Evangeline felt the familiar, jagged ache return the moment she stepped into the Montgomery estate. Her body felt brittle, thin as parchment, and every time her cycle rolled around, she felt like she was fighting a losing battle against her own nervous system.

Dragging her leaden limbs toward the living room, she let out a breathless, pathetic groan. "Mom... help me..."

Marilyn Montgomery looked up, her expression shifting instantly from poise to panic as she saw the porcelain-pale sheen of her daughter’s face. She rushed over, wrapping an arm around Evangeline’s shoulders to guide her to the sofa. "Sweetheart, what is it?"

"Cramps," Evangeline wheezed, curling into the cushions. "Tell Nancy to whip up some of that herbal tea. I’m dying here."

"Alright, alright, just breathe," Marilyn said, her hands moving with practiced, rhythmic care as she began to massage Evangeline’s lower abdomen. She shot her daughter a playful, chiding glare. "You weren't careful with your diet again, were you? You’re such a disobedient child."

"I wasn't!"

"Oh, really? I can practically smell the Korean BBQ off you. Spicy food, greasy takeout—you never learn your lesson, do you?"

"Mom, please," Evangeline whimpered, her voice thick with exhaustion. "Don't lecture me, I’m literally fading away."

Hormones were a cruel cocktail, and in this state, her willpower was nonexistent. Marilyn just sighed, a smile softening her features. "You are incorrigible. Take this pill first. Drink the ginger tea, sleep it off, and you’ll be human again by morning."

Fifteen minutes later, Nancy arrived with a steaming mug. Evangeline struggled upright, blowing on the surface, the heat stinging her eyes as she gulped it down. Sweat beaded on her forehead, cold and sharp. Marilyn helped her up the stairs, tucking the duvet around her with meticulous care.

"Stay bundled up, don't let the chill get to you," her mother whispered, her hand slipping under the covers to rub her abdomen once more.

The heat of the tea and the steady, maternal touch finally began to unravel the knots in Evangeline’s gut. The heavy fog of exhaustion rolled in, and she was asleep before her mother even left the room.

***

The next morning, sunlight streaked across the bedroom, turning the dust motes into gold. Evangeline blinked, her eyelashes fluttering as she stretched. The agony was gone, replaced by a surge of renewed energy. She felt bulletproof.

*Buzz. Buzz.*

Her phone lit up on the nightstand. "Hello? Remi?"

"Evangeline! We hit the jackpot!" Remi’s voice was practically vibrating through the speaker.

"What are you talking about?"

"Are you living under a rock? Check Instagram! Luna Hughes’s photos from the festival last night went absolutely viral. We are trending!"

"No way. Hold on, let me get to the laptop."

Evangeline scrambled out of bed, her fingers flying across the screen. Her jaw dropped. The notification count was astronomical.

"I know, right?" Remi laughed. "Luna tagged our studio in her post this morning, and the internet just exploded!"

"Give me twenty minutes. I’m heading to the studio now."

Evangeline didn't waste a second. She was out the door and in her car before the caffeine even hit her system. When she burst into the studio, Remi tackled her in a bear hug, planting a loud, exuberant kiss on her cheek.

"You’re a genius, Evangeline!"

Remi pulled her toward the monitor, showing off the campaign shots. Luna Hughes had always been a "cold girl"—ethereal, aloof, and utterly untouchable. The red gown Evangeline had designed for her felt like a coronation; she looked like a queen surveying a conquered kingdom. The fans were losing their minds, praising the styling, and the fact that a star of Luna’s caliber had publicly championed a small studio only added to the prestige.

"Over a million comments, Evangeline!" Remi rocked her back and forth, beaming.

"We have to capitalize on this," Evangeline said, her voice dropping into a professional, steely tone. "This is our launchpad. We need more pieces, more edge, more everything."

"You’re right!"

Suddenly, a notification pinged on her phone—a text message. Evangeline glanced at the screen, a sneer twisting her lips. She tossed the phone onto the desk with a heavy, irritated *clack*.

Remi peeked over. "Jonah Harrison? Really? Is he trying to play the 'grieving lover' card again?"

"Don't bring him up. Especially not on a day like today."

"Fine, fine. So, are we celebrating tonight?"

Evangeline paused. "We’re celebrating?"

Remi looked sheepish, remembering their last chaotic night out at the club. "Just a drink! A tiny, little drink! Come on, we’ve earned it!"

Evangeline relented, a small smirk playing on her lips. "Fine. But just one."

"Yes!" Remi cheered, turning to the rest of the staff. "Everyone, drinks on the studio tonight!"

Evangeline knew better than to go silent, though. She quickly tapped out a message to Marcellus, letting him know the plan.

The phone rang instantly.

"Hello? Marcellus?"

"You’re still feeling sick, and you’re going out for drinks?" His voice was low, laced with that possessive, brooding edge that made her heart skip.

"I won't drink," she lied, touching her nose guiltily. "I’m just tagging along for the company."

"You expect me to believe that?"

"I promise! Everyone from the studio is going. I can't just be the party pooper."

"…Fine."

Evangeline hung up, letting out a long breath. *God, he’s becoming easy to manage,* she thought.

That night, they took over a private booth at The Neon Lounge. The air upstairs was a different world from the thumping, smoke-filled chaos of the dance floor below. It was sophisticated, bathed in low, flickering light, and laced with an undercurrent of mystery.

The girls ordered fruit-based cocktails and snacks, giggling in the corner. Evangeline shook her head at a glass of sparkling water. "I’m on the clock for my health. You guys go wild."

"Ugh, you’re so boring," Remi pouted.

"I’m just eating, okay?" Evangeline laughed, grabbing a skewer.

Jemma, one of their junior assistants, pointed at the karaoke system in the corner. "Evangeline, you should sing! Doesn't this place have a stage?"

"I don't know," Evangeline said, though she noticed the girls giving her that 'look.'

"She has the voice of an angel!" Remi shoved her toward the console. "Sing! We want to hear you!"

The room erupted in cheers. Evangeline sighed, finally giving in. She sat at the console, fingers dancing across the screen to select a track. The music swelled—a soft, haunting melody that filled the room.

*"You gave me a love I never want to lose...

The journey of love is a sea of stars and vast oceans...

The story won't change,

It’s the best arrangement of fate..."*

Her voice was like silk, weaving through the room. It was raw and intimate, a confession disguised as a song. Every person in the room fell into a reverent silence, captivated by the ache in her notes.

They weren't the only ones listening.

Marcellus had slipped into the booth, intending to drag her home, but he froze in the doorway. The song hung in the air, a siren call that struck straight through his armor. He stayed in the shadows, his eyes burning as he watched her.

As the final note faded into a lingering hum, the room exploded into applause.

"That was incredible!"

"Evangeline, I’m falling in love just listening to you!"

She smiled, a flush of color returning to her cheeks, unaware of the predator watching her from the dark.