Evangeline Montgomery woke up at 5:00 PM. She sat on the edge of the bed, feeling disoriented, her thoughts swimming in a thick, gray haze.

She shook her head, trying to clear the cobwebs. "Am I getting old? One night of grinding and I'm practically comatose."

A quick, searingly hot shower finally brought her back to reality.

"Marcellus, I’m starving."

Marcellus Alexander looked up, his sharp eyes scanning her. She looked a bit better, but there was still a lingering exhaustion written in the pale set of her shoulders.

"Damian Spencer just texted," he said, setting his phone aside. "He wants to take us out to dinner to apologize. You up for it?"

"Definitely."

"Alright. Let’s go."

When they reached the parking garage, Waylen Shaw scurried over to open the car door. He kept his eyes glued to the pavement, trying to look invisible.

"Oh, Waylen," Evangeline teased, pausing. "How was the blind date?"

"Ah! It was… fine, ma'am!"

Waylen prayed she wouldn't press further. He was a terrible liar, and he knew he’d crack under the weight of her gaze. Fortunately, Evangeline just chuckled and slipped into the backseat.

They arrived at L’Avenue and were led to a private suite.

"Marcellus, Evangeline, you’re here! Have a seat," Damian greeted them, standing up.

Marcellus pulled out a chair for Evangeline with possessive grace. "You can start calling her Mrs. Alexander from now on."

Damian blinked, caught off guard. "What?"

"We filed for the marriage license," Marcellus said, his tone clinical but triumphant.

"No way! Congratulations, man. You finally got what you wanted," Damian said, hiding a smirk. He thought of the business deal he’d let slide earlier; it was a small price to pay for Marcellus's favor. "My apologies, Mrs. Alexander. My sister has been spoiled rotten by my parents."

"Don’t worry about it," Evangeline replied, her voice soft. "And please, just call me Evangeline. We aren't going public just yet."

"Right, of course. Let’s eat. Marcellus mentioned you were starving, so I took the liberty of ordering a few favorites."

Marcellus shot Damian a look of approval. Damian was smart—he knew exactly where the boundaries lay and never pushed them. That made for an easy friendship.

"I could use a little warmth," Evangeline murmured, picking up a spoon. She took a sip of the ginseng chicken soup, the heat instantly soothing the knot of tension in her stomach.

Damian noticed the tailored suit Marcellus was wearing. "That's a sharp suit, Marcellus. Doesn't look like your usual bespoke style."

Marcellus’s lips curled into a rare, proud smirk. "Evangeline made it for me. By hand."

"Oh, spare me the gloating," Damian groaned. He turned to Evangeline. "Hey, could you make me a set too?"

Before she could answer, Marcellus cut in, sharp as a razor. "No."

"What? I’m a paying customer, aren't I?"

"No," Marcellus repeated, his tone leaving zero room for debate.

"Fine! You stingy bastard," Damian retorted, rolling his eyes.

The meal was light and pleasant, but once Evangeline finished, she stood up. "I need to hit the restroom."

"I'll come with you."

Evangeline gently pressed her palm against his chest, stopping him. "Stay here and keep Damian company. I’ll be back in a minute."

As soon as the door clicked shut, Damian leaned in, grinning. "She thinks you're a clinger, buddy."

"You’re a bachelor. What would you know about it?"

"And there's the knife to the heart," Damian muttered. He turned serious, his gaze searching. "Any strange behavior lately?" He tapped his temple meaningfully.

Marcellus shook his head. "She hasn't been staying at the estate lately, so it's hard to tell. But her eyes… they’re different. Not the wide-eyed innocence they used to have."

"She’s found something—or someone—to tether her emotions," Damian observed. Marcellus didn't respond, but he knew exactly what the doctor meant.

In the hallway, Evangeline stood before the mirror, smoothing her hair.

"Evangeline?"

She froze. She recognized that voice, and the disgust hit her like a physical blow. She stayed turned toward the mirror, refusing to acknowledge him.

"Evangeline, are you dining here too?"

She pivoted to walk past him, but Jonah Harrison grabbed her wrist. His touch felt like grease on her skin.

"Don't look at me like that," Jonah whispered, his voice raspy, desperate.

"Jonah, do you really have to do this? Be a stalker?" she asked, her voice cold enough to freeze water.

"I love you…"

"Love? You're the one who walked away first!" she snapped.

"I didn't! I never did! It was just a dream!" Jonah’s eyes were bloodshot, frantic. His hands gripped her shoulders, trembling. "It was just a dream, Evangeline! Please, you have to believe me!"

Evangeline stared at him. The madness in his eyes was visceral. She tilted her head, a slow, predatory smile spreading across her lips. "So, you think it was just a dream?"

"What do you mean?"

She shook him off, stepping back as if his touch were toxic. "You’ll find out soon enough."

She turned on her heel and walked away, never looking back. Jonah stood rooted to the spot, paralyzed. Ever since Cassidy had started threatening him with those photos, he’d been plagued by the same nightmare—a dream where he’d thrown Evangeline into the churning sea, feeling the agonizing, soul-crushing grief of her death. He didn't want to wake up, but he didn't want to believe it, either.

Back in the suite, Marcellus watched Evangeline return. He saw the storm brewing in her eyes and exchanged a sharp, silent glance with Damian.

"Who did you run into?" Marcellus asked, his voice low.

"Jonah Harrison," she said, making no effort to hide it.

Marcellus felt a cold spike of dread. Was he the source of her pain?

"Let’s go home," Marcellus said, his jaw tight as he battled his own volatility.

Damian watched them go, thinking, *Two lunatics in love. God help everyone else.*

The car ride was suffocatingly quiet. It wasn't until they pulled up to the gates of the Montgomery estate that Marcellus finally spoke, his face set in a dark, brooding mask.

"You've been thinking about him the whole way home. You haven't looked at me once."

"I was just processing things," she said, reaching for his hand. "Don't be like this, okay?"

Waylen, sensing the tension, tactfully exited the car to wait outside.

"You're not over him, are you?" Marcellus asked, his voice sounding small, almost like a wounded boy.

Evangeline felt her heart melt. She leaned into him, burying her face against his neck. "Marcellus, don't talk nonsense. I only care about you."

"But—"

She didn't let him finish. She pressed her lips against his, a slow, deliberate kiss that tasted of warmth and reassurance. When she finally pulled back, she brushed her fingers over his eyes.

"Marcellus, I’m your wife."

The agitation in him finally subsided. He pulled her into a crushing embrace, burying his face in her hair, inhaling her scent as if it were oxygen.

"Go on, then," he murmured.

"Bye, Marcellus."

She waved as she stepped out, walking toward the mansion. He didn't put the car in gear until her silhouette had completely vanished into the house.

Inside, Evangeline threw herself onto the sofa with a dramatic sigh. "Mom, I’m home!"

Marilyn Montgomery walked into the living room, frowning at her daughter. "My poor dear, look at those dark circles. You’re working yourself into the ground."

"I’m fine, Mom. I love the work."

"You don't need to do everything yourself! You're going to burn out."

Evangeline rested her head on her mother's shoulder. "Mom, my designs are like my children. I pour everything I have into them. When they finally shine and people recognize them, the hard work doesn't matter anymore."

Marilyn looked at her daughter, pride shining in her eyes. "You’ve become such a brilliant woman."

Evangeline hugged her neck, feeling a wave of peace. "And I have the best mother in the world. My confidence comes from the fact that I know you and Dad are always behind me."