp in the corner read eight years ago, which meant Nathan would’ve been twelve and Clara eight , both of them at home believing their father was working late or traveling for political events while he played happy family with his mistress and secret daughter. I opened the browser on the burner phone and searched for gossip blogs, the ones that thrived on political scandals and ruined careers. There were dozens but I needed one with reach, one that would spread fast enough that mainstream m