Chapter 2 2

Cold water splashed against Eveline's face, shocking her skin but doing little to settle the turmoil in her gut.

She gripped the edges of the marble sink, her knuckles white. The woman in the mirror looked like a ghost. Pale skin, wide, terrified eyes, and lips that were too red, too swollen.

Pull it together, Eveline.

She dabbed her mouth with a paper towel, reapplying a layer of nude lipstick to hide the evidence of Fulton's teeth. She couldn't stay in here forever. Absence was just as suspicious as presence in the Horn manor.

Taking a shaky breath, she smoothed the silk of her dress. The sterile quiet of the bathroom felt like a bunker, a temporary reprieve from the war zone of the party. She knew what waited for her on the other side of the door. The walk back through the hushed, wood-paneled corridor would feel like a mile, every step taking her from the private shame of the library to the public performance required in the ballroom. She steeled herself, her reflection offering no comfort, and pushed open the bathroom door.

The ballroom was an assault on the senses. The crystal chandeliers were too bright, the laughter too shrill, the scent of expensive perfume and roasted meat too cloying. Eveline kept her head down, trying to weave through the crowd toward the periphery.

She just needed to survive the next hour. Then she could claim a headache and leave.

But the crowd parted like the Red Sea.

A hush fell over the room, followed by a ripple of whispers. Eveline looked up, and her heart stopped.

Fulton stood at the top of the grand staircase. Janiya Tanner was on his arm.

Janiya was perfection manufactured in a lab. Blonde hair cascading in carefully curated waves, a smile that showed exactly the right amount of teeth, and a diamond on her finger that caught the light and threw it back with blinding arrogance. But up close, Eveline saw the faintest tremor in her manicured hand, the slight, unnatural dilation of her pupils that even the ballroom's light couldn't shrink. Her perfection was a veneer, stretched taut over something brittle.

Fulton's face was a mask of indifference. He looked bored. He looked like a king surveying his subjects. His eyes scanned the room and, for a fraction of a second, landed on Eveline.

There was nothing in that look. No heat. No recognition. It was as if the scene in the library had happened in another lifetime.

Eveline felt a phantom pain in her chest. Two years, she thought. Two years of my life, and I'm still just the dirty little secret.

"Look who it is."

The voice was sickly sweet. Eveline froze as Janiya steered Fulton directly toward her. The crowd formed a circle around them, eager for blood.

"Eveline," Janiya cooed, stopping two feet away. "You look... tired. Is the air in here a bit too rich for you?"

A few people chuckled. Eveline forced a smile. It felt like her face might crack.

"Congratulations on the engagement, Miss Tanner," Eveline said, her voice steady despite the trembling in her knees. She tried to step back.

Janiya didn't let her go. "Thank you. It's a shame your mother couldn't be here. I heard she's having trouble with her... finances. Again." Janiya tilted her head, her eyes gleaming with malice. "Fulton is a saint for putting up with you two. Most men would have evicted the parasites by now."

Eveline's gaze flicked to Fulton.

He stood with one hand in his pocket, watching the exchange with cold detachment. He didn't step in. He didn't defend her. He let his fiancée carve Eveline open in front of New York's elite.

The nausea returned, stronger this time.

A waiter passed by with a silver tray. Raw oysters.

The smell hit Eveline like a physical blow. The brine, the metallic tang of the sea, the raw flesh.

Her stomach convulsed.

She didn't even have time to cover her mouth.

Eveline doubled over, a wet, retching sound tearing through the polite conversation. Bile splashed onto the polished parquet floor, just inches from Janiya's custom Louboutins.

The silence that followed was absolute.

"Oh my god!" Janiya shrieked, jumping back. "Disgusting!"

"Is she drunk?" someone whispered.

"Maybe she's on something," another voice muttered.

Eveline gasped for air, tears streaming down her face. The humiliation burned hotter than the acid in her throat. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, unable to look up.

Fulton's mask cracked.

His pupils constricted. His hand twitched at his side, as if he were about to reach out. But he stopped himself. The muscles in his jaw worked furiously.

He turned his head slightly. "Vance."

His personal assistant materialized from the shadows, a man in a black suit who looked more like a hitman than a secretary.

"Get her out of here," Fulton said. His voice was ice. "Take her to the hospital."

"No," Eveline croaked, backing away. "I'm fine. I just... I ate something bad."

"The hospital," Fulton repeated, his eyes boring into hers. There was a warning there. Do not disobey me.

Vance gripped Eveline's elbow. His fingers were like steel clamps. "This way, Miss Delacruz."

"Fulton, please," she whispered, looking at him one last time.

He had already turned back to Janiya, placing a hand on the small of her back, murmuring something to calm her down.

Eveline's heart shattered.

Vance dragged her toward the exit. The whispers followed her like a swarm of bees.

"Is she pregnant?"

The question floated in the air, loud and clear.

Eveline stumbled as Vance shoved her through the double doors and into the cool night air. A black sedan was waiting, engine running.

"Get in," Vance said, opening the rear door.

"I don't want to go to the hospital," Eveline pleaded, gripping the door frame. "Vance, please. Take me home."

Vance looked at her, his expression unreadable. "Mr. Horn gave an order. We need to know what's wrong with you."

He pushed her inside and slammed the door. The lock engaged with a heavy thud.

Eveline sank into the leather seat, wrapping her arms around her stomach. The secret she hadn't even dared to admit to herself was suddenly very, very real.