Evelina Novels & Stories

The woman attempted to ask and purposely placed her face closer to her. Eloise frowned and looked at the woman with a critical gaze. Then, with a weak voice, she said, "Eveline, you're not Eveline." "Hmph! You're indeed a fool, but you don't look especially stupid." The woman smiled and continued inching her face nearer. "Look properly. Am I really not your precious daughter, Eveline Montgomery?" Eloise tilted her head as if she no longer had the patience. "Eveline, I want Eveline. Where's Eveline, Eve—"

Or perhaps, more disturbingly, it was the undeniable truth that her heart still reacted to the mere mention of his name, a visceral response that defied her carefully constructed walls of indifference. By precisely 8:10 PM, a sleek black cab pulled up in front of the opulent grandeur of Hotel LaVelle. Evelyn stepped out, the cool evening air a stark contrast to the nervous flutter in her stomach. She smoothed down the skirt of her elegant black dress, a silent acknowledgment of the unspoken power dynamics at play.

They were on Evie. “You must be Evelyn.” Evie held her gaze. “And you are?” A faint smile. “Ravenna Cruz. I handle things… for him.” Something cold slid down Evie’s spine. Ravenna’s gaze moved over her. Slower than Damien’s. “You’re different from what I expected.” Evie didn’t look away. “Is that a problem?” Ravenna’s smile didn’t change. “That depends. On how long you last.” Then slightly closer. “You should be careful. Things that don’t belong in this world…” A small tilt of her head. “…tend to disappear.”

she said. Isabella left. Zara looked at Evelyn. Evelyn was already on the next page of the file. "She's wierd. Who sent her?" Zara said. "Nobody sent her," Evelyn said. "She came herself. She's a grown woman." "Right," she said. "Back to Cannes." The next thirty minutes were productive. The Cannes brief was taking shape, they had a very long time to prepare even. Evelyn just liked her things, arranged and predone

The high-resolution identification photograph on the command terminal seemed to burn through the glass. Vivian couldn't take her eyes off it. The resemblance was undeniable—the exact structural angle of the jaw, the piercing, cool shade of blue in the eyes. It was like looking at a slightly sharper, more clinical version of her own reflection. ​Evelyn Cross.

She couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. The child tilted her head innocently. “Mama?” Adrian looked utterly speechless. The elderly woman quietly wiped away tears. “I promised I’d bring her to you.” Elaine somehow found her voice. “…Who are you?” The woman smiled warmly. “My name is Evelyn.” She paused. “In another life…” Her eyes met Adrian’s. “…I was your mother.” Silence consumed the room. Outside, the world continued as if nothing extraordinary had happened.

The fifteen year old said sternly, “Try concentrating on Benjamen, whom you wish to see most in the world.” Elaine did as she was told to the best of her ability. Her silver gaze hidden behind her eyelids, Elaine brought the few precious memories of the man with a dagger back from the musty catacombs of her past and into the light of the present. The memory that stuck to her mind like a fly in a trap was the one full of heat, the day had dried her out, and if it hadn’t been starvation, it would have been dehydration that did her in. Elaine had been sitting on the side of the road like a broken little bird, burns along her arms from the fire that had taken her family and left her screaming. A

She gently tapped Adela on the arm, summoning her courage to speak. Startled, Adela turned, her eyes widening upon recognizing the woman who had once confronted her. Evelyn stood there with a soft, apologetic smile on her face. “May we talk?” she asked quietly, her tone free of hostility. Adela’s immediate reaction was guarded. She knew Evelyn was Liam Walton’s wife, from the powerful Walton family—a family Adela had resolved to avoid. Moreover, Adela remembered vividly their first, unpleasant encounter, marked by cruel misunderstandings and accusations. Her chest tightened at the memory. Without a word, she placed the jewelry book back on the shelf, turned on her heel, and walked away.

She giggled softly, “The Bratva’s worship death, you should visit my vineyard sometime. I’d love to show you as many corpses on which poison ivy now blossoms beautifully.” Then she turned toward Aria’s direction, and she took slow predatory steps. Her hands shot out to reach for Aria’s face, but Aria’s hand was faster. She grabbed Evelina’s wrist midair, “Don’t fucking touch me,” she muttered, her voice low but firm. Evelina’s eyes beamed with pleasant surprise, and then she leaned in to whisper against Aria’s ear. “I see he’s not just fucking you. You’re learning so much…”

“I’ll call you once I’m off.” I nodded and turned to walk away. “Do you mind if I walk you down? Just until you get a cab,” the guy asked behind me. “If you want to,” I said, not bothering to look back. We walked down the quiet street together. The city felt different at night still and quiet. “I’m Ian,” he said. “I’m Evelyn. But everyone calls me Eve,” I answered flatly. “Nice. You’re new around here?” “Obviously,” I muttered, not wanting to give too much information.