Earlier today, she’d tried calling Mr. Wellington to ask about the matter, but for some odd reason, the call never connected–he simply didn’t pick up.
She had no way of knowing if things had gone according to plan.
Still, she quickly pushed the thought aside.
Maybe, she mused, Mr. Wellington was simply too wrapped up in pleasure to bother answering his phone.
Meanwhile, Giselle was still fretting aloud beside her, worrying about how she might get close to Glenn.
Hazel fell silent for a moment, deep in thought, before a plan began to form in her
mind.
Evangeline worked late that evening. By the time she ran into yet another traffic jam and finally reached the Fawkes family estate, dusk had already settled.
She had barely pulled up outside the old manor when her phone rang–Soren’s
name lit up the screen.
“Where are you? I’ll come get you.”
For a split second, Evangeline wondered if she’d misheard; Soren had never offered to pick her up before.
“No need,” she replied. “I’m already here.”
She parked outside and walked through the estate’s wrought iron gates, only to spot Soren waiting in the garden.
He looked at her, his expression oddly conflicted.
“Everyone’s waiting for you,” he said flatly.
It was only then that realization dawned–he was chastising her for being late.
Evangeline was, in fact, running behind. She didn’t bother making excuses, just offered a quick apology and continued toward the living room.
Tonight, she’d dressed casually–a crisp button–down rolled at the sleeves, showing off her slender waist. Her hair was swept up, exposing the graceful line of her neck.
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There was something noticeably different about her these days.
Noticing his gaze lingering on her, Evangeline paused beside him, puzzled. “What’s wrong?”
Caught in the act, Soren shifted uncomfortably. “Why are you dressed like that again?”
She blinked. “What’s wrong with it? I think it looks pretty good.”
Glenn had helped her pick out the outfit; he’d said it suited her, too.
For a moment, she felt like her old self again–confident and unburdened.
Soren pressed his lips together, silent.
He liked the way she looked–he couldn’t deny it. But for some reason, the idea of other men seeing her like this made his skin crawl.
The image of her in that evening dress at the party, drawing so many eyes, gnawed at him.
Meeting her questioning gaze, he said in a low voice, “Have you already forgotten what happened last time you dressed like this? Mr. Wellington nearly took advantage of you.”
Evangeline froze for a heartbeat.
Of course she remembered.
She could stil! recall the icy indifference in Soren’s eyes when she’d reached out to him for help.
He added, “Dressed like this, it’s no wonder you attract creeps.”
Once, those words would have made her second–guess herself. But now, she just smiled. “Creeps aren’t drawn by my clothes–they’re creeps no matter what I wear.”
Soren hadn’t expected her to push back. He hesitated, momentarily at a loss for
words.
Evangeline didn’t bother waiting for a reply. She walked straight into the living
room.
The rest of the Fawkes family had already gathered. Flora was sitting beside Old Mrs. Fawkes, making the elderly woman laugh, filling the room with an easy, cheerful warmth.
But as soon as Evangeline stepped inside, the atmosphere cooled noticeably,
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All eyes turned to her.
She offered an earnest apology. “Sorry I’m late.”
Before Clyde or Helena could respond, Flora piped up with a saccharine sneer. “Oh, what’s there to apologize for? Honestly, does anyone care when you show up–except Grandma, that is? If you didn’t come at all, that would be even better.”
