Chapter 122
Evelyn's POV
The sunlight felt like an accusation.
I woke to it streaming through the windows of my Tribeca apartment, harsh and unforgiving, cutting through the fever haze that had wrapped around me like a shroud.
For a moment—one blissful, disorienting moment—I couldn't remember where I was or why every muscle in my body ached like I'd been beaten.
Then it all came rushing back.
The fight with Julian. The things I'd said. The look on his face when I'd told him he was nothing. The fever that had followed, burning through me like punishment for every cruel word.
And Adrian, kneeling beside the couch with cool towels and gentle hands, tending to me with the same careful devotion he'd shown when we were young and foolish enough to believe love could save us.
I turned my head slowly, the movement making the room tilt sickeningly. The armchair where Adrian had kept vigil sat empty now, a folded blanket draped over its arm the only evidence he'd been there at all. Pale morning light filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows, painting everything in shades of gray that matched the hollow feeling in my chest.
My phone lay on the coffee table where I'd dropped it last night, screen dark and lifeless. I reached for it with fingers that felt clumsy and disconnected, my body still weak from the fever even though the worst of it seemed to have broken.
The screen lit up at my touch, displaying the time—10:47 AM—and a notification that made my breath catch.
Breaking News: Russell-Winthrop Engagement Cancelled
I stared at the headline, my fever-addled brain struggling to process what I was seeing. Below it, a preview of the article began to load: In a surprising turn of events, Isabella Russell and Adrian Winthrop have mutually agreed to end their engagement. Sources close to both families report that the decision was made amicably, with Miss Russell citing personal reasons for...
She'd actually done it. Isabella had kept her word.
The realization should have sparked something—relief, vindication, even a bitter satisfaction. But all I felt was a vast, echoing emptiness, like someone had carved out my insides and left nothing but a void where my heart used to be. Because it didn't matter. None of it mattered.
Adrian was free now, free to pursue whatever romantic fantasy he'd built up in his head during those five years I'd been gone. And it changed absolutely nothing about the fundamental truth that had crystallized in my fever dreams last night.
I didn't love him anymore. Not the way I once had. Not the way he deserved.
The girl who'd loved Adrian Winthrop had died in Vorkuta, drowned in ice water and resurrected as something colder, sharper, more efficient at surviving than at loving. What remained was just a ghost wearing her face, going through the motions of caring while feeling nothing but the dull ache of wounds that would never fully heal.
My phone buzzed in my hand, making me flinch. I looked down at the screen.
Adrian Winthrop - Mobile
I frowned, my thumb hovering over the answer button. Something felt wrong about this. Adrian never called from his cell this early—he was usually in back-to-back meetings by now, his personal phone silenced until lunch.
And after spending the night caring for me, he should have been exhausted, should have gone home to sleep off the emotional upheaval of breaking his engagement.
But I answered anyway, pressing the phone to my ear with a hand that trembled slightly from lingering fever. "Adrian?"
The voice that came through the speaker wasn't his.
It was rougher, distorted slightly like it was being run through a voice modulator. Male, probably, though it was hard to tell with the electronic warping. And absolutely, chillingly cold.
"Mrs. Winthrop," the voice said, pronouncing my name with careful precision. "I apologize for the early morning call. But we have something of yours, and I thought you'd want to know about it sooner rather than later."
Ice flooded my veins, washing away the last remnants of fever heat. Every instinct I'd honed in five years of surviving Kholod's training suddenly screamed to life, my body going rigid with the kind of hyperawareness that came from recognizing a threat.
"Who is this?" I kept my voice level, professional, giving away nothing of the panic starting to claw at my throat. "And how did you get his phone?"
"Who I am doesn't matter." The distorted voice held a hint of amusement, like they were enjoying this. "What matters is who I have. Would you like to speak with him? Confirm he's still... intact?"
My mind raced through possibilities, scenarios, contingencies. This was a kidnapping. Someone had taken Adrian—probably sometime between when he'd left my apartment and now—and was using his phone to contact me. But why me? Why not call Elizabeth, or Catherine, or the Winthrop family lawyers who handled these situations?
"Put him on," I said, my voice hard as diamonds. "Now."
There was a rustling sound, like the phone was being moved. Then I heard it—a sharp intake of breath, pained and involuntary, followed by Adrian's voice. Strained. Frightened. But unmistakably his.
"Evelyn, don't—" His words cut off abruptly, replaced by a grunt of pain that made my fingers tighten around the phone hard enough to hurt.
"As you can see, Mr. Winthrop is alive and relatively unharmed," the distorted voice returned, calm and businesslike. "Whether he stays that way depends entirely on you, Mrs. Winthrop."
I was already moving, the phone pressed between my shoulder and ear as I stumbled toward my bedroom. The fever had left me weak, my legs unsteady, but adrenaline was burning through the exhaustion like acid. I needed to get dressed. Needed to arm myself. Needed to think clearly enough to figure out who the hell had taken Adrian and what they really wanted.
"What do you want?" I asked, yanking open my closet with enough force to make the hangers rattle. "Money? Information? Access to Winthrop assets?"