Chapter 4 Evelyn's POV

---

I didn't expect him to keep talking to me.

Men like him didn't usually bother with women like me - wives seated on the wrong side of the table, half-smiling, fully ignored. He was too polished, too powerful. The kind of man who made others listen without raising his voice.

And yet... Rafael De'Luca turned to me like I was the most interesting thing in the room.

I wasn't even sure when he started watching me. Somewhere between the jokes I didn't laugh at and the toasts I wasn't included in. But the weight of his gaze had been steady - not invasive, not lustful. Just... present.

And now he was speaking to me in that low, controlled voice that felt too calm for the chaos around us.

"This steak," he said, tapping the edge of his plate, "tastes like ambition and self-hatred." I blinked.

It was so unexpected - dry, biting humor wrapped in velvet. The way he said it, like it was meant just for me, made my lips part in surprise.

And before I could stop myself, I laughed. Soft. Quiet. Real.

The sound startled me. It had been weeks since I'd heard my own laughter. It felt foreign - like it didn't belong to this woman Damian kept overlooking.

I pressed my hand over my mouth, stealing a glance down the table.

Damian didn't look at me.

Of course he didn't.

He was busy. Listening to Lillian talk about some fundraising gala. She giggled and touched his sleeve like she belonged there - like I didn't exist.

I quickly looked back at Rafael.

He didn't smile. But something in his eyes... moved.

"I'm sorry," I said under my breath. "I shouldn't-"

"Why?" he interrupted gently.

I looked at him.

His expression was unreadable - but still focused. Still on me.

"I didn't say anything funny," he said with a slight tilt of his head. "You just needed a reason to laugh."

My breath hitched.

Not because he was wrong - but because he was right in a way that felt too personal.

I didn't respond. I couldn't. I just looked down at my untouched plate and tried to ignore the heat in my chest.

---

As the dinner dragged on, I noticed what others didn't:

Everyone wanted Rafael's attention.

One by one, investors leaned toward him, trying to impress. Men pitched ideas. Women tossed compliments like baited hooks. Even Lillian, for all her poise, subtly adjusted her dress strap and batted her lashes when she spoke to him.

"Mr. De'Luca," she purred at one point, "you must be exhausted from being this desired." Rafael gave her the smallest smile imaginable. "Not exhausted. Just bored."

There was a faint chuckle around the table - nervous and unsure - but he didn't elaborate. He turned slightly back toward me, offering me the smallest, most deliberate nod.

It wasn't flirtation.

It was confirmation.

He knew what this room was. What it was doing to me. And he saw it.

He saw me.

---

Dessert arrived.

Something expensive and delicate and glazed with gold dust.

Lillian twirled her spoon like she was auditioning for a perfume commercial. One of the women at the table leaned in, admiring Lillian's necklace.

"It's stunning," she gushed. "Rose gold? Custom design?"

Lillian smiled. "Mmhmm. It was a gift."

My stomach twisted.

I didn't have to look at it again to remember what it was.

That necklace - delicate, teardrop diamond, rose gold chain - was the one I had once stared at for days in a catalog. I'd left it open on the coffee table, circled it with a pen, even mentioned it to Damian on our anniversary.

He'd rolled his eyes. "You're too old to be obsessed with shiny things." But now... Lillian wore it like she was born to.

And Damian?

He noticed.

He smirked at her and took a sip of wine like she was his victory prize.

I pressed my palm flat to my stomach beneath the table, a habit I hadn't shaken since the miscarriage. There was nothing there anymore, but the ache lingered.

---

Then, in the middle of a passing conversation, Rafael's voice cut clean through the noise.

"I thought Evelyn looked the most beautiful tonight."

Every voice stopped.

My fork paused mid-air.

Lillian blinked. Damian turned his head.

And for one long moment, the room went still.

I froze.

He said it so plainly. So calmly. Like he wasn't aware of the grenade he had just dropped on this glittering, snake-filled table.

Damian laughed - a sharp, disbelieving sound. "Excuse me?" Rafael looked directly at him.

"Is she not your wife?"

Damian stiffened. "She is."

"You could've fooled everyone," Rafael said smoothly, gesturing toward Lillian with a tilt of his head. "I mean, you've let the entire table believe otherwise."

Lillian's smile cracked.

The older men stopped chewing.

Rafael didn't raise his voice. He didn't push. But each word was a quiet, deliberate incision.

"And your real wife," he continued, "has sat here quietly while people whispered about her. While you let someone else take her place. So forgive me," he added with a light shrug, "for thinking she was single. That would've made more sense."

Damian was red. His jaw flexed. His hand clenched around his wine glass. Before he could speak, Rafael stood.

No rush. No fear.

He adjusted the cuff of his dark suit. The movement made the edge of a tattoo peek out from beneath his sleeve - something inked and dangerous, the only mess on a man otherwise carved from order.

Then he turned to me.

Slowly. Intentionally.

He leaned in just slightly - enough for only me to hear.

And he slipped a card into my hand like it had always belonged there. "I enjoyed our conversation, Evelyn," he murmured.

"You're a beautiful lady. Kind. A little quiet. But sharp."

Then, with the faintest hint of a smirk:

"Too bad your husband's a jerk."

And he walked away.

Not with urgency.

With certainty.

The room buzzed in his wake - whispers, tension, embarrassed laughter trying to fill the silence.

But I was still frozen.

Still holding the card.

Still replaying that moment.

Because he said my name.

Because he spoke to me, not around me.

---

Outside, it got worse.

Damian grabbed my arm before we even reached the car.

"What the hell was that?" he hissed. "Are you throwing yourself at my investors now?"

I tried to pull away. "Damian, I didn't-"

"You just had to flirt, didn't you? Pathetic. Do you even know how embarrassing you are?"

His words were sharp. Spit-laced. Loud.

I looked down. Not because I was ashamed.

But because I didn't want him to see how little his voice could reach me now.

"Can we go back inside?" Lillian interrupted with a pout, clinging to his arm. "I didn't even get to try the dessert wine..."

And just like that, he turned to her.

His arm softened. His voice changed - gentler now. For her. They walked away.

Left me standing alone in the cold.

---

I didn't cry.

I didn't scream.

I got into the car. Started the engine.

And sat in silence.

I pulled out the card. Ran my finger over the lettering.

RAFAEL DE'LUCA.

That was it.

No number. No address.

Just a name that felt heavy in my palm.

I whispered it.

"Rafael."

It tasted like something dangerous. Something expensive. Something that didn't belong in my world.

I wouldn't call him.

I wasn't ready for that.

But I would remember him.

And I would remember tonight.

Because in a room full of people who watched me crumble... only one saw me stand.

--