The paper crown still sat on her nightstand when Evelyn opened her eyes. Crooked, flimsy, and stupid-looking, it shouldn't have mattered, but somehow it did. She stared at it for a long while, remembering the laughter of the maids during the cooking competition. For one night, she hadn't felt like a prisoner. She had been Evelyn—just Evelyn.
But the warmth of that memory faded quickly. The prickle on her skin, that constant feeling of being watched, crept back in as she sat up. She turned her head toward the window, then the shadows in the corners. She told herself she was imagining things, but deep down, she knew better.
A knock on the door startled her. One of the maids peeked in, smiling. "Mrs. Evelyn, would you like to join us for breakfast in the garden?"
Normally she would have refused, but something inside her pushed her to say yes.
The garden smelled of jasmine and fresh bread. The long table under the oak tree was covered with pastries, fruits, and steaming tea. The maids laughed and teased one another, one of them even joking about how she'd nearly set the kitchen on fire again. Evelyn found herself laughing too—real laughter, light and unguarded.
But then she saw the guards.
They weren't relaxed like usual. They stood stiff, eyes sharp, scanning the grounds like wolves scenting prey. One whispered into his earpiece, another kept his hand hovering near his weapon. Evelyn's smile faltered. The laughter around her continued, but suspicion curled tight in her chest. Something was wrong.
Far beneath her, Damien Kane sat in the underground bunker, his eyes fixed on the monitors. Every movement of hers was captured, every smile, every frown. He leaned forward as she laughed faintly at a maid's joke, his jaw tightening. She was radiant, even when she tried to dim her own light.
He wasn't in Beijing. He hadn't gone anywhere. She knew it. She was the only one who knew the man behind Adrian Vale was Damien Kane. And still, he hid. Not because she didn't know him—but because facing her after what he'd done last night was harder than fighting any war.
The guilt twisted inside him like a knife, but he stayed. Always watching.
Later that afternoon, Evelyn wandered into the living room. A newspaper lay on the table. She froze when she saw the face on the front page.
Adrian Vale. Damien's mask.
He was there, smiling like the perfect gentleman, shaking hands with powerful men in Beijing. The headline praised his international deals. Evelyn's blood boiled hot.
"You lying bastard," she spat, snatching the paper. "Coward. Pretender."
She tore it in half, again and again, until his smug face was nothing but scraps on the floor. "You think you can lock me here, vanish into thin air, and I'll just sit quietly? You're pathetic."
She kicked the shredded pieces away, her chest heaving.
In the bunker, Damien stiffened. Every insult cut deep, but he didn't turn away. He watched her rage, her fury, and a sick part of him clung to it. She still felt for him. Hatred was better than emptiness. At least she couldn't forget him.
That evening, as the sun bled across the horizon, a maid knocked gently and handed Evelyn a sealed envelope.
"This was delivered at the front gate," the maid explained. "For you."
Evelyn frowned. The handwriting on the front hit her like a punch to the gut. She knew it instantly. She hadn't seen it in years, but the loops, the strokes—it was him.
Hands trembling, she broke the seal.
Evelyn,
It's been too long. I don't know if you'll remember me, but I never forgot you. I heard whispers of your family, of the life they forced on you. I worried. I still do. I want you to know—if you ever need someone who truly sees you, I'll be here. Always.
The words blurred as her eyes stung with sudden tears. He was alive. He still remembered her. The boy who had once made her laugh when the world was cruel, who had looked at her like she was more than just a pawn in her family's games.
She pressed the letter to her chest, her heart racing. It was dangerous, so dangerous. But for the first time in a long time, she felt something soft and warm flicker inside her—a promise that maybe, just maybe, she wasn't as alone as Damien wanted her to be.
Quickly, she folded the letter back and hid it beneath her pillow. Nobody could know, especially not Damien.
That night, the unease returned stronger. As she lay in bed, she swore she heard footsteps stop outside her door. Slow. Deliberate.
Her breath caught.
A shadow stretched across the crack at the bottom of the door. Then silence.
Her heart pounded so hard it hurt. "I know you're here," she whispered into the dark. Her voice trembled, half defiance, half plea.
She waited. Nothing.
Finally, she flung the door open. The corridor was empty.
But the air was heavy, thick with the weight of unseen eyes.
Evelyn shut the door, pressed her back against it, and clutched the hidden letter to her chest.
She knew Damien was watching. Always watching. And if he ever discovered what she now held close to her heart… there would be blood.