EVELYN'S POV
Evelyn Hale sat in her penthouse suite at The Pierre, fingers wrapped around a glass of Château Margaux as she watched the paparazzi footage play for the fourth time. The screen glowed in the darkened room, illuminating her face with harsh blue light.
The video looped again. Alexander Langford's body shielding Seraphina. His arm wrapped protectively around her waist, pulling her against him like she was something precious. The way he'd shoved that photographer—fierce, possessive, dangerous.
Evelyn's perfectly manicured fingers tightened around the glass stem.
This wasn't how it was supposed to go.
Seraphina was supposed to look desperate. Pathetic. Like the unstable woman who'd slapped her sister's fiancé in front of half of Manhattan. Instead, she looked protected. Cherished. Like she mattered to someone powerful enough to make the world bend.
Like she'd won.
Again.
"She looks happy," Derek said from behind her, voice low and edged with something dark. He stood at the bar, pouring himself another whiskey—his third in the last hour. "They both do."
Evelyn didn't respond immediately. She took a delicate sip, letting the silence stretch just long enough to make him uncomfortable. A technique she'd perfected—make them wait, make them wonder, make them come to you.
"She's not happy," Evelyn said finally, voice soft and measured. Sweet, even. Like explaining something obvious to a child. "She's terrified. Look at her face."
She paused the video, zoomed in. Seraphina's eyes were wide, lips parted in fear.
But even terrified, she looked cared for. Protected.
And that was the problem.
Evelyn set down her phone with deliberate gentleness, smoothed her silk robe, and turned to face Derek with a small, sympathetic smile. "You must be feeling awful. Seeing them together like that."
Derek's jaw tightened. He downed the whiskey in one swallow, the glass hitting the bar top harder than necessary. "I don't care about Seraphina anymore."
"Of course you don't," Evelyn murmured, crossing to him with measured steps. She reached up, adjusted his collar with wifely care, her touch light and soothing. "You have me now. We have each other. That's what matters."
His hand caught her wrist—not gentle, but not quite rough yet. A warning. "Don't patronize me, Evelyn."
"I would never." She looked up at him through her lashes, eyes wide and innocent. "I'm just worried about you. This must be so hard, watching her move on so quickly. It's almost like she never cared about you at all."
The muscles in his jaw ticked. Perfect.
"She always was cold," Derek muttered, releasing her to pour another drink. "Calculating. Everything was about the company, about impressing her father. I was just another acquisition to her."
"That's not true," Evelyn said softly, even though it absolutely was. "She loved you. In her way. She's just damaged. All that pressure from father, from the divorce, from trying to be perfect. It broke something in her."
She moved closer, laid a gentle hand on his arm. "That's why she reacted so violently at the banquet. Why she's clinging to Alexander now. She's not stable, Derek. Anyone can see that. She needs help, not a wedding."
"Then why is everyone treating her like the victim?" Derek's voice rose, anger bleeding through. "I'm the one she assaulted. I'm the one she humiliated. And now she's got the richest man in New York wrapped around her finger?"
"I know." Evelyn's voice was pure sympathy. "It's not fair. You didn't deserve what she did to you. No one deserves to be hit like that, especially not in public." She paused, let the words settle. "But you know how the media is. They love a redemption story. Poor Seraphina, so tragic, so brave."
She turned back to her wine, took a thoughtful sip. "Of course, that narrative only works if she actually is a victim. If people believe she's stable, rational, making good choices."
Derek moved behind her, close enough that she could feel his presence like heat against her back. His hands settled on her waist—possessive, tight. "What are you thinking?"
"Nothing important," Evelyn said lightly, innocently. "Just that if people started questioning her stability, if there were signs that maybe she's not as put-together as she seems, then maybe the sympathy would shift. Maybe people would remember that she's the one who got violent. The one who caused a scene."
"You want to make her look crazy."
"I want people to see the truth," Evelyn corrected gently, turning in his arms. Her hands came up to rest on his chest, fingers playing with his collar. "That she's unwell. That this engagement is just another symptom of her instability. That someone needs to intervene before she hurts herself. Or someone else."
She looked up at him with wide, concerned eyes. "I'm worried about her, Derek. I really am. She's my sister. I don't want to see her spiral further."
The lie came out so sweet, so sincere, that even she almost believed it.
Derek's hands tightened on her waist, pulling her flush against him. "You're not worried about her. You hate her."
"Hate is such a strong word." Evelyn's smile was soft, almost sad. "I just think maybe she's had things too easy. Maybe she needs to learn that the world doesn't revolve around Seraphina Hale."
Derek's eyes darkened. His hand came up to grip her chin—firm enough to hurt, to remind her exactly who she was dealing with. "You're playing a dangerous game, Evelyn. Using me to destroy your sister."
"I'm not using you," she said, voice steady despite the pressure on her jaw. "We're helping each other. You want revenge for what she did. I want justice for what she's done to this family. We both want the same thing."
"And what's that?"
"To see her lose everything." The sweetness dropped from her voice for just a moment, replaced by something cold and hard. "The company. The reputation. Alexander. Everything she thinks makes her special."
Derek's grip tightened further, forcing her head back, exposing her throat. A dominance play—crude, aggressive, meant to intimidate. "And what do I get out of this? Besides the satisfaction of watching her fall?"
"Me," Evelyn said simply, holding his gaze even as her neck ached. "My family's money. Access to the Hale empire once Seraphina's out of the picture. A second chance at everything you lost."
She reached up, wrapped her fingers around his wrist—not to pull away, but to hold him there. A gesture that could be surrender or control.
"I can give you all of that, Derek. But only if you listen to me. Only if you follow my lead." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Can you do that?"
For a long moment, he stared at her, testing, threatening. Then his grip shifted—from her chin to her throat, thumb pressing against her pulse point with deliberate pressure. Not enough to choke, but enough to remind her that he could.
"I'm not your puppet, Evelyn. I don't take orders from anyone."
"I know," she said softly, not fighting the grip. "That's what I like about you. You're strong. Dangerous. Everything Seraphina never appreciated." She paused, let her voice go even softer, more vulnerable. "Everything I appreciate."
The words hit exactly as intended. His expression shifted—still dangerous, but warming with ego, with the intoxication of being valued after being rejected.
"You're good at this," he said, almost admiringly. "The manipulation. The lies. Better than I thought."
"I learned from the best." She smiled—small, sweet, almost shy.
She leaned into his grip slightly, a gesture of trust that made his hand gentle incrementally.
His hand finally dropped from her throat, trailing down to rest possessively on her collarbone. "So what's the next move?"
Evelyn turned back to the window, letting his hands settle on her waist from behind.
"We need something bigger than a restaurant tip," she said thoughtfully. "Something that makes people question her judgment. Her stability."
"Like what?"
"Like evidence." She took a delicate sip of wine, mind already working through angles. "Financial irregularities. Erratic behavior. Maybe some emails that show she's not as stable as she seems."
"Where are we supposed to get that?"
Evelyn smiled. "From someone close to her. Someone she trusts."
Derek's hands tightened on her waist. "You have someone on the inside."
"I always have someone on the inside." She turned in his arms again, looked up at him with wide, earnest eyes. "But I need your help too, Derek"
Derek's ego practically preened, his shoulders straightening with renewed purpose.
"What do you need me to do?"
"For now? Nothing." She reached up, smoothed his collar again with wifely affection. "Just be patient. Let me handle the details. When I need you—when it's time to make your move—I'll tell you exactly what to do."
"And if I don't want to wait?" His voice dropped to something darker, more threatening. "If I want to do this my way?"
Evelyn's smile never wavered, but her eyes went cold. "Then you'll ruin everything. Again. Just like you did at the banquet."
His hand shot out, gripping her throat—for real this time, with genuine anger. He shoved her backward until her back hit the window, the city glittering behind her, his body caging her in.
"Watch your fucking mouth," he growled, face inches from hers. "You don't get to talk to me like that."
Evelyn just looked at him with those wide, innocent eyes, even as his grip cut off her air. Her hands came up—not to fight, but to rest gently on his wrist. Soft. Trusting.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, voice strained but sincere-sounding. "You're right. I shouldn't have said that. I just get scared sometimes. Scared that you'll leave like everyone else did. Scared that I'm not enough to keep you."
The vulnerability in her voice—completely manufactured but perfectly executed—made his grip loosen slightly.
"You think I'd leave you?"
"I don't know." She let tears well in her eyes—real tears, summoned through sheer force of will and the oxygen deprivation. "Everyone leaves eventually. Father left for Clara. Mother left for Seraphina. Even you left me for her first."
"That was different—"
"Was it?" A single tear tracked down her cheek. "Or am I just the backup? The one you settled for when you couldn't have her?"
"Jesus Christ, Evelyn—" His hand dropped from her throat entirely, running through his hair in frustration. "You're not the backup. You're better than her. Smarter. More beautiful. She never appreciated what she had."
"Then show me." Evelyn's voice was small, vulnerable, perfectly pitched. "Help me with this. Prove that you choose me. That I'm not just convenient."
Derek stared at her for a long moment, jaw working. Then he kissed her—hard, possessive, claiming. His hands gripped her hips, pulling her against him with bruising force.
When he finally pulled back, his eyes were dark with satisfaction and renewed purpose. "What do you need me to do?"
Evelyn smiled—small, grateful, adoring. "Just trust me. Can you do that?"
"For now."
"That's all I ask." She kissed him again, soft and sweet, then slipped out of his grip to retrieve her phone. "I need to make a call. Pour yourself another drink."
She walked to the bedroom, closed the door, and let the sweet, vulnerable mask drop entirely. Her expression went cold, calculating, focused.
She dialed.
It rang twice before a familiar voice answered—cautious, wary.
"It's me," Evelyn said, her voice all business now. No sweetness, no manipulation. Just cold efficiency. "The restaurant tip wasn't enough. We need something bigger. Are you still inside?"
Pause. Then, quietly: "Yes. She trusts me completely."
Perfect.
"Good. Because the next phase requires someone close. Someone she'd never suspect."
"What do you need?"
"Access to her office." She said, her voice cool.