Chapter 48: The Intelligence Report
Evelyn's fingertips were icy cold.
She could refuse, she could argue, she could rip the sketches to shreds. But what then? He would lock her back in the mansion, treating her like disobedient property. Her unborn child couldn't withstand that stress.
It was a choice between two poisons.
Evelyn finally uncurled her clenched fists. The small action drained all the strength from her body.
She lowered her eyes, masking all emotion, and calmly smoothed the initial sketches on the desk, pushing them toward him. With Lillian’s third-rate ability, even with the blueprints, the project would only become worse.
Evelyn looked up, meeting Damian's eyes. “Fine.”
Damian seemed surprised by her ready compliance. He stared into her eyes, searching for even a hint of resentment or rage. He found nothing but stillness. This unexpected calm made him uncomfortable.
He scoffed. “Smart girl.”
He stood up and walked toward her, looking down at her. “Don’t try any tricks with me. For the next few days, cooperate with Lillian. If she calls with questions, you’d better answer honestly.”
He reached out and picked up a strand of her hair with his fingers. “Or you will regret it.”
Evelyn didn't answer or look up at him. She simply turned, opened the door, and walked out of the office.
The door closed softly behind her, cutting off that suffocating space.
The next day, at the city’s creative arts district.
Sunlight poured through the huge floor-to-ceiling window onto the wooden floor. The air was filled with the mixed scent of new canvas and turpentine.
Evelyn and Sophie carried several boxes of supplies into the studio, both panting.
“Done!” Sophie wiped the sweat from her forehead and excitedly opened a long, rectangular cardboard box. “Look at the treasures I snagged!”
The box was lined with soft fabric, holding rolls of richly colored fabric samples. “What do you think? Direct from Italy. I had to argue with that old guy for hours to get these samples.”
“Oh, God, Sophie...” Evelyn picked up a piece of velvet, running her thumb over the delicate texture.
“And look at this,” Sophie unfolded a roll of organza, embroidered with tiny silver stars. “Use this for an outer layer, or as an embellishment on the cuffs. It will be absolutely ethereal!”
The suggestion made Evelyn’s eyes light up. Looking at her open sketches, a bold idea surfaced. She instantly grabbed a brush, dipped it in ink, and swiftly revised her existing design. She softened the originally sharp shoulder line and added asymmetrical pleats, giving the coat's silhouette an instant fluidity and tension.
“Yes! That’s it! That deconstructed cut—you're making classical fabric modern! Evelyn, you're a genius!”
The feeling of sincere praise from a friend was profoundly different from the hollow compliments she received from Damian. A long-lost joy, derived purely from the act of creation, filled Evelyn’s chest.
Just then, her phone vibrated lightly. It was a message from Director Worth.
[Evelyn, my child. It’s my 70th birthday this Saturday, and the orphanage is throwing a small party for me. Everyone is hoping you can come back and visit.]
Evelyn’s heart immediately softened. Director Worth had watched her grow up. She was one of the few real family members Evelyn had in the world.
She replied at once: [I will be there!]
Putting her phone down, she turned to Sophie, who was organizing the fabrics. “Sophie, it’s Director Worth’s birthday on Saturday. I want... I want to make her a gift myself.”
“Great idea! What should we make? I’ll help!”
Evelyn’s gaze fell on a soft piece of cashmere, a warm oatmeal color. “An embroidered shawl. The Director is getting older, and her joints get stiff. She’s afraid of the cold.”
She picked up her sketchpad and began to design a pattern for the shawl. She decided to embroider irises, her favorite flower, symbolizing light and freedom. She would stitch all her hopes for the future into every thread for the woman who had given her warmth and refuge.
Meanwhile, on the top floor of the Omni Group building, in the President’s office.
Damian sat behind his massive desk, his face dark, his fingers tapping rhythmically.
His secretary, Dave, walked in and placed a thin envelope on the desk. “President, the information you requested.”
Damian waved his hand, and Dave bowed and withdrew. Dave had used some unconventional methods to collect this "activity report" on Evelyn in just two days.
The report was simple.
One photo showed Evelyn getting into a black Bentley outside St. Mary’s Hospital. The photo angle was tricky, showing only the side profile of a man in the driver’s seat.
There was also a receipt from a Michelin restaurant. The date was the same night Damian had dropped her off on the street instead of taking her and Director Worth back to the orphanage. The bill was for two dinners.
Finally, there were several pictures of the entrance to the studio Ethan had rented for her. In the photos, Evelyn and Sophie were going in and out, carrying items that looked like design tools and fabrics.
The so-called "helping a friend move" was a total lie.
Damian’s fingers tightened inch by inch, crushing the thin report. That woman dared to lie to him! Not only did she lie, but she was eating with other men and setting up some ridiculous studio right under his nose!
Who was the man driving the black car? When had she met someone like that?
And Ethan! Him again! That damned doctor who always looked at his wife with longing!
Rage flared in his chest, threatening to consume his reason.
“Damian, what’s wrong? Who made you so angry this time?”
The office door opened, and Sienna walked in, carrying a freshly brewed cup of coffee. She instantly saw Damian’s ashen face and the crumpled file in his hand.