Chapter 88
Evelyn's POV
The doorbell rang at seven-thirty in the morning, shattering the fragile peace of sleep like a hammer through glass.
I jerked awake, my body responding with the trained alertness of someone who'd learned that unexpected visitors rarely brought good news. Beside me, Julian's breathing shifted from deep and even to controlled wakefulness in an instant, though he didn't move, didn't open his eyes—just lay there with that predator's stillness, listening.
The doorbell rang again, followed by enthusiastic knocking.
"Evelyn! I know you're home! I can see your car in the garage!"
Isabella's voice, bright and cheerful and completely oblivious to the concept of reasonable morning hours.
Julian's eyes opened then, finding mine in the early light filtering through the curtains. His expression was carefully neutral, but I caught the slight tightening around his mouth, the way his jaw tensed.
"Should I hide?" The question was delivered in that flat, dangerous tone I'd learned to recognize—the one that meant he was offering me a choice while making it very clear what he thought of the options.
"Julian—"
"Because I'm happy to climb out onto the fire escape. Squeeze into your closet. Whatever keeps your secret safe." Each word was precisely enunciated, sharp enough to draw blood.
The knocking intensified. "Evie! Come on, I brought coffee! The good kind, from that place you like!"
I pushed myself up, reaching for him, but he was already moving—rolling out of bed with that fluid grace that never failed to catch me off guard, reaching for his clothes scattered across my bedroom floor.
"You don't have to—"
"Yes, I do." He pulled on his boxer briefs, then his pants, his movements controlled but just a fraction too fast. "Because that's the deal, isn't it? I get to stay, but only if nobody knows I'm here."
"That's not fair."
He turned to look at me then, and something in his expression made my chest tighten. Not anger, exactly—something colder, more resigned. "No, it's not. But I agreed to it anyway, didn't I? So I'll go hide in your bedroom like a good little secret while you deal with Adrian's fiancée."
"Julian—"
"But remember what I said last night, Evelyn." He buttoned his shirt, his fingers moving with precise efficiency. "I'm only doing this once. Next time someone shows up at your door, I'm not hiding. I don't care if it's Isabella, Adrian, or the entire fucking Russell family reunion."
The doorbell rang again, now accompanied by what sounded like Isabella humming show tunes.
I slid out of bed, grabbing my silk robe and wrapping it around myself. "I'll get rid of her as quickly as I can."
"Take your time." Julian settled into the armchair by the window, his posture deceptively relaxed. "I've got nowhere to be."
The casual dismissal in his tone stung more than outright anger would have. I wanted to go to him, to explain that this wasn't about being ashamed of him, that it was about survival, about keeping us both safe from the kind of scrutiny that could destroy everything.
But Isabella was still knocking, and I could hear her trying the door handle now, and I didn't have time for explanations that probably wouldn't satisfy either of us anyway.
I took a deep breath, ran my fingers through my hair, and went to answer the door.
Isabella practically bounced into my apartment the moment I cracked it open, holding two coffee cups and a designer shopping bag.
"Finally! I was starting to think you'd died in there." She thrust one of the coffees at me, her smile bright enough to rival the morning sun. "I brought vanilla latte with an extra shot. And pastries! I got those little chocolate croissants."
"Isabella, it's seven-thirty in the morning." I accepted the coffee because refusing seemed more suspicious than accepting. "On a Saturday."
"I know! Perfect time to start the day." She was already moving deeper into my apartment, setting her bag down on the console table. "I've been up since six. Couldn't sleep, kept thinking about everything we talked about last night, and then I realized—we should go shopping!"
"Shopping." I repeated the word like it was foreign, which in many ways it was. Shopping, in my world, meant acquiring weapons or surveillance equipment, not whatever Isabella had in mind.
"Yes! Shopping!" She spun to face me, her expression radiating enthusiasm. "I've been thinking about what you said about Adrian liking classic elegance, and it made me realize I should probably update my wardrobe before the engagement party. And you should come with me! It'll be fun—just us girls, trying on clothes, getting our nails done, maybe hitting that new spa everyone's talking about."
Every instinct I had was screaming at me to refuse, to get her out of my apartment before she noticed something that would raise questions I couldn't answer. But I also knew Isabella well enough by now to recognize that particular gleam in her eye—the one that meant she'd already made up her mind and wasn't going to take no for an answer.
"I'm not really a shopping person," I tried.
"Which is exactly why you need to come!" She grabbed my free hand, squeezing it with genuine warmth. "Come on, Evie. When was the last time you did something fun? Something that wasn't work or family obligations or whatever else you spend all your time on?"
I couldn't remember. Couldn't even imagine what "fun" looked like in a life that had been carefully constructed around survival and revenge and keeping everyone at arm's length.
"I don't know—"
"Perfect! That means you're coming." Isabella beamed at me. "Go get dressed. Something comfortable—we're going to be walking a lot. And don't overthink it! This is supposed to be relaxing."
She settled onto my couch like she owned the place, pulling out her phone and immediately getting absorbed in whatever social media platform she favored. I stood there for a moment, coffee in hand, trying to figure out how to extricate myself from this situation without making it worse.
From the bedroom came the faintest sound—the creak of the armchair as Julian shifted position.