Chapter 4
Evelyn POV
Irene Finch's voice echoed through the hallway, each word striking like a physical blow.
"Open this door, you mute gold-digger!" she shouted, her manicured fist pounding against my apartment door. "Who do you think you are? Why weren't you home? My poor son is suffering because of you."
I clutched Cassidy's arm tighter, my heart hammering against my ribs. The baby. My hand instinctively moved to my stomach. I needed to stay calm, for both our sakes.
Cassidy squared her shoulders and stepped forward. "Mrs. Finch, this is an apartment building. Your shouting is disturbing everyone."
Irene whirled around, her perfectly coiffed hair barely moving despite the sudden motion. Her eyes narrowed when she saw me hiding behind Cassidy.
"Shut up, you pathetic editor," she snapped. "This is none of your business."
I knew I couldn't avoid this confrontation. Taking a deep breath, I moved past Cassidy and unlocked my door. Irene immediately shoved me aside, storming into my apartment as if she owned it. The force of her push made me stumble slightly, and I quickly placed my hand on my abdomen, a flash of panic crossing my mind. Two months pregnant. So fragile still. I needed to avoid any physical confrontation at all costs. Cassidy tried to protest, but I quickly typed a message on my phone and showed it to her.
[Let her in. It will only make things worse if we fight. Please stay with me.]
"Fine," Cassidy whispered, her jaw tight with anger. "But I'm not leaving you alone with her."
Inside, Irene surveyed my living room with obvious disgust. She ran a finger along my bookshelf, then deliberately knocked several books to the floor.
As I watched her destroy my carefully arranged home, I couldn't help but wonder how this woman had ever become a Finch.
Despite her designer clothes and perfect makeup, there was nothing refined about Irene Finch. Her behavior was crude, her words vulgar, her actions those of someone without any real class.
It seemed impossible that the prestigious Finch family—known for their elegance and taste—would welcome such a woman. Yet here she was, the matriarch, wielding the family name like a weapon while behaving like someone who had never learned basic manners.
"What a mess," she said, though my apartment had been immaculate until she entered it. "No wonder my son spends so much time away. Who could live in such squalor?"
I felt a familiar tightness in my chest as she continued her inspection, deliberately disrupting the careful order I maintained. She knocked over a vase of flowers, water spilling across the coffee table and onto the carpet.
I took a step back, positioning myself behind the sofa. For the baby's sake, I needed to keep as much distance as possible between myself and this hurricane of a woman. Stay calm, I told myself. Stress isn't good for the baby. Deep breaths.
"Stop it!" Cassidy snapped, stepping between Irene and my shelf of family photos. "What is wrong with you?"
Irene's eyes flashed dangerously. "Get out of my way, girl. This is family business."
When Cassidy didn't move, Irene raised her hand as if to slap her. Cassidy caught her wrist mid-air, her grip firm but not violent.
My body tensed, ready to move if the conflict escalated. I had to protect my child from this chaos. If Irene turned her rage on me, I'd need to shield my abdomen at all costs.
"Don't even think about it," Cassidy warned.
"Let go of me!" Irene shrieked, struggling against Cassidy's hold. "I'll call the police! I'll tell them the editor of Potomac Fashions attacked me in my own home!"
My heart sank. This was escalating beyond my control. I moved to separate them when a sharp knock at the door made us all freeze.
"Police. Open up, please."
I exchanged a panicked look with Cassidy before moving to open the door. My pulse quickened with anxiety. Police meant questions, tension, possibly more conflict—all things I needed to avoid in my condition. I placed a protective hand over my stomach as I approached the door. Two uniformed officers stood in the hallway, their expressions professionally neutral.
"Good afternoon, ma'am. Did you call us?" the taller officer asked.
Before I could respond, Irene pushed past me. "Officers, thank God you're here. This woman," she pointed at Cassidy, "assaulted me. I want her arrested immediately."
"That's a lie," Cassidy protested. "She was about to hit me, and I simply defended myself."
"Officers," Irene continued as if Cassidy hadn't spoken, "she hurt me. Arrest her and remove her from my house."
I frowned, anger bubbling up inside me. I quickly typed on my phone and held it up for the officers to see.
[Officers, this is my apartment, not hers. She barged in and started destroying my things.]
The officers glanced at my phone, then at the obvious disarray Irene had created.
"Actually," the second officer said, "we received several complaints about a disturbance. Neighbors reported a woman shouting in the hallway."
"Are you kidding me," Irene scoffed. "Do you know who I am?"
"You're the crazy woman who was screaming at my neighbor's door, keeping me from getting my sleep," a deep voice said from the hallway.
I turned to see Ryan Carter standing there, his blond hair tousled as if he'd just woken up. Despite the situation, my heart skipped a beat.
[Ryan...] I signed, surprised to see him.
Irene's expression changed instantly when she recognized him. Her mouth tightened into a thin line, but she remained uncharacteristically silent.
"Officers," Ryan continued, "I'd like this woman removed from the building. She's disturbing the peace, and I have video evidence of her harassing my neighbor."
"And who are you, sir?" the first officer asked.
"Ryan Carter. I own this building," he replied calmly. "And Mrs. Finch here has a history of causing scenes in my property."
Ryan's eyes met mine, holding my gaze with an intensity that made everything else fade momentarily. His expression softened just for me, a silent promise of protection and support that needed no words or signs. In that brief connection, I understood completely: he would stand by me. I wasn't alone.
My eyes widened at this unspoken communication. I felt a strange warmth spread through my chest—a feeling I hadn't experienced in years.
Irene's gaze darted between Ryan and me, her face darkening as she noticed our silent exchange. The intimacy of that shared look—something she couldn't control or intrude upon—seemed to trigger something primal in her.
"You little whore!" she suddenly lunged toward me, hand raised to strike. "This is why my son can't stand you! Flirting with other men right under his nose!"
I instinctively stepped back, arms crossing protectively over my stomach, but Irene was faster than I expected. Before her hand could connect with my face, Ryan moved between us with surprising speed, gently guiding me behind him while facing Irene.
"Mrs. Finch," his voice was steel wrapped in velvet, "this is my building, not your personal boxing ring. Touch her, and you'll be leaving in handcuffs."
"How dare you!" Irene exploded, her voice rising to a pitch that made me wince. "Do you know who I am? You can't treat me this way!"
The officers moved quickly then, each taking one of her arms as she continued to struggle and scream threats. Just as they were about to escort her out, the elevator doors opened, and Bryce strode into the hallway.
"Let go of my mother!" he demanded, his face flushed with anger.