All Chapters of The Governor’s regret, his broken wife burned it all: Chapter 41 - Chapter 50

EvelynEver since that message from Sam appeared on Alfred’s phone, I hadn’t had a single moment where my mind stopped circling around it, because no matter how many explanations I tried to come up with, none of them sat comfortably, and every time I thought I’d managed to convince myself it was nothing, the doubt crept right back in and made me question everything I thought I understood about loyalty and timing and the kind of risks I was taking without even realizing it.Sam wasn’t a stranger to this family. Long before Alfred became someone the public cared about, he was the one quietly handling every scandal, every rumor, every picture that shouldn’t have existed, and back then I trusted him enough to give him access to everything because I knew he would never speak a word to anyone he wasn’t supposed to. Every time I tried to convince myself it was nothing, that Sam had worked with both of us for years and it wouldn’t be strange for Alfred to call him about something harmless, a

THEO I noticed it the third time the car stayed with me through a turn it didn’t need to make.At first I told myself it was nothing. Late traffic always did strange things. People missed exits, corrected themselves too late, followed whoever looked like they knew where they were going. I kept my speed steady and focused on the road ahead, hands relaxed on the wheel, eyes forward, refusing to give the thought any space.But the distance stayed the same.Not close enough to be careless. Not far enough to be coincidence.I checked my mirrors again, not like I wanted to confirm anything, just enough to register the headlights behind me still sitting there, matching my pace, adjusting when I adjusted, waiting when I slowed.My jaw tightened.I took a different route than I usually did, one I never used unless I was running late or trying to avoid traffic, and the car stayed with me through that too. The realization settled in me then, with that uncomfortable clarity that comes when denia

EvelynClara was one stubborn child, and no matter how many times I warned her to stay away from him, she kept pushing the limits in that quiet, defiant way she had perfected over the years, like she didn’t understand that some lines existed for a reason or worse, like she understood them perfectly and chose to step over them anyway.I had just finished a meeting in Alfred’s office when I walked out and saw her hugging Theo so closely, her arms wrapped around him with an ease that made my steps slow without me meaning to, my attention narrowing onto the sight before I could stop myself.I saw it before my mind had time to decide what it meant.Clara had been talking nonstop about something that happened at school, swinging her bag at her side, half paying attention to where she was going, and then she spotted Theo near the entrance and changed direction instantly, like her body decided before her mind caught up.His hands were hovering awkwardly at first, not holding her, not pulling

Evelyn POVI got in early enough that the house was still half-empty. The chef was in the kitchen, moving with quiet precision, chopping vegetables for dinner, and I gave a few instructions, mostly out of habit, mostly because I needed the motion to steady my hands.“Dinner should be ready by seven, and make the lamb with the rosemary,” I said, and he nodded, the way he always did, without comment.Nathan passed by on his way out, keys jingling in his hand, music already pulsing from somewhere in the hall. “I’m going out,” he said over his shoulder, not really looking at me.“Okay,” I said, though my voice carried more weight than I intended. I didn’t follow. I didn’t chase. It wasn’t worth it. Not today. Not with the tension gnawing at my chest.He didn’t notice, and maybe that was the point. Nathan and I had always had a quiet distance, a gap I’d tried for years to bridge, to turn into something more than the short conversations and shared space. I had tried dinners, small gifts, as

Evelyn’s POVThey were already filming when I walked in, which meant no one asked how I was feeling and no one cared if I needed a minute to settle myself before becoming whatever version of me they had decided the audience preferred this week. Alfred smiled the moment he saw me, the public one, wide and practiced, and reached for my waist like it was muscle memory, like my body existed for continuity. His hand landed there easily, too easily, fingers pressing in just enough to remind me that this was expected, that this was part of the story we were selling. “Morning,” he said brightly, voice pitched for microphones, leaning in to brush a kiss against my cheek that missed by an inch but still counted on camera. I stiffened anyway. The producer gave a thumbs-up. Someone adjusted a lens. Someone else reminded us to repeat the greeting once more, just in case. “Morning,” Alfred said again, his hand sliding slightly as he repositioned himself beside me, his smile never faltering. I