The grand hall of the Gala of Masks shimmered with golden chandeliers and whispered secrets. But for Evelyn, the glitter was fading. The echo of Alaric's words still reverberated in her ears—words he never meant for her to hear.
He hadn't recognized her behind her delicate silver lace mask. She hadn't intended to eavesdrop. She had only followed the sound of his voice, soft and low, in the marble hallway just off the ballroom. But what she heard chilled her more than the winter wind slicing through the cracks of her carefully built world.
"She's a means to an end. A contract. Nothing more."
Alaric's voice had been steady—too steady. There was no trace of the warmth he'd shown her just hours ago. No flicker of the man who held her in the garden and said he was trying to understand her. That man—was he a lie too?
Evelyn's hand clenched at her side as she re-entered the ballroom, her breath shallow. The violinists played on, oblivious to the rupture inside her. Couples waltzed in fluid circles, laughter danced through the air, and the scent of peonies and expensive perfume hung thick. But none of it touched her.
From across the ballroom, Alaric spotted her. She was a vision in a sea of masks—ethereal in silver, her eyes shadowed by the thin veil, her posture suddenly distant.
He approached, unaware of the storm behind her mask.
"You disappeared," he said gently, taking her gloved hand. "I was starting to think you'd left me to dance with ghosts."
She forced a smile, cool and practiced. "I'm here now, aren't I?"
He looked at her, searching for something. "You look… different."
"And you sound just the same," she murmured.
"What was that?"
"Nothing." She stepped closer, resting her hand on his shoulder as the next waltz began. The music guided them in slow, sweeping arcs, bodies gliding like pieces in a masquerade of deceit.
Evelyn's gaze swept the room—Lady Ashbourne in a ruby mask whispering into a duke's ear; Celeste, Alaric's cousin, watching them a little too intently from behind her black-and-gold feathers. Everyone wore a mask tonight, but none as heavy as the one Evelyn now bore.
"Do you believe," she asked softly, "that honesty is still possible in a world built on lies?"
Alaric's brow furrowed. "Is this a riddle?"
"Maybe." Her voice was steady, but beneath it, her heart crumbled.
He leaned closer, the scent of his cologne like a memory she didn't want. "Evelyn, if something's wrong—"
"What would you do," she interrupted, "if the woman you trusted turned out to be hiding everything from you?"
"I'd ask her why she had to hide in the first place."
That made her pause. There was a flicker of truth in his voice. But then she remembered—a means to an end. A contract. Nothing more.
"Then maybe I'll give you the answer you deserve one day," she said, her voice barely audible over the music.
He stared at her, puzzled, but before he could respond, the song ended. She curtsied, a motion so graceful it belied the torment inside, and turned away.
She needed air.
Outside, the garden was still. The hedges loomed like silent watchers as Evelyn escaped into the cold night. She leaned against a stone column, pulling her mask away, gasping as if the air itself was thick with betrayal.
The frost bit at her skin, but it grounded her.
She'd believed, however foolishly, that Alaric was changing. That the man who offered her a home, who listened in quiet moments and shared stories from his youth, was real.
But tonight, she saw the cracks.
Footsteps behind her.
"Evelyn?"
She turned to find Celeste—tall, composed, and entirely too confident.
"I thought I might find you here," Celeste said, stepping closer. Her tone held no warmth, only calculation.
"Come to gloat?" Evelyn asked, wrapping her arms around herself.
Celeste smiled, the kind that didn't reach her eyes. "No. I came to offer you advice. Friendly, of course."
"I doubt anything about you is friendly."
"Oh, I can be. Especially to women who don't belong in our world." Celeste leaned in. "Alaric will never choose you. You're a placeholder until something better comes along. That's how it works in our family."
Evelyn met her gaze. "I may not have been born into this world, but I see it clearly. And I see you for what you are."
"A threat?" Celeste's smile widened.
"No," Evelyn replied coldly. "A shadow. One that fades when the truth steps into the light."
Celeste's composure cracked for a moment. Then she turned and disappeared into the darkness.
Evelyn exhaled. She wouldn't cry. Not tonight.
Back inside the estate, Alaric paced his study. The ballroom had emptied, the music silenced, but the unrest inside him remained. Evelyn's words replayed in his mind—sharp, layered, evasive.
Something had changed. He could feel it. And for the first time in weeks, he didn't know what to do.
The study door creaked open.
"Lady Evelyn has returned to her room," his butler informed him quietly.
"Did she say anything?"
"She asked not to be disturbed."
Alaric dismissed the servant and poured himself a drink, his hand tightening around the glass. He didn't like this feeling—uncertainty. He had been raised to control, to plan, to predict.
And yet Evelyn slipped through his grasp like the tide.
In her room, Evelyn stood before the mirror. She pulled off the earrings, the necklace, the gown—stripping away every layer until only the woman beneath remained.
She stared at herself.
Who was she now?
The girl who once dreamed of romance, of honesty? Or the woman who had married a stranger to save her family?
She reached into her drawer and retrieved the envelope she had hidden weeks ago. The one from her father's lawyer. The truth about the debt. The real reason she was forced into this marriage.
Alaric never knew the full story. And perhaps he never would.
She opened the envelope again. Inside was something she hadn't noticed before—a letter.
She unfolded it with trembling fingers.
*My dearest Evelyn,If you're reading this, it means I failed to protect you from the consequences of my mistakes. I wanted to leave you with something more than debt. I wanted to give you a future… but I was weak.
There are things I never told you—about your mother, about your birthright. Find the pendant I gave you as a child. It will lead you to the truth.*
*Forgive me.
—Father*
Her breath caught.
The pendant.
Suddenly, the world shifted beneath her feet. The man she married may have lied. But so had the man she loved first—her father.
And now, the past wasn't just knocking.
It was breaking down the door.