Evelyn POV
The applause eventually found something else to cling to.
A toast. A laugh too loud. Music swelling as if it could stitch the moment back together and pretend nothing had fractured.
I let it happen.
I smiled when someone looked my way, nodded when my mother gestured stiffly from across the room, and moved only when I absolutely had to. Inside, everything felt scraped raw—like I'd been pulled into the light without permission and left there to burn.
Eighteen is significant.
It shouldn't be an afterthought.
His words echoed whether I wanted them to or not.
I slipped away when the attention drifted, my heels clicking too fast against the marble floors as I headed for the staircase. No one stopped me. No one ever did. That, at least, was familiar.
The moment I reached the hallway outside my bedroom, I exhaled—sharp, uneven. My hands trembled as I pushed the door open and shut it behind me, leaning back against the wood like it might hold me together.
I hated him for that.
For saying something.
For making it public.
For forcing a room full of people to look at me like I was suddenly… something.
I crossed the room and peeled the delicate wrap from my shoulders, letting it fall onto the chair. My reflection in the mirror looked wrong—too bright-eyed, too flushed, like someone who had just been congratulated for existing.
I scrubbed at my lipstick with a tissue, wiping away the color until my lips stung.
A knock came at the door.
Soft. Measured.
I froze.
Another knock, this time firmer.
"Evelyn." My mother's voice.
I opened the door just enough to see her expression—controlled, displeased, already calculating damage.
"What was that?" she asked quietly.
I laughed before I could stop myself. It came out thin. "You mean my birthday?"
Her jaw tightened. "You embarrassed Miranda."
The words landed cleanly, predictably.
"I didn't say anything," I replied. "He did."
A pause. Then, colder, "You didn't stop it."
I stared at her. Really stared. "How exactly was I supposed to do that?"
She looked past me into the room, as if assessing whether I'd left anything important behind. "You could have redirected. You could have laughed it off. Tonight was meant to be about unity."
Unity. That was a generous word for erasure.
"I'm tired," I said, because if I said anything else, it would crack.
She studied me for a moment longer, then nodded once. "Don't linger upstairs. Guests will notice."
She walked away before I could answer.
I closed the door and locked it.
Only then did I slide down to the edge of the bed, pressing my palms into my eyes until stars bloomed behind my lids.
I had imagined this night so many times—quiet, insignificant, something I could survive and move past. I hadn't planned for intervention. I hadn't planned for Adrian Cross to return to my life by standing between me and my invisibility.
A third knock came, lighter this time.
I didn't answer.
"Evelyn." His voice, unmistakable now.
My chest tightened.
Go away, I thought. Please.
"I won't come in," he said, as if he could hear me. "I just need a moment."
I stood slowly, every nerve lit. "You already took one."
Silence stretched between us.
"I didn't intend to put you on display," he said finally.
I laughed again, sharper this time, and unlocked the door just enough to look at him. "Then what exactly did you intend?"
He looked… composed. Frustratingly so. No triumph. No apology either.
"I intended to stop them," he said.
"Congratulations," I snapped. "You succeeded."
His gaze flicked to my face, then away, like he was recalibrating. "You shouldn't have been forgotten."
The words hit harder than I expected.
"I wasn't forgotten," I said. "I was placed. Very carefully."
"That doesn't make it acceptable."
"It made it survivable."
We stood there, the hallway too narrow for everything unsaid.
"You don't get to decide what I can endure," I added quietly.
Something shifted in his expression then—not guilt. Restraint.
"I know," he said. "That's why I didn't ask."
There it was.
The line I couldn't cross.
"Then don't do it again," I said. "Don't make choices for me. Don't drag me into rooms I'm trying to leave."
His jaw tightened. "You're leaving."
It wasn't a question.
I held his gaze. "Yes."
Another pause. Longer. He nodded once, like he'd just confirmed something he already suspected.
"I won't stop you," he said.
The words should have felt like relief.
They didn't.
"Good," I replied, and stepped back. "Enjoy the party."
I closed the door before he could answer.
Behind it, the music swelled again, laughter drifting upward like nothing had changed. I leaned against the door, breathing slowly, deliberately, grounding myself.
He didn't understand.
Or worse—he did, and chose differently anyway.
Either way, I wouldn't wait around to find out.
Tomorrow, my life resumed on my terms.
Tonight had been a disruption.
Nothing more.
I turned off the light and sat in the dark, letting the silence settle—not comforting, but mine.