Chapter 4

The True Love jewelry store glinted harshly under the sunlight.

Evelyn Sinclair stood across the street, watching the perfect couple walk arm-in-arm into the boutique. Alexander Kingsley's tall frame was rigid as a pine, while Isabella Winslow clung to him with a radiant smile.

A memory surfaced—her fifteen-year-old self.

She'd once pressed her face against True Love's display window, mesmerized by a diamond wedding ring. Alexander had dragged her away with a scowl, though his ears had turned pink.

"You'll buy it for me someday, Alex!" she'd chirped.

"Fine," he'd muttered without looking back.

That simple promise had become her most cherished hope.

Her phone rang abruptly.

"Thirty minutes." Alexander's voice was glacial.

Evelyn stepped into an alley. "What do you want?"

"Where are you?" The sound of knuckles cracking carried through the line.

Gazing at True Love's sign, she laughed softly. "Watching you two pick out an engagement ring."

Silence.

"Evelyn," he bit out each syllable, "are you trying to die?"

"Congratulations." Her tone was breezy. "Finally getting rid of your burden."

She hung up, blocked the number, then powered off her phone.

Dawn reflected off Horizon Tower's glass facade.

"Get some rest, but keep your phone on." Martha Nash patted her shoulder. "The Isabella situation is cooling down, but we need to monitor—"

There won't be updates.

Evelyn watched the pale morning sky. If the Kingsleys consented, Alexander could marry Isabella tomorrow.

A silver Maserati pulled up silently.

The window lowered, revealing Julian Ashford's striking features. "Get in."

As colleagues' laughter approached behind her, Evelyn hastily entered.

"Where to?" Julian handed her a warm milk carton.

"A hotel." The heat seeped into her chilled fingers.

"Still overworking." His chuckle held fondness. "Remember in America when—"

"Julian!" She cut him off sharply.

Silence filled the car.

"He'll never know, will he?" Julian's grip whitened on the steering wheel. "What you sacrificed—"

"It's over." She turned to the window.

Love wasn't charity or repayment. She and Alexander had reached this point through their own choices.

Her phone buzzed to life with dozens of missed calls.

A new text flashed: [Don't you dare ignore me again.]

She calmly blocked the number.

The Maserati stopped at a five-star hotel.

"This is too much." Evelyn shook her head.

"Company expense." Julian pressed the keycard into her hand. "Rest."

As he turned away, darkness flickered in his eyes.

She'd left the Kingsley mansion with nothing—not even spare clothes. Alexander truly was merciless.

The suite's floor-to-ceiling windows framed a river view worthy of a painting.

Evelyn hit the curtain switch. When the last sliver of light vanished, she finally let tears fall.

Two days ago replayed vividly.

Isabella had stolen her butterfly brooch—her mother's only keepsake—in her absence.

At Kingsley Group headquarters, Evelyn had slapped Isabella. Alexander emerged to find Isabella weeping dramatically.

"Alex, she accused me of theft—"

"It was the butterfly brooch!" Evelyn's lips trembled.

"Enough." Alexander's voice could freeze hell. "Even if she took it, violence is unacceptable. You're spoiled rotten, Evelyn."

Yes, she'd been spoiled.

Spoiled enough to believe Alexander would always indulge her.

"I hit her. What will you do about it?" She lifted her chin defiantly.

His glare turned arctic. "Apologize, or forget being Mrs. Kingsley."

Her voice shook. "And if I refuse?"

"Then we're done." No hesitation. "Choose: apology or breakup."