245. EVELYN ROSE (POV)

245. EVELYN ROSE (POV)
My foot slams on the brake as I pull up at the address Lazarus sent, so hard my body jerks forward. I gasp, feeling the wheel tremble in my hands as the engine dies with a strangled roar.

The high beams light up the abandoned warehouse, its windows boarded, with rust streaking the walls — a clear sign it hasn’t been used in ages.

I look around, taking in the street, emptier than I expected. Worn asphalt, flickering weak yellow streetlights, old, half-rusted signs.

The silence is so thick that not even distant traffic reaches here, just the scuttle of some rat in the rubble and the dry creak of wood settling. Or maybe it’s Lazarus inside. Lazarus with Charlotte. Tied up, defenseless, ready to be slaughtered like a lamb.

The thought makes my skin crawl, and my heart pound with anticipation.

I grab the bag with the knife, peeking inside like a mischievous child, the tension breaking into a twisted smile across my lips. There’s no hesitation in me as I hold the handle. Actually… it feels right, like things were meant to end this way, with Charlotte’s life slipping through my hands.

The knife slides slowly out of the bag, heavy in my palm, heavier than the gun at my back but just as reassuring.

I step out of the car quietly, closing the door softly so I won’t attract attention, even though there isn’t a soul on the street. The breeze hits me hard, carrying a strange, metallic-sweet taste that makes me grit my teeth.

The warehouse stands ahead of me, massive and silent, the side gate propped open with loose chains, inviting me in. Looking around with hesitant, slow steps, the wind whipping my greasy hair, my heart pounding as if it will rip out of my chest, I get inside.

The main gate groans as I pull it just enough for my body to squeeze through. There’s no light inside, not even moonlight slipping through the slats. For a moment, I only hear the echo of my own breath — rough, hot, struggling to breathe in the stronger smell inside, heavy with rust, dust, and anxiety.

My eyes try to adjust, but the dark feels alive, moving like a sleeping animal. The cold from the floor bites through my shoe, crawling up my legs in a shiver I can’t stop.

“Lazarus?” I call, my voice slightly shaky, bouncing off the tall metal walls and getting lost in the dark tunnel.

Shadows hide the interior, but shapes come into view as my eyes adjust to the gloom: stacked crates, rusty tools, chains swinging slowly overhead, creaking in a rhythm that matches my breathing.

I tighten my grip on the knife handle and step further into the warehouse, a strange dread growing in my throat.

“Lazarus?” My voice is lower now, almost afraid to hear myself.

Nothing. Silence. Only the slow creak of the chains and the industrial fan turning with the wind.

My gaze scans the piles of boxes and decayed machinery. In each corner, the shadows are so dense they seem more solid than metal, almost shifting with my steps, as if they’re alive.

I swallow, focusing on the center where the shadow forms.

A chair. Someone is sitting there.

Charlotte.

My heart skips a beat and climbs into my throat. The handle slips in my sweaty hand, and I squeeze harder, the pressure weird in my chest.

But it’s not just anticipation. There’s something else… a gut feeling that claws at me.

I stop suddenly.

My chest rises, then falls.

Again, again—heavy, restless.

Where is Lazarus?

The silence feels off.

Charlotte remains still.

It’s like she’s waiting, like she knew I’d come…

It’s a trap.

I step back and turn to run, but a blinding flash erupts in my eyes, making me grunt and raise my forearm to shield them. “Ugh. What the hell…”

It burns.

The beam is impossibly bright and sharp, as if it’s carving into my skull.

For a moment, everything spins— not just the light. Sound shifts from creaking chains to radio static buzz, boots hitting concrete, voices muffled by the warehouse’s metal echo.

I force my eyes open, my vision to adjust to the sudden glare, and see that the shadows I thought were alive actually were alive.

I’m surrounded by men in black vests, badges shining in the bright light, guns aimed at me. Scotland Yard.

They found me.

My heart pounds so hard I feel my pulse in my throat, and my thoughts scatter like shards of glass. Lazarus. Charlotte. A trap. Everything spins out of control.

“Drop the knife, Ms. Bennet!” The male voice is firm and strong, reverberating through the vast space. It’s not a request—it’s an order.

Scotland fucking Yard.

Did Lazarus betray me? Did he turn me in? That bastard turn me in?!

I spin around, gripping the knife tighter, looking for the chair, only to see that it’s empty. Charlotte isn’t sitting anymore. She isn’t tied up. She’s not helpless. She’s standing, wearing an expensive dark-red dress, hair down, a triumphant look on her face.

And beside her—Sebastian Houghton.

I can’t help but fucking laugh!

“Drop the knife now!” Another voice, closer, harder.

“You two!” I fling the knife toward them in a lazy arc. “You set this up, didn’t you? The two of you, you damn foxes... You rigged this!” I scream, fury ripping through my throat.

“Set this up?” Charlotte arches an eyebrow. “We didn’t have to set anything, Evelyn. You dug your own grave. You did this to yourself.”

“Hah!” I bark a bitter, forced laugh that doesn’t reach my eyes. “I get it now. I get everything! You two... You were together from the start, weren’t you? You pretended to love Christopher while screwing his brother behind his back! Does he know, Charlotte? Does he know you opened your legs for his blood?”

“You’re pathetic,” she says calmly, as if my words don’t affect her… as if she pities me—as if I’m nothing. “You’re desperate and pathetic.”

The vein in my neck pulses, pounding hard.

“Me, pathetic?” The laugh now only echoes in my throat. “You chased Christopher like a damn dog for years, Charlotte, begging for crumbs. And I’m pathetic? The first woman he loved—”

“The first woman he loved? On top of everything… you’re a liar.” She cuts me off, but not angrily—not with the same bitterness I taste in my own mouth. “He told me everything, Evelyn. He told me about how you were just a means to an end. He pretended to be with you to piss off his grandfather… to get to me. So tell me… Do you really believe your own lies? Are you delusional… or just a brainless bitch?”

The light burns my eyes, but I don’t blink. I stare straight at her. Charlotte. Standing there like some triumphant queen in her red dress, chin tilted, as if she won.

My lips peel back into a grin that’s all teeth. Not a laugh this time. Not shock, just hate. Hot, steady, pure. Every inch of me hums with it. My blood tastes like iron, my skin itches like it’s too small for the thing moving inside me.

I’m going to fucking kill her.