Chapter 297
Chapter 297
Evelyn's POV
The sterile scent of antiseptic and the hum of fluorescent lights greeted me as I stepped into Los Angeles Hope Memorial Hospital, my white coat slung over my arm. It was my first day back since the chaos at Blackwood Estate, and though my hands were steady as I checked patient charts, my mind was elsewhere. Blake’s death clung to me like a shadow, his final act of sacrifice replaying in my head. I couldn’t shake the image of him collapsing, his blood pooling on the marble floor, his last words to Dorian echoing with a loyalty I hadn’t understood until it was too late.
I was in the middle of reviewing a patient’s bloodwork when my phone buzzed. A text from Dorian: I’ll pick you up at 6. Blake’s funeral is tomorrow. We’ll go together. I stared at the screen, my thumb hovering over the reply button. Part of me wanted to push him away, to keep the distance I’d clung to since that night. But another part—a quieter, softer part—knew I needed him there, just as much as he needed me.
---
The funeral was held at a small cemetery on the outskirts of the city, the kind of place where the grass was too green and the headstones too polished, like they were trying to mask the finality of death. Dorian stood beside me, his black suit impeccably tailored, but his face was drawn, his eyes heavy with grief. I’d never seen him like this—vulnerable, almost broken. The crowd was small, just a handful of Blake’s distant relatives and a few old friends, their faces a mix of sorrow and discomfort. No one mentioned the scar on his throat or the way he’d died. No one mentioned Hunter.
As the priest spoke, I found myself staring at Blake’s casket, a sleek mahogany box that seemed too small to contain someone who’d loomed so large in life. Guilt gnawed at me. I’d hated Blake for so long, blamed him for his role in the betrayal, for the lies and the games. But in the end, he’d given his life for Dorian. He didn’t deserve to die for it. A prison cell, maybe, but not this.
“I’m sorry, Blake,” I whispered under my breath, my voice lost in the priest’s droning. “You didn’t have to do that.”
Dorian’s hand found mine, his fingers warm and steady. He didn’t say anything, but the way he squeezed my hand told me he felt it too—the weight of forgiveness, the ache of regret. We stood there, side by side, and for the first time in years, I didn’t pull away.
---
The weeks that followed were a blur of hospital shifts and quiet evenings. Hunter was gone, sentenced to life in prison for Blake’s murder. Sage, my sister, and Lila were locked away too, their sentences shorter but no less damning. I visited them once, against my better judgment, at the county jail. The visiting room was cold, the air thick with the smell of bleach and despair.
Hunter sat across from me, his wrists cuffed, his eyes burning with a hatred I hadn’t seen before. “You betrayed me, Evelyn,” he said, his voice low and venomous. “After everything I did for you.”
“You used me,” I shot back, my voice steadier than I felt. “You played me for three years, Hunter. You don’t get to call that betrayal.”
He leaned forward, his chains rattling. “You think you’re free now? You think Dorian’s your savior? He’ll ruin you, just like he ruins everything.”
I stood, my chair scraping against the floor. “Goodbye, Hunter.”
Sage was worse. She sat in her wheelchair, her face pale and drawn, but her eyes were sharp, glittering with malice. The whole prison knew by now that her disability was a lie, a performance she’d kept up for years to manipulate those around her. “You’ll regret this, Evelyn,” she hissed, her voice echoing off the concrete walls. “When I get out, I’ll make you feel despair like you’ve never known.”
I stared at her, my little sister. “You’re in prison, Sage. Stop dreaming.”
Lila was last, her gaze cold and unyielding. “Dorian’s mine, Evelyn. You’ll see.”
I almost laughed, the absurdity of it cutting through my anger. “Dorian’s chasing me, Lila. I haven’t even decided if I want him back. You’re wasting your breath.”
I left the jail that day with a strange sense of closure, like I’d finally severed the last threads tying me to that toxic web of lies. But closure didn’t mean peace. Not yet.
---
My parents, Richard and Catherine, came to see me a few days later. They stood in my apartment, their faces etched with guilt, their apologies tumbling out in a rush. “We didn’t know, Evelyn,” my mother said, her eyes red from crying. “We trusted Sage. We thought she was good for you.”
My father nodded, his hands clasped tightly in front of him. “We should’ve seen it. We should’ve protected you.”
I didn’t have the energy to be angry. “It’s done,” I said simply. “Just… be here now.”
They hugged me, and for the first time in years, I let them. It wasn’t forgiveness, not entirely, but it was a start.