Chapter 4 No.4

Evangeline reached out to a passing waiter's tray and plucked a flute of champagne. The crystal felt cool and fragile in her hand. She held it aloft, the bubbles catching the low light of the chandeliers.

Cedric stood up abruptly, his chair legs scraping harshly against the wooden floor. The sound was like a gunshot in the sudden silence of the lounge. His face darkened, his jaw tightening.

"Evangeline," he warned, his voice a low rumble.

Chloie looked up, confused. She blinked, her fake lashes fluttering. "Who let you in?" she asked, her voice shrill. "Security!"

Evangeline ignored her completely. She kept her eyes locked on Cedric's.

"A toast," she announced. Her voice was clear, carrying effortlessly over the jazz music. People at nearby tables turned, sensing the spectacle. Phones were already being raised, camera lenses glinting like calm little eyes.

"To my husband, Cedric Malone," Evangeline said, savoring the word husband. A collective gasp rippled through the onlookers. The whispers started immediately. Husband? He's married?

"And," Evangeline continued, turning her gaze to Chloie, "to his mistress. For keeping him entertained while his wife buried her grandmother."

With a flick of her wrist, she emptied the glass.

The champagne splashed directly onto Chloie. The golden liquid soaked into her white designer dress, turning the fabric translucent and sticky.

Chloie shrieked, jumping up from the booth. "My dress! You crazy bitch!"

Chaos erupted. The whispers turned into excited murmurs.

Cedric moved fast. He grabbed Evangeline's arm, his fingers digging into her flesh. "What the hell are you doing?" he hissed, pulling her slightly closer. "You are making a spectacle."

Evangeline didn't flinch. She leaned in, her face inches from his. She smelled his cologne-sandalwood and betrayal.

"I'm giving you the publicity you wanted, Cedric," she whispered. "You wanted a dynasty? Here's your headline."

In a dark corner booth, obscured by shadows, a man watched. Cliffton King swirled his whiskey, his blue eyes narrowing. He had been bored all night, but this... this was interesting. He studied the woman in the red dress. Her profile, the arch of her nose, the fire in her eyes. It triggered a memory, a flash of an old oil painting hanging in his family's gallery. Hertha King, 1985. The resemblance was uncanny.

"Get her out of here!" Chloie was screaming, dabbing frantically at her dress with a napkin, tears of rage streaming down her face. "She's a stalker! She's obsessed with us!"

Evangeline laughed. It was a hollow, brittle sound. "A stalker? No, Chloie. Just a loose end."

She yanked her arm free from Cedric's grip. With her other hand, she pulled the blue folder from her clutch.

She slammed it onto the table. The force knocked over a small votive candle, which sputtered and died in a pool of wax.

"Sign it, Cedric," she commanded.

Cedric looked down. The bold text stared back at him: DISSOLUTION OF MARRIAGE.

A strange panic seized his chest. A tightness he hadn't expected. He looked at Evangeline. He was waiting for her to cry, to beg, to ask for another chance. That was the Evangeline he knew. But the woman standing before him was a stranger. She was cold marble and fire.

"Evangeline, we can discuss this at home," Cedric said, his voice losing some of its edge. "Not here. Not like this."

"There is no home," she cut him off. She pushed a pen towards him. "Sign it. Or I start talking to the reporters outside about exactly where you were the night Nana died."

Cedric scanned the room. Every phone was pointed at them. If he dragged her out, the videos would be captioned 'Billionaire Assaults Wife.' If he argued, it would be 'Malone Marriage Scandal.'

He was trapped. And she knew it.

He picked up the pen. His hand felt heavy. He looked at her one last time, searching for a crack in the armor.

"You'll regret this," he said softly.

"I only regret the last three years," she replied.

Cedric grit his teeth. He signed his name with aggressive, sharp strokes, the pen tip tearing the paper slightly on the final 'e'.

Evangeline didn't wait. She snatched the papers back the second the pen lifted. She checked the signature. It was done.

"Happy Anniversary, Mr. Malone," she said. Her voice dripped with sarcasm, but her eyes were glassy.

She turned on her heel. The adrenaline that had sustained her was beginning to fade, leaving her legs feeling like jelly. The room swayed slightly.

"You'll pay for this dress!" Chloie yelled after her. "I'll sue you for every penny you don't have!"

Evangeline didn't look back. She walked through the parted crowd, head high, the red silk flowing behind her like a trail of blood.

Cliffton King signaled to the massive bodyguard standing in the shadows behind him. He didn't take his eyes off the exit.

"Follow her," Cliffton said quietly. "Make sure she's safe."

Cedric stood frozen by the table. He watched the red dress disappear through the double doors. He ignored Chloie's whining. He felt a sudden, gaping emptiness in his chest, a draft in a room that should have been warm.

He looked down at the floor where the champagne had pooled. It was a stain. And he had a sinking feeling that this one wouldn't wash out.

Evangeline pushed through the heavy doors and stepped out into the night air. The cool wind hit her flushed skin, and the world tilted violently on its axis.