Chapter 120
Evelyn's POV
"I should go," Isabella said. Gathering her coat. "But I meant what I said about breaking the engagement. I'm going to do it, Evelyn. Soon. And when I do..." She paused at the door. Looking back at me with an expression I couldn't quite read. "When I do, I hope you'll have figured out what—or who—you actually want. Because life's too short to spend it protecting everyone else from your damage while you bleed out alone."
The door closed behind her with a soft click that echoed in the sudden silence. I sat there on the couch, staring at the space where she'd been. Her words reverberating in my skull like aftershocks from an earthquake.
I'm going to break the engagement.
The implications of that statement should have filled me with something. Relief, maybe. Or anxiety about how Adrian would react. But all I could feel was a hollow numbness that had nothing to do with the fever.
Because I wasn't the same girl Adrian had fallen in love with. I was Wraith now. A killer with blood on her hands and ice in her veins. And even if Adrian could somehow look past that, even if he could forgive the years and the distance and the person I'd become—
I didn't love him anymore. Not the way I once had.
The realization should have hurt. Should have felt like losing something precious. But instead, it just felt empty. Like I'd been carrying around the ghost of a feeling for so long that I'd forgotten it was already dead.
My phone buzzed again. The sound cutting through the fog. I reached for it automatically. My fever-clumsy fingers nearly dropping it as I pulled up the screen.
Julian: Isabella says you're sick. Why the hell didn't you tell me?
I stared at the words. Trying to parse meaning from the curt sentences. Trying to figure out if the concern was real or just residual obligation.
Of course he'd kept tabs even after walking out. Because Julian Russell didn't do anything halfway. When he committed to something—to someone—he went all in.
And I'd thrown that back in his face. Had told him he was nothing. Had reduced what we had to cheap sex and convenience. Had looked him in the eye and lied with the same cold precision I used to line up a kill shot.
My hands were shaking as I typed out a response. The letters blurring together on the screen.
Me: I'm fine. Just a fever. You don't need to worry.
The message sat there. Cursor blinking. For a long moment before I hit send. And then I watched the screen. Waiting for the three dots that would indicate he was typing back. Waiting for some sign that he hadn't completely written me off.
The dots never appeared. The message just sat there. Marked as read. With no response forthcoming.
And somehow that silence was worse than any angry text could have been. Because it meant I'd finally succeeded in pushing him away. Had finally convinced him that I wasn't worth the effort of fighting for.
I dropped the phone onto the couch cushion. Let my head fall back against the armrest. Staring up at the ceiling that spun lazily above me. The fever was getting worse. Climbing higher with each passing minute. Some distant part of my brain recognized that I should probably do something about it.
Take more medicine. Call a doctor. At least drink some water.
But I couldn't seem to make myself care. Couldn't seem to find the energy to move. To think. To do anything except lie there and let the heat consume me from the inside out.
Julian. Julian. Julian.
His name became a mantra in my head. A prayer to a god who'd already abandoned me. I thought about the first time I'd seen him at Arthur's funeral. All sharp edges and dangerous charm. The way he'd looked at me like he could see straight through every carefully constructed lie.
I thought about the yacht. About the way he'd held me after pulling me from the water. His heart hammering against mine while he whispered promises into my wet hair.
And I thought about last night. When I'd stood in front of Thomas Reeves' brownstone with murder in my heart. When Julian had appeared like some vengeful angel and dragged me back from the edge. The way he'd looked at me with those gray eyes full of hurt and fury and desperate, aching need.
You're not as far gone as you think you are, he'd said. Not yet.
But he was wrong. I was exactly as far gone as I thought. Maybe further. Because someone who wasn't too far gone wouldn't have pushed away the one person who'd ever looked at them and seen something worth saving.
The fever climbed higher. My body felt like it was on fire. Every nerve ending screaming in protest. I tried to sit up. To reach for the water Isabella had left. But the room tilted sideways and I fell back against the cushions with a gasp that might have been a sob.
Cold. I'm so cold.
Except I wasn't cold at all. I was burning up. My skin slick with sweat. My clothes sticking to me. But in my head, I was back in Vorkuta. Back in that ice water tank while Nikolai's instructors held me under and counted off the seconds.
Thirty seconds. You can survive thirty seconds without air. Forty-five if you're strong. A minute if you're desperate.
I'd been desperate. Had held my breath until my lungs screamed and my vision went black. Until the instinct to breathe became a physical agony. And when they finally pulled me out, gasping and choking and half-drowned, Nikolai had been there with his cold blue eyes and colder smile.
Again, he'd said. Until you stop being afraid.
But I'd never stopped being afraid. I'd just learned to hide it better. Learned to bury the fear so deep that even I couldn't find it most days. Learned to function through the terror until functioning became automatic.
Wraith, they'd called me. The ghost who kills without hesitation, without mercy, without leaving a trace.
And I'd worn that name like armor. Had let it define me until Evelyn Valentine became nothing more than a convenient cover identity. Until the girl who'd loved Adrian Winthrop was just another ghost.
But Julian had seen her. Had looked past Wraith to the broken, terrified girl underneath. And had refused to let her disappear completely. Had held her when she fell apart. Had promised her safety when she'd forgotten what that word even meant.
Until I'd driven him away.
You're just someone I've been sleeping with while I figure out my next move.
The words echoed in my head. Each syllable a fresh wound. I wanted to take them back. To rewind time and choose different words. But time only moved in one direction. And the damage was done.
Julian was gone. Isabella was going to break her engagement. And I was lying alone in my apartment burning up with fever while my carefully constructed life fell apart around me.
My phone buzzed again. I ignored it. Too exhausted to care who was calling. It buzzed twice more in quick succession, then went silent.
And in that silence, I heard something that made my fever-addled brain struggle to focus.
A key in the lock.
I forced my eyes open. Forced myself to look toward the door even though the movement made the room spin sickeningly. The door swung open.
And for one wild, desperate moment, I thought—
But it wasn't Julian.
It was Adrian.