Chapter 133
Evelyn's POV
The question hung between us, weighted with everything we weren't saying.
Because he wasn't really asking if I was ready for a relationship. He was asking if I was ready for him. If there was still a chance, despite Isabella, despite Julian, despite everything.
And I owed him the truth, even if it destroyed him.
"I am," I said carefully. "But Adrian—the person I'm ready to be with—"
I stopped, searching for words that would be honest without being needlessly cruel.
"It's not you. I'm sorry. I wish I could tell you something different. Wish I could say that what I feel for you is the same as what I felt five years ago. But it's not."
I forced myself to continue.
"You'll always be important to me. You'll always be someone I care about, someone I want to protect. But I'm not in love with you anymore."
The words landed like physical blows. Each one visible in the way his face went carefully blank. The way his hands clenched on the hospital sheets.
But he didn't interrupt. Didn't argue or plead or try to change my mind.
Just sat there absorbing the truth I'd finally given him.
"It's Russell, isn't it," he said finally. Not a question but a statement of fact. "You're in love with him."
I wanted to deny it. Wanted to protect both of them from the messy reality of what I felt.
But I'd done enough lying. Enough hiding. Enough pretending.
Julian deserved better than my cowardice. And so did Adrian.
"Yes," I said simply. "I'm in love with him."
Adrian closed his eyes. His jaw worked as he processed this confirmation of what he'd probably already known.
When he opened them again, there was a strange calm in his expression. Like he'd finally stopped fighting something inevitable.
"How long?" he asked quietly. "How long have you two been—"
He didn't finish the question, but I knew what he was asking.
"A few weeks," I admitted. My voice was steady despite the guilt twisting in my chest. "Since the Plaza Hotel gala. But Adrian, I only realized I was in love with him—that it was more than just—"
I stopped, searching for the right words.
"I only figured it out these past couple days. When I almost lost him."
Adrian was quiet for a moment. His blue eyes studied my face with an intensity that made me want to look away.
"A few weeks," he repeated softly. Almost to himself. "Since the Plaza Hotel gala."
Something shifted in his expression. Understanding, maybe. Or resignation.
"He never hesitated, did he," Adrian said. It wasn't really a question. "Russell. From the moment he had an opening, he went for it. Didn't waste time worrying about what people would think. Didn't care that you were Arthur's widow. Didn't let anything stop him from—"
He stopped. Shook his head.
"He was braver than I ever was. From the very beginning."
The words hung in the air between us. Brutal in their honesty.
Because Adrian was right. Julian had never hesitated. Had seen what he wanted and pursued it without apology or shame. Had looked at all the reasons we shouldn't be together—the scandal, the impropriety, the complicated mess of my past—and decided none of it mattered.
While Adrian had spent five years paralyzed by fear and propriety and the weight of family expectations.
"I'm sorry," I said quietly.
"Don't be." Adrian's smile was sad but genuine. "I lost. Fair and square. And I can't even be angry about it because—"
He paused. Took a breath.
"Because he was willing to fight for you in ways I never was. And you deserve someone who doesn't hesitate. Who doesn't need five years and a broken engagement to figure out what matters."
His voice turned wry. "I'm not happy about it. But I'm not going to pretend Russell didn't earn this. He did."
"Does he know?" Adrian asked. "Have you told him?"
I thought about the things I'd said to Julian that night. The deliberate cruelty I'd used to push him away. The way I'd reduced what we had to just physical need. The look on his face when he'd walked out—hurt and anger and something that looked almost like grief.
"No," I admitted. "I—I pushed him away. Told him we were nothing. That it was just—"
I stopped, unable to repeat the words I'd used.
"I hurt him. Badly. And I don't know if he'll forgive me."
Adrian was quiet for a long moment. His blue eyes searched my face with an intensity that made me want to look away.
Then he reached out and took my hand again. His grip was gentle this time. Almost paternal.
"Then you need to tell him," he said quietly. "Before it's too late. Before he decides that you meant what you said and walks away for good."
He paused. Something like pain flickered across his features.
"I know what it's like to lose you, Evelyn. To spend years wondering if I could have done something different, said something different, been brave enough to fight for what I wanted. Don't let him go through that. Don't make him spend the rest of his life wondering if you felt the same way."
The generosity of it—the selflessness—nearly broke me.
Because here was Adrian, injured and heartbroken and still recovering from a kidnapping that had happened because of me. And he was telling me to go after the man he saw as his rival. Was putting my happiness above his own pain.
"Why are you doing this?" I asked. My voice was rough with unshed tears. "Why are you—after everything—"
"Because I love you," Adrian said simply. "And because loving someone means wanting them to be happy, even if that happiness doesn't include you."
He squeezed my hand once, then released it.
"Go. Tell him. Before you lose your nerve or he does something stupid like convince himself you're better off without him."
I stood. My legs were unsteady. My heart hammered against my ribs.
"Adrian—"
"Go," he repeated, more firmly this time. "I'll be fine. I've got excellent medical care, a kidnapping story that'll make me sound heroic at board meetings, and the satisfaction of knowing I finally did the right thing."
His smile was crooked. Self-deprecating.
"Just promise me one thing."
"Anything," I said.
"Be happy," Adrian said quietly. "That's all I ever wanted for you. Just—be happy."
I nodded, not trusting my voice, and turned toward the door.
My hand was on the handle when his voice stopped me one last time.
"Evelyn?"
I looked back.
"He's a good man," Adrian said. "Russell. Better than most people give him credit for. If you're going to love someone—"
He paused. Something like resignation crossed his face.
"I'm glad it's him."