Chapter 103: The Indifference
“Damian,” Evelyn looked at him. “This is not a tantrum.” She pointed to the burning pile. “I truly do not love you anymore.”
In that moment, the air seemed to freeze. The dismissive, impatient expression on Damian’s face shattered like a mask. His eyes widened, his pupils contracting, filled with disbelief, shock, and a flicker of unfamiliar panic.
“You… what did you say?” His voice trembled, as if he didn’t understand the words. She doesn’t love him? How could that be? Evelyn—the woman who loved him to the point of losing herself, the one who dropped out of school for him, the one who always waited for him no matter how he hurt her—could not possibly stop loving him.
“I said, our memories, along with my love for you, are all burning away like trash. From now on, you are you, and I am me.” The fire crackled softly. The music box was completely destroyed, letting out one last distorted note before falling silent.
Damian opened his mouth but couldn't speak. He suddenly felt a void in his heart, a wave of panic stronger than any business crisis. It felt as if something truly irreplaceable had been lost.
“You don’t love me?” Damian repeated the words. No. That was impossible. Evelyn needed him. She was a vine dependent on his tree; without him, she would wither.
“You’re tired, Evelyn.” Damian took a deep breath, trying to dismiss the matter. “Don’t overthink things. Go get some rest.” He couldn't bear to look into her eyes, which seemed to pierce his soul. After saying that, he turned and fled the living room.
BANG. The study door slammed shut and was locked.
Damian leaned against the door, his chest heaving. He yanked off his tie, stormed over to the liquor cabinet, and poured a glass of whiskey, downing it in one gulp. The burning liquid helped him regain a sense of control. He walked to the window, staring into the dark night, the initial panic slowly turning into violent rage.
How could Evelyn suddenly change? The way she destroyed those mementos, that absolute resolve… Something must have happened.
Damian pulled out his phone and called his secretary, Dave.
“Investigate,” his voice was dangerously low. “Find out all of Evelyn’s movements today. Specifically… did she go to St. George High? Where was she during that time?”
Hanging up, Damian looked at his reflection in the glass. The image of the afternoon scene at the school field flashed in his mind. Sienna in the uniform—Evelyn’s high school look. He hadn't realized at the time that the woman was Sienna, carefully disguised, not the real Evelyn he had planned to surprise. Now, the thought that Evelyn might have been watching their performance turned his twisted pleasure into a sickening, grotesque farce. He felt like an utter fool.
What was Sienna doing? Wearing Evelyn’s clothes, mimicking her tone… He used to think it was a game; now he only felt disgusted. It was a cheap fake, a clumsy desecration of his memory.
The phone rang quickly. It was Dave.
“Sir,” Dave sounded hesitant. “It’s strange… all surveillance systems around St. George High went down suddenly this afternoon. The data is lost. Our tech team can’t recover it. We have no trace of the Mistress.”
“Useless!” Damian hammered his fist on the mahogany desk, making his drink rattle. The surveillance was down? What a coincidence.
“However,” Dave quickly added, “we tracked the Mistress’s car to a private hospital downtown this afternoon. She stayed there for two hours, checking into OB GYN and Surgery for several tests.”
Hospital? Damian frowned. Was it an infection from the wound? Or was she feeling sick?
“What were the results? What’s wrong with her?” Damian asked, almost automatically.
“The specific report is still being retrieved. But according to the nurse, the Mistress looked very unwell, she seemed to have fainted…”
“Enough.” Damian suddenly cut off the secretary, his eyes falling on the emergency report detailing the company’s stock crash. The immediate priority was Omni Group’s crisis and the shareholders who wanted to devour him. “Forget these irrelevant minor issues for now. Is the emergency board meeting ready for tomorrow morning? Has the PR release gone out? I need you to stabilize the situation before the market opens!”
Damian hung up and tossed his phone onto the sofa. He rubbed his temples, pushing the hospital visit out of his mind. Since she had the energy to burn things and throw a fit at home, she must be fine. If he just backed down a little and offered a bribe, she would come back to him, just like always.
The next morning, Damian woke up early. Instead of going to the office, he had a florist deliver ninety nine red roses—Evelyn’s favorite flower. In the past, whenever they argued, the flowers were enough to earn his forgiveness.
Damian adjusted his tie, holding the dew-covered bouquet, and pushed open Evelyn’s bedroom door. Evelyn was already up. She was sitting at the window desk, charcoal pencil in hand, deeply focused on sketching something on paper. Morning light fell on her profile; her paleness was almost translucent, yet she possessed a new, unfamiliar resilience.
“Evelyn.” Damian walked over, holding the glaring red roses in front of her, blocking her drawing. “I was too rash last night. I shouldn’t have lost my temper. I apologize.” He watched her expression, hoping for a sign of softening.
“I know you’ve been hurt lately. I’ve already had Sienna transferred out of the CEO office. She’ll only handle logistics from now on. You won’t have to see her.” This was his “sincerity”: moving his mistress downstairs, his compromise.
Evelyn’s pencil stopped. She didn’t look up, didn’t even flutter an eyelid. She reached out and, without being rude, firmly pushed the roses aside, out of the light. The bouquet slid across the desk, scattering a few petals.
“No need, Damian.” Evelyn resumed sketching, the pencil scratching softly on the paper. “I can’t accept your kindness.”
Damian’s smile froze, his hand suspended awkwardly in the air. He looked at Evelyn, who completely ignored him. That irrational irritation boiled up again, even more fiercely than last night. She wasn't playing hard to get. She genuinely didn't care anymore.