Chapter 108
Evelyn's POV
The silence that fell was absolute. Scarlett and Vivian's faces went pale.
"Would you like me to play it?" Catherine's voice was perfectly neutral, but her eyes held something sharp and satisfied. "It's quite clear. The part where you 'accidentally' knocked the clutch toward the drainage grate."
She tapped her phone screen. The audio crackled to life, tinny but distinct in the sudden silence.
"—oops, there it goes." Vivian's voice, followed by laughter.
"Think she'll make a scene?" Scarlett, amused.
"God, I hope so. Let's see how the black widow handles this one."
"That's not—" Scarlett's voice cracked in the present. "We didn't—"
But Catherine wasn't finished. She let the recording continue.
"Isabella's going to love this," Vivian's voice said through the speaker. "She's been dying to put that bitch in her place. Might as well help her out."
"Right? She acts all sweet, but you can tell she can't stand having Arthur's widow around. This'll give her the perfect excuse."
The murmurs started immediately, rippling through the crowd like a shockwave.
"So Isabella was behind it?"
"She seemed so concerned just now. What an act."
"I always knew that innocent routine was fake."
Isabella's face had gone chalk white. "No. No, I didn't—I would never—" She turned to the crowd, her voice rising with desperation. "I didn't ask them to do anything. I don't know why they would say that."
"Oh, come on." Scarlett's survival instinct had kicked in, her tone turning sharp and accusatory. "Don't pretend you didn't complain about her every chance you got. We were just trying to help you."
"We did this for you," Vivian added, her voice shrill. "You can't just throw us under the bus now. You said she was making Adrian uncomfortable, that she needed to be put in her place—"
"I never said that!" Isabella's composure was cracking, tears welling in her eyes. She turned to Adrian, reaching for his hand. "Adrian, you have to believe me. I didn't ask them to do this. I wouldn't—"
Adrian stood perfectly still, his expression unreadable. The silence stretched between them, heavy and damning.
"Adrian?" Isabella's voice broke. "Please. You know me. You know I wouldn't hurt Evelyn. Tell them."
He said nothing. Just looked at her with those cool blue eyes, and I could see the doubt there, the calculation. Weighing her words against the evidence, against whatever private complaints she might have made in moments of frustration.
"I believe you."
The words came out before I'd consciously decided to speak. Everyone turned to look at me—Isabella with desperate hope, Adrian with surprise, Catherine with something that might have been confusion.
"I believe you didn't ask them to do this," I continued, my voice steady despite the exhaustion pulling at me. "You're not that kind of person, Isabella. These two—" I looked at Scarlett and Vivian with cold contempt. "They're trying to save themselves by dragging you down with them. Don't let them."
"Evelyn—" Isabella's voice was thick with tears.
"You asked me to hold your ring because you trusted me," I said quietly. "That's not something someone who wanted to humiliate me would do. I know the difference between kindness and manipulation. Yours was real."
The crowd's murmurs shifted, uncertainty replacing certainty. Isabella looked at me like I'd just handed her a lifeline in stormy seas.
Adrian's expression remained unreadable, his eyes still holding that cold distance as he looked at Isabella. Whatever he was thinking, he kept it locked behind that impenetrable Winthrop mask. Then he turned to Scarlett and Vivian, and his voice went hard.
"Get out," he said, the words cutting through the space like a blade. "Both of you. Off this yacht."
"Adrian—" Vivian started.
"Now." He didn't raise his voice, didn't need to. The authority in that single word was absolute. "You have five minutes to collect your things and get on a tender. If you're still here after that, I'll have security remove you."
They fled. The crowd parted for them like water, everyone suddenly very interested in their champagne glasses. Catherine pocketed her phone, gave Adrian a small nod, and disappeared back into the party without a word to me.
Isabella's hand found mine, squeezing gently. "I'm so sorry. I had no idea they'd—"
"It's fine." I was so tired. Tired of standing, tired of being looked at, tired of pretending I was anything other than what I was—a trained killer playing dress-up in a world that would never fully accept me. "Really. I just want to go home."
"Of course." She looked at Julian, something passing between them—an understanding, maybe, or just shared concern. "Take care of her."
"Always." Julian's arm wrapped around my waist, supporting more of my weight than I wanted to admit I needed. "Come on. Let's get you out of here."
Adrian moved as if to follow, then stopped himself. Our eyes met for just a moment—his filled with questions I couldn't answer, mine probably revealing more than I wanted. Then Isabella touched his arm, drawing his attention back to her, and the moment passed.
Julian guided me through the crowd, his body a shield between me and their stares. No one tried to stop us. No one asked questions. They just watched as we made our way to the tender, their speculation already building into tomorrow's gossip.
The boat ride to shore was quiet. I sat wrapped in Julian's jacket, the ring's impression still visible on my palm where I'd clutched it so tightly. The Manhattan skyline glittered in the distance, beautiful and indifferent.
"Catherine defended you," Julian said finally. "That's... unexpected."
"She defended the Winthrop name," I corrected. "Having me publicly humiliated reflects badly on them. It's not about me."
"Maybe." He pulled me closer. "Or maybe she's more complicated than you think."
I didn't answer. Couldn't answer. Because the truth was, I didn't know what to think anymore. About Catherine, about Isabella's trust, about the way Adrian had looked at me like he still wanted to fix everything. About the fact that I'd nearly died tonight over a piece of jewelry, and the only person who seemed to fully grasp that was the man currently holding me together.
"I want to go home," I whispered. "Your home. Not the apartment. Somewhere no one knows where to find me."
Julian's lips brushed my temple. "Then that's where we'll go."
The tender reached the dock. Julian helped me out, his hand steady on my waist, and we disappeared into the New York night—away from the party, the accusations, the weight of everyone's expectations. For now, at least, I could stop performing.
For now, I could just breathe.