Chapter 1

Evelyn Sinclair's fingers trembled slightly as she pushed open the gates of Royal Gardens.

The servants' whispers floated from behind the flower trellis:

"Didn't Lord Alex take Miss Winslow to the gala last night? How dare she show her face here?"

"I heard Miss Winslow has already moved into Alex's private estate. Yet this one still won't leave."

"Tsk tsk, acting like she's the lady of the house..."

Seven years. She'd walked this corridor to the master bedroom countless times, but today it felt endless.

"Miss Sinclair," Mrs. Wilson suddenly blocked her path with a plastic smile, "Lord Alex has made it clear his bedroom is off-limits to outsiders."

Outsiders?

Evelyn's nails dug into her palms.

Yesterday's car accident hadn't killed her, but Alexander Kingsley's words now tore her heart open.

"Move." Her voice was soft but carried an icy finality.

Mrs. Wilson took an exaggerated step back. "Miss Sinclair, don't make this difficult for us servants. If anything valuable goes missing—"

"Auntie Wilson," Evelyn suddenly smiled, "After seven years as the Kingsleys' lapdog, haven't you learned to read the room?"

The sound of polished shoes clicking against marble echoed behind her.

Evelyn turned to meet Alexander's glacial stare.

Morning light gilded his silhouette but couldn't melt the frost in his eyes.

"Apologize." His first words were a command.

Evelyn studied the man she'd loved for thirteen years and suddenly saw a stranger.

"Why?" she whispered. "Because she's your new lover's distant relative? Or because I mean less to you than a stray dog?"

Alexander's brow furrowed as he seized her wrist.

White-hot pain blinded Evelyn—his grip perfectly aligned with her car accident injuries.

"It hurts..." She instinctively struggled.

Alexander slammed her against the wall, his breath hot against her ear: "Stop acting. You put on quite the performance when you crashed my club last night."

Evelyn shuddered.

She'd gone to beg for her sister Sophie's life, but he'd mistaken desperation for manipulation.

"Sophie needs—"

"Enough." Alexander cut her off. "Stop using your sister as an excuse."

He tore open her collar with the brutality of dismantling an object, not touching a person.

Staring at the swaying chandelier, Evelyn remembered the crystal light fixture twelve-year-old Alexander had gifted her.

He'd said he chose it specially because the glow complemented her.

How pathetic—she'd mistaken charity for love.

Afterward, Alexander adjusted his tie with mechanical precision. "Grandfather's birthday next month. Behave."

So that's why he'd returned—to ensure she wouldn't speak out of turn before the Kingsleys.

Evelyn wrapped herself in the sheets and suddenly laughed.

"What's so funny?" Alexander frowned.

"Nothing," she murmured. "I just finally understand."

The wardrobe doors slid open, revealing rows of white dresses that stung her eyes.

All these years, she'd molded herself into Alexander's ideal, erasing her true self.

The cruelest joke? She'd believed herself special—until seeing Isabella Winslow glowing in scarlet on his arm.

It wasn't that he disliked color. Just her in color.

Sunlight streamed through floor-to-ceiling windows as Evelyn methodically packed each white dress into her suitcase.

At the very bottom, she found a forgotten floral sundress—the last gift from her late mother.

The dam broke.

She slipped into the dress and wiped her tears before the mirror.

The reflection showed clear-eyed determination, as if she'd traveled back thirteen years to before she'd met Alexander.

Her credit card remained on the vanity, along with all those years of foolish devotion.

From this day forward, Evelyn Sinclair's name would never again be tied to Alexander Kingsley.