Chapter 3 3

The Signature That Saved Nothing

Evelyn's POV

Shaw took me to a quiet place-a private estate tucked away from the city's chaos. The kind of place where you could hear your own thoughts, even if you didn't want to.

A high iron gate opened to reveal a white mansion surrounded by trees and silence. It felt sterile and too clean. Like the walls had been scrubbed of memories.

Maybe that's why he brought me here.

To sign something that had nothing to do with love.

Just like everything else in my life.

He led me inside, calm and polite as ever. I followed wordlessly, my heels tapping on marble floors, echoing through the hall like a warning.

He stopped in a sunlit lounge and gestured to the table where a folder waited, pen placed neatly on top. Everything was ready. As if he expected me to come.

As if desperation had a schedule.

"This is it," he said simply.

I sat across from him, nodding. My fingers hovered over the pen, but I didn't pick it up yet.

My eyes found the window instead. Outside, birds flew across the fading sky. So free. So far away from everything that was binding me.

He didn't know I was dying inside.

He didn't know that every smile I gave him was a performance rehearsed for years. That behind my lipstick and designer coat was a woman unraveling.

He didn't know about my father-his body weakening faster than his empire could be passed down. A man whose brilliance was now dimmed by painkillers and hospital monitors.

A man who used to rule boardrooms, now barely able to hold a spoon.

He didn't know about the companies. The endless meetings. The board members trying to corner me, test me, break me.

He didn't know about the baby growing inside me. The secret I cradled in silence. The little life that came from the one man who made me believe in something soft... only to rip it away.

Henry Desmond.

I used to say his name with warmth.

Now, it tasted like ash.

"I know this must feel strange," Shaw said suddenly, breaking the silence. "But I promise I'll respect the agreement. No surprises."

I looked at him. "What made you think I'd say yes?"

He paused. "Because you looked like you needed something, too."

I blinked, caught off guard.

"And what do you think that is?" I asked, a flicker of challenge in my voice.

He didn't smile. "A reason to be someone else. Even for a short while."

God, he was right.

I'd been Evelyn Monroe my whole life-heiress, socialite, perfect daughter, public face. But inside, I was shattered porcelain. And no one ever noticed the cracks because I'd trained them not to.

Maybe Shaw saw past that. Maybe he didn't.

But for now, we were two people using each other to survive our own private hells.

I signed the papers with a steady hand.

My signature slid across the bottom of the page like a final breath.

"Done," I said.

He nodded and reached for the folder. "My driver will take you home. We'll stage the introduction tomorrow. My father's better in the morning."

I stood, grabbing my bag.

Then I hesitated.

"What happens after this?" I asked.

He tilted his head. "We finish what we started. Then we go back to our lives."

I almost laughed. Go back to what?

There was no life to go back to. Just pieces, ghosts and an unborn child who deserved better than the broken woman carrying it.

As I walked out of that mansion, I couldn't shake the feeling that I had signed something far bigger than a lie.

I had signed away the last of my control.

The drive back was quiet.

I leaned my head against the window, watching raindrops race each other across the glass. The city passed in a blur of headlights and faces. All those people out there, living their lives, untouched by betrayal and grief.

I envied them.

At a red light, my phone buzzed again.

Another unknown number.

I didn't answer it.

Hope was a dangerous drug. And I was overdosing.

I got home and kicked off my heels, letting them tumble across the polished floor. I was too tired to care. I unzipped my coat, dropped it onto a chair, and sank onto the couch.

The silence of my house was deafening.

I curled a hand over my stomach.

I hadn't spoken to the baby yet. Not really. But now, in the quiet, I whispered:

"I don't know what I'm doing. But I promise I'll protect you. Even if I'm falling apart."

I stayed there for hours, eyes closed and heart numb.

The next morning came like a slap.

Nurses called from the hospital-my father's condition was slipping again. He hadn't responded to his physical therapy. He was barely eating.

I dressed in black slacks and a cream blouse, no makeup, and pulled my hair into a low knot. No appearances today. Just duty.

When I arrived, his eyes opened slowly.

"Evelyn," he whispered, weak but smiling.

I sat beside him, taking his hand. "I'm here, Dad."

He stared at me, eyes blinking slower than usual.

"Company... good?"

"Yes," I lied. "Everything's fine."

He nodded. "I always knew you'd be strong."

I squeezed his hand harder. "Rest, Daddy. I've got it now."

And I did.

All of it.

The companies, the responsibilities, the lies and the pain.

The baby?

No one else knew.

And that was the hardest part.

I was surrounded by people-advisors, assistants, nurses, executives-but I had never felt more alone.

That night, Shaw picked me up for the first official "appearance" as his fiancée.

We drove in silence for a while, his hands firm on the steering wheel.

"You okay?" he asked after a long pause.

I turned my face toward the window.

"Define okay." I answered.

"Fair," he said quietly. "You don't have to talk."

We arrived at a family estate-not as grand as mine, but filled with real life. Photos on the walls, dishes clattering in the kitchen.

I could already hear someone coughing from the back room.

Shaw's mother met us at the door, her arms opening wide.

"You must be Evelyn," she said, hugging me before I could protest.

I froze. The warmth caught me off guard.

She pulled back and smiled with watery eyes. "Thank you for doing this. You've made my husband so happy."

I forced a smile. "I'm honored to meet him."

Inside, Shaw's father lay on a leather recliner, tubes running from his arm to a small machine. He looked pale and tired-but when he saw me, his face lit up.

"So beautiful," he said with a faint smile. "Just like I pictured."

I swallowed hard. "It's lovely to meet you, Mr. Molton."

"Call me Richard." He gestured for me to sit beside him. "Let me look at you."

I did.

And for a moment, I felt like a fraud.

Because I was.

This wasn't love. This wasn't real.

But the look in his eyes-pure joy-made me question everything.

"Shaw's lucky," he murmured. "I always wanted him to have a strong woman by his side. Like your mother was to your father."

That hit me so hard.

I looked away.

Shaw stepped in smoothly, placing a hand on my shoulder. "Dad, don't tire yourself. Evelyn's nervous enough."

Richard chuckled. "She's a Monroe. She doesn't get nervous."

But he didn't know I was shaking inside.

Dinner passed in a blur. Laughter and questions. Shaw's hand brushing mine every now and then for effect. He was good at pretending. So was I.

Except when his mother said, "You two would make beautiful babies."

I nearly choked.

I excused myself to the bathroom, locking the door behind me.

I stared at my reflection-my pale face, my hollow eyes.

"You already have a baby," I whispered.

I touched my belly again, trembling.

How much longer could I keep this secret?

How much longer could I play someone else?

Later that night, as Shaw drove me home, the silence between us grew heavier.

"I know tonight wasn't easy," he said finally. "You did well."

I didn't respond.

"You okay?" he repeated.

I turned to him slowly. "Do I look okay?"

He didn't answer.

I continued. "You see a woman who signed your deal. Who plays pretend. But you don't know what I'm carrying.

What I've lost. You don't know how I cry myself to sleep and pretend I'm still whole."

He glanced at me, like something clicked. "You're pregnant."

I froze.

He didn't ask. He said it.

"You're not showing," he said quietly. "But I've seen that look. My sister... she lost one. She had that same pain behind her eyes."

I looked away, silent.

"I won't say anything," he added. "That's your truth. I just... I hope you're not doing this just to bury the pain."

I stared at him. "What if I am?"

He nodded. "Then I hope it gives you enough time to breathe."

That surprised me.

Not pity.

Just understanding.

For the first time in weeks, I didn't feel judged.

Just seen.

As we pulled up to my house, I turned to him before stepping out.

"Thank you," I said.

"For what?"

"For not pretending everything's fine."

He nodded. "Let me know if you ever need to stop pretending."

And for the first time in a long time...

I wanted to believe someone meant it.