Chapter 8
Inside the wedding banquet hall, chaos reigned.
“What do you mean-you couldn’t find them?!”
“Who the hell did this?!”
“Someone really waited until today to drop dirt on Estelle? Are they trying to destroy her?”
A crystal glass shattered against the wall, hurled straight from Callum’s hand.
It struck one of the bodyguards’ eyebrows, the man’s forehead instantly flushing red. Shards splintered across the marble
floor.
“Turn this whole goddamn city upside down. I want the bastard behind this found-now!”
No one dared move. No one even breathed.
Until one bodyguard, bold or stupid-maybe both-finally stepped forward.
“Sir… ever since Miss Moore came back, Mrs. Rivers’ been… upset. Maybe it was her?”
The implication was clear. Callum’s eyes sharpened like a blade.
“Where is Evelyn right now?”
His assistant tapped on a tablet, pulling up her GPS tracker.
“At the estate. Still in the guest wing where you assigned her, sir.”
Callum stubbed out his cigarette, tension winding tighter in his chest.
His mind flashed back to the way Evelyn had looked earlier that day-quiet, detached, her smile unreadable.
Part of him didn’t believe she’d do something like this.
But right now? She was suspect number one.
“Go to the estate.”
Just as he turned to leave, the assistant’s phone buzzed again.
He picked up, listened a moment, then turned pale.
“Sir… the person who leaked the photos just called. He claims to have more photos. One million to buy his silence.”
Then, a slow exhale from Callum.
Not Evelyn.
His body relaxed by a fraction.
“If it’s money he wants, that’s easy. Pay him. Get everything he has. And those guests tonight-make sure not one word
leaves their mouths. You know what to do.”
The tension in the room eased, just a little.
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Callum turned to his driver.
“Take me back to Evelyn.”
He had taken Estelle upstairs earlier, right after the photos began to fall. The chaos downstairs was instant and absolute.
Now, as he stepped into the penthouse suite above the hall, he found Estelle curled up on the couch, mascara streaked and hands trembling around a paring knife.
“Callum…”
Her voice cracked as she reached for him.
“I don’t want to live anymore.”
“Those photos-they were from when I was held captive. They made me… I didn’t have a choice.”
Callum pulled her into his arms, whispering softly,
“It’s okay. I warned every guest. Nothing will leak.”
“Really?” she sniffled. “But who would do this to me? Is it… was it Evelyn?”
“I mean, ever since I came back, she’s been cold. Maybe she hates me because I took you away from her…”
Before she could finish, Callum’s voice cut through her pity-party, hard and flat:
“It wasn’t Evelyn.”
Estelle bit her lip, shrinking in his embrace.
Moments later, she looked up again with glossy eyes.
“Do you think I’m… dirty? Like the others? Do you hate me too?”
Flashes of those explicit photos crossed Callum’s mind-things no man wanted to see of the woman he was about to
marry.
His jaw tensed.
He didn’t answer right away.
Then Estelle, seeing his silence, did the unthinkable.
She pressed the knife to her wrist.
“You won’t even say it… that means you do hate me.”
A drop of blood bubbled up from her pale skin.
Callum cursed under his breath and knocked the blade away, panic flaring in his eyes.
“Estelle, no! I don’t care. I just want you safe, okay? That’s all that matters.”
The truth? He didn’t know what he felt anymore.
He couldn’t bear to lose her again, not after everything-
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But he couldn’t shake the unease settling in his gut either.
Still, he soothed her. Held her.
Eventually, she fell asleep in his arms
Just as Callum tried to slip away, her hand clutched his wrist in her sleep.
“Don’t leave me, Callum. Please don’t leave me again.”
He hesitated.
Then stayed.
But even in the stillness, sleep didn’t come.
Callum stared at the ceiling for hours before finally grabbing his phone and dialing Evelyn.
No answer.
He tried again. And again. Five times:
Still nothing.
His gaze dropped to her tracker-still blinking at the house.
He frowned and called the estate.
“Where’s Evelyn? Why isn’t she answering her phone?”
The butler Harlan’s voice came over the line.
“Sir, she returned earlier this evening. Said she was exhausted, and didn’t want to see anyone. Requested not to be
disturbed.”
“Wake her up. I want to speak to her-now.”
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Lucia Morh is a passionate storyteller who brings emotions to life through her words. When she’s not writing, she finds peace nurturing her garden.