Evangeline Montgomery finished sending the final drafts to Sadie Larson and was settling into her workflow when Jemma Riley came clattering up the stairs, knocking urgently on the door.

"Ms. Montgomery? There’s a guest downstairs to see you."

Evangeline frowned. Had she really become that much of a local sensation?

Descending the stairs, she was met by a sight that stopped her in her tracks. Angela Harrison was standing there, her eyes swollen and bloodshot, her face a map of despair. The moment she saw Evangeline, she rushed forward, gripping her hands with trembling, frantic fingers.

"Evangeline, please, you have to save Jonah. I’m begging you."

Evangeline steadied the older woman, who looked like she might collapse at any second. "Angela, what’s going on?"

Angela let out a ragged sob. "Ever since he found out you got married, he’s been a ghost. He won't eat, he won't sleep, he just drowns himself in whiskey from sunrise to sunset. I’m terrified he’s going to—" She choked on the words, unable to finish.

"Don't cry. Please, don't cry."

Evangeline felt a pang of sympathy as she wiped the tears from Angela’s cheeks, patting her back gently. The rot in her relationship with Jonah was personal, but she couldn't hold the elder Harrisons accountable; they had always treated her with a genuine, maternal warmth she rarely found elsewhere.

"Just talk to him, please," Angela pleaded, her voice cracking. "Just tell him... something. Anything."

"But..."

"I’m begging you, Evangeline. I know he failed you, I know you owe him nothing, but do this for me. I’m out of options. I’m drowning."

Seeing the woman who had once been like a second mother to her reduced to this broken state, Evangeline felt a sharp tug of guilt. She sighed, her resolve wavering. "Alright. Don't worry, Angela. I’ll go see him."

The atmosphere at the Harrison mansion was suffocating, thick with a heavy, unspoken dread. The domestic staff moved like shadows, terrified of making a sound. By the time they reached Jonah’s bedroom door, the sharp, cloying scent of cheap scotch was already seeping through the frame.

Evangeline knocked. A roar from inside shattered the silence. "Get out!"

The sound of a glass bottle smashing against the floor followed. Evangeline didn't hesitate; she pushed the door open.

Jonah was slumped against the wall, his eyes rimmed with angry, bloodshot red, his hair a tangled, greasy mess. He looked like a man who had long since surrendered to the abyss.

"Jonah."

He didn't react. He just stared blankly into the middle distance. Evangeline stepped closer, crouching down, and gripped his shoulders to shake him. "Jonah, look at me!"

He blinked, his gaze finally snapping toward her. A sickly, desperate smile spread across his face. "Evangeline..." He reached out, clawing at the air, trying to pull her into an embrace.

Evangeline recoiled instantly, her expression turning into a mask of ice.

Jonah let out a hollow, broken laugh. "You don't want me anymore..." He reached for the bottle beside him and tilted his head back, taking a deep, shuddering gulp.

"Is this it, Jonah? Are you just putting on a performance now? Trying to act like the tragic lead in some pathetic romance?"

Before he could swallow, the alcohol surged back up, mixed with a dark, metallic spray of blood that splattered across the carpet.

Angela screamed from the doorway, rushing in to cradle her son as he convulsed. "My baby! Oh god, don't scare me like this! Jonah, please!"

Evangeline didn't wait; she was already on the phone, calling for an ambulance.

At the hospital, the diagnosis came quickly: acute gastric hemorrhage. Angela was catatonic, slumped in a plastic chair in the waiting room, her voice lost to the hours of sobbing. Anthony Harrison sat beside her, his once-imposing frame seemingly shrunk, his posture hunched and fragile. He looked a decade older than he had just that morning.

"Please, Evangeline," Anthony said, his voice raspy and defeated. "When he wakes up... just talk to him. He’ll listen to you. He’s always listened to you."

Watching the patriarch of the Harrison family crumble before her, Evangeline felt a bitter irony. She couldn't bring herself to forgive Jonah, but she could perform a mercy for his parents. She nodded slowly.

Three hours later, Jonah was awake, his face paper-white, a nasogastric tube snaking into his nose. He looked so diminished, so utterly wretched, that it stirred a strange, hollow sensation in her chest.

"Jonah," she said quietly. "Stop self-destructing. You need to pull yourself together. If not for you, do it for your parents."

Jonah didn't speak. He just squeezed his eyes shut, a single tear tracing a path into his hairline.

"Live," she repeated firmly.

He didn't argue. After a long, agonizing silence, he simply let out a faint, breathless whisper.

"Okay."

Stepping out into the cool evening air after saying her goodbyes, Evangeline felt untethered. Her life—past and present—felt like a reel of film flickering through her mind. Cassidy’s descent into obsession, Jonah’s cowardice and regret, and Marcellus... Marcellus, who had defied the very heavens to pull her back from the grave.

Everyone was just chasing their own ghosts. Who was she to judge?

"You went to see him."

The voice was low, dangerous, and distinctly familiar. Evangeline turned to find Marcellus standing just a few paces away, his silhouette sharp against the streetlights.

"Marcellus? What are you doing here?"

"You went to see him," he repeated, his eyes dark with a simmering, possessive fury.

Evangeline stepped up, poking his cheek until he was forced to look at her. "Are you jealous?"

"Is it not allowed?"

She beamed, a genuine, playful light returning to her eyes. "It’s allowed. Jealousy is just another word for love, isn't it? I’ll forgive you for this one."

The irritation on his face faltered, caught off guard by her pivot. Before he could retort, she moved in closer, tucking her arm through his.

"His parents were like family to me. They were hurting, and I went out of common decency. That’s all."

"And you were upset," he pressed, though his grip on her hand loosened. "Were you hurting for him?"

"I was just thinking," she murmured, leaning into his side as they began to walk. "Thinking about how much better life is now."

He didn't push it further. She let out a quiet sigh of relief, then narrowed her eyes, feigning indignation. "And by the way, did you have Waylen trailing me again?"

Marcellus cleared his throat, looking everywhere but at her. "I—"

"Caught you," she laughed, cutting him off. "I know. You’re just terrified something might happen to me. I get it." She looked up at him, her smile softening. "You’re a good man, Marcellus. You handle everything, you protect me... you’re a pretty decent husband, you know that?"

"What did you call me?"

The shift in his eyes—the way they filled with that intoxicating, raw hunger—made her heart skip. She didn't hesitate this time.

"Hubby," she said, her voice a sweet, deliberate honey.

The tension in him evaporated, replaced by a look of pure, unadulterated adoration. As they walked down the street, their shadows merging into one under the amber streetlights, the bitterness of the hospital faded into the background, replaced by the quiet, creeping warmth of a future she had built with her own two hands.