Evelyn POV
I didn't sleep.
Not the way people usually meant it. My body rested—curled on top of the covers, still dressed—but my mind stayed alert, replaying the night in fragments that refused to arrange themselves neatly.
Applause.Silence.A voice steady enough to fracture both.
By the time dawn crept through the curtains, I'd reached a decision so calm it almost frightened me.
I was done enduring.
Not dramatically. Not loudly. Just… done.
I showered early, letting the heat rinse the last of the party from my skin. I dressed simply—clothes that didn't invite comment, clothes Miranda wouldn't remember seeing. I tied my hair back and checked my reflection once before turning away.
My phone buzzed.
B Milan — Documentation & Contract Packet
I sat on the edge of the bed and opened the email carefully.
Attached was a contract. Not symbolic. Not congratulatory.
Real.
Pages of clean formatting and deliberate language. Clauses that didn't care who my family was. Requirements that assumed I would comply—or step aside.
My eyes stopped on one line.
Relocation required within fourteen (14) days of final confirmation.
Fourteen days.
Not a dream.Not a someday.
A timeline.
Another message followed almost immediately.
B Milan (Agent):We'll need passport details and availability confirmation by the end of the week. Housing options will be shared once paperwork is complete.
I didn't smile.
I exhaled.
This wasn't excitement anymore.It was weight.
I typed slowly, deliberately.
I understand. I'll send everything today.
When I set the phone down, my hands were steady.
This wasn't an invitation.
It was a departure notice.
Downstairs, the house was already awake. Staff moved through the halls with quiet efficiency, preparing breakfast that would turn into another meeting, another strategy session that didn't include me.
As I passed the dining room, voices drifted out.
"…the response has been overwhelmingly positive," my father said."Timing was key," Miranda replied smoothly."The gala set the tone perfectly," my mother added.
Perfect.
I didn't go in.
Instead, I stepped out through the terrace doors and let the morning air bite at my skin. The city stretched awake below the estate—messy, loud, alive.
The café on the corner was already open. The barista recognized me this time.
"Same as yesterday?" she asked.
"Yes," I replied.
I sat by the window, watching people move with purpose—students, professionals, strangers with lives that weren't shaped by legacy or expectation.
My phone buzzed.
Miranda:You disappeared early. Mother was annoyed.
I stared at the message, then turned my phone face down.
Let her be.
Another notification followed.
Adrian Cross:I hope you're well this morning.
I didn't respond.
Not because I was angry—though some of that lingered—but because answering would mean explaining. And explanations had always been mistaken for permission.
When I returned home, the estate buzzed again. Another meeting. Another future being mapped without me.
Miranda intercepted me in the hallway.
"You've been busy," she observed.
"Yes," I said.
She searched my face, looking for something—gratitude, maybe. Or guilt.
She found neither.
"Well," she said coolly, "try not to complicate things right now. We're entering a sensitive phase."
I smiled politely. "I won't."
In my room, I began to pack.
Nothing dramatic. Essentials only. Documents. Clothes that belonged to the life I was stepping into, not the one I was leaving behind. I moved slowly, deliberately, as though rushing might tether me to this place.
A knock sounded.
"Evelyn."
My father.
I opened the door halfway.
"We need to talk," he said.
"About what?" I asked.
He hesitated. "Your plans."
"You mean my decisions?"
His expression tightened. "You're eighteen now. Certain responsibilities come with that."
"I agree."
"Then you'll understand why now isn't the time for impulsive choices."
I met his gaze. "This isn't impulsive."
"It appears that way."
"It would," I said calmly. "From the outside."
Silence stretched.
"We've given you everything," he said at last.
I almost laughed.
Instead, I replied, "You gave me a place. Not a voice."
His jaw hardened. "You're being unreasonable."
"No," I said. "I'm being clear."
"We'll discuss this later."
"Of course."
He left without another word.
I closed the door and leaned against it, breathing slowly.
Later.Everything was always later.
My phone buzzed again.
B Milan:Welcome aboard, Evelyn. We look forward to working with you.
I sat on the bed, surrounded by half-packed bags, and let the quiet settle.
Whatever Adrian Cross thought he was doing last night—whatever intention he carried—it didn't change this.
I wasn't leaving to be saved.
I was leaving because I could.
And this time, I wouldn't be talked out of it.
Not by my family.Not by expectations.Not by anyone who arrived too late to stop me from choosing myself.