Chapter 97
Ronald lifted his head and saw Matthew standing in the rain.
He wore a black trench coat, his face frighteningly pale.
His lips were cracked and dry, and he'd lost a tremendous amount of weight, looking like a shell emptied of its soul.
He stared blankly at the tombstone, his gaze hollow, as if he wanted to reach out and touch it but didn't dare.
"What are you doing here?" Ronald stood up, his voice cold as ice. "Haven't you hurt Evelyn enough?"
Matthew remained silent, offering no rebuttal.
"I heard you were the one who forced Evelyn to go to Serenity Island." Ronald's eyes reddened. "Why is it that when she had her accident, you're still alive? Where were you when Evelyn got into trouble?"
"...I was in City A."
"You were in City A?" Ronald's voice shot up. "You summoned Evelyn to Serenity Island, but you went back to City A yourself?"
He blocked the tombstone, staring hard at Matthew. "Mr. Perkins, Evelyn wouldn't want you at her grave."
"Now that she's gone, you have nothing left to threaten me with. Kill me if you want. I'm at your mercy."
Matthew ignored his provocation.
He just stood there, quietly looking at the tombstone.
Rainwater slid down his cheeks—impossible to tell if it was rain or tears.
His lips moved, trying to say something, but nothing came out.
Maybe Ronald was right. Evelyn probably didn't want him here.
If it weren't for him, she wouldn't have...
A sharp pain tore through his chest. Matthew bent over sharply, and a mouthful of fresh blood spewed out.
The blood mixed with rainwater and fell to the ground, quickly diluted, leaving behind a faint pink stain.
He trembled as he knelt down, his knees slamming into the cold, wet ground with a dull thud.
His pant legs were soaked through with muddy water, but he seemed not to feel it, just kneeling there, head bowed, shoulders slightly trembling.
"Eve, I'm sorry... I'm sorry..."
His voice was so hoarse it was barely audible, drowned out by the sound of rain.
But that apology, over and over again, as if tireless.
Ronald looked at him and let out a cold laugh.
He turned and walked away, never wanting to be with this man again.
In the curtain of rain, his figure grew more and more distant, finally disappearing into the gray haze.
Matthew knelt in the rain for a long time.
When the bodyguards came to help him up, his legs had already lost all feeling.
Two men propped him up, walking him out step by step.
As he passed Monica, he paused.
She had just fainted from crying and was being carried by someone, her face deathly pale, tears still clinging to the corners of her eyes.
The last flicker of faint hope in his heart died out.
He had harbored a humble fantasy that maybe Evelyn had faked her death to escape, maybe she was still alive somewhere.
But seeing these people at the funeral—that genuine grief, those heart-wrenching tears, those soul-crushing cries...
It didn't look fake at all.
Evelyn was truly gone.
He walked to the cemetery gates. One more step forward, and he would leave this burial ground, leave her behind.
He suddenly stopped and waved away the bodyguards. "Let me be alone for a while."
The bodyguards retreated to a distance.
He swayed unsteadily in the rain, tilting his head back to look at the sky.
Rainwater fell on his face, icy and cold.
The sky was a dreary gray, nothing visible—just endless rain, boundless grayness.
"Eve," he murmured, "what is that world you went to like?"
"Could you visit me in a dream and tell me your coordinates... so I can come find you too."
As soon as the words left his lips, a wave of dizziness struck. His vision went black, and his entire body fell straight backward.
"Matthew!"
A figure rushed over and caught him.
Matthew groggily opened his eyes and saw a blurred face.
Rainwater blurred his vision—he couldn't see clearly, only those features, that outline—
"Eve?" He suddenly grabbed that person's hand. "Eve, is that you? Are you really still alive?"
Sloane froze.
She'd rushed over after getting the news, and just as she got out of the car, she saw him collapse.
She rushed over to catch him. He opened his eyes but called out someone else's name.
How ridiculous. She, the great Sloane, had become a stand-in for a stand-in.
With a cold expression, she had the bodyguards help him into the car and drove him all the way to the hospital.
Matthew remained unconscious for a long time.
When he woke up, he saw it wasn't Evelyn at his bedside—it was Sloane.
In that instant, every expression vanished from his face.
He returned to City A without a word.
Taking advantage of Matthew's absence, Emma somehow borrowed someone's influence to escape from the psychiatric hospital, hoping to seize power in the chaos. But she failed.
Matthew sent her back again, with the highest level of security—not even a fly could escape.
Immediately after, he used ruthless methods to consolidate the Perkins Group.
People Emma had planted—removed. Wavering board members—cleared out.
Those secretly sabotaging things, those fence-sitting and watching—not one spared.
In just a few months, the Perkins Group became his alone.
People said that after Evelyn's death, Matthew had changed.
He was colder, more ruthless, more focused on work than before.
He displayed double the business acumen and tactics he'd shown in the past, pushing the Perkins Group to new heights.
Only something seemed missing.
He was like a machine programmed to run—operating numbly at high speed.
At the same time, news came from the sanatorium.
Upon learning of her daughter's death, Evelyn's mother couldn't withstand the shock. Her heart condition flared up, and she passed away, too.
The news only reached Matthew after the cremation.
His hand movements paused. That numb heart stabbed with pain once more.
When he looked up again, he'd recovered that icy expression.
Only his faintly trembling fingertips betrayed his inner turmoil.
Six months later.
South Africa, a secluded private island.
Monica handed a bunch of freshly washed grapes to the person across from her and spoke indignantly.
"I heard that now Matthew only has Sloane as his secretary."
"That scumbag—you've only faked your death for six months, and he's already back with his old flame?"
"Men's devotion really is cheaper than grass."
Evelyn took the grapes without responding. They were sweet, the juice full—she ate them slowly, one by one.
"Do you think Matthew will marry Sloane?"
"It doesn't matter anymore," Evelyn said softly.
Six months ago, when she heard Matthew was gravely ill, she'd felt a trace of sadness.
After all, so many years, so much entanglement—it couldn't be completely erased with just one phrase about letting go.
But not long after, she heard that his first love, Sloane, had been by his side the whole time.
That bit of sadness was thoroughly extinguished.
From then on, dust to dust, road to road.
"I heard that during Matthew's power grab, Sloane was a huge help."
"Now everyone outside is saying they're getting married." Monica fumed.
"Good thing you faked your death and escaped back then, otherwise..."
She didn't finish, but Evelyn understood.