Evelyn watched her mother's hand flutter toward her nose. It was a small, almost unconscious gesture, but it hit harder than any physical blow she had sustained during those agonizing years in the mountains. She knew she didn't smell—not anymore. She had scrubbed her skin in the precinct showers until it was raw and bleeding, desperate to wash away the phantom grime of her captivity. But to Grace Carter, the "scent" wasn't physical. It was the stench of failure, of a scandal that refused to stay buried in the dirt where they had left it.
"You're home now," Grace forced a brittle, painted-on smile, her hand dropping back to her side like a dead weight. "That's... that's all that matters. You've suffered enough."
Suffered. The word felt like a jagged insult coming from a woman who hadn't spent a single night shivering in the rain.
"Let's get a photo," one of the officers suggested, lifting his phone with a misguided sense of cheer. "For the official report. A happy ending for the records."
Officer Miller nudged Evelyn forward, her voice softening. "Go on. The nightmare's over."
As Evelyn stepped toward her parents, the crowd of guests curdled like spoiled milk, drawing back as if she were a live wire. Her parents stood rigid, their bodies leaning away from her even as they forced themselves to stay within the camera's frame.
"The rest of the family too," the officer waved Lucas and Iris over. "Come on, make it a complete set."
Iris gripped Lucas's arm, her voice a frantic, low whisper. "Lucas, I'm scared... what if she's... you know?"
"It's okay," Lucas murmured, his eyes fixed on Evelyn with a mixture of pity and profound disgust—the kind one might feel for a mangled animal on the side of the road. "The police are right here. Just don't touch her."
The shutter clicked. In the resulting photo, four people stood like marble statues in a graveyard. No one smiled.
The police left shortly after, their departure taking the last shred of "safety" with them. The silence that followed was heavy and suffocating. "Well... Evelyn," Grace said, her voice echoing hollowly in the vast garden. "Why don't you come inside?"
She didn't offer a hug. She didn't even offer a hand.
Evelyn walked past Lucas and Iris on the marble steps. She stopped, her gaze settling on her sister's shimmering engagement ring—a diamond that seemed to mock the darkness of the last three years. "You look beautiful today, Iris," Evelyn said. Her voice was too calm, a flat line that made Iris flinch. "Congratulations."
"Thank you," Iris stammered, shrinking into Lucas's side.
"Does it scare you?" Evelyn asked, leaning in just enough to see the pupils of Iris's eyes dilate with terror. "Seeing me back from the dead?"
"What... what do you mean?"
"You know exactly what happened that night, Iris."
The color drained from Iris's face. Her breath hitched, and she clutched her stomach, swaying slightly as if struck. "I don't feel well," Iris whimpered. "Lucas... my stomach..."
"Iris!" Grace rushed over, her maternal instincts finally kicking in—but only for the daughter who hadn't been sold. "I told you not to drink that cold cider. Let's get you inside, honey."
The guests began to melt away, making hurried excuses about early mornings and forgotten appointments. No one wanted to be near the "miracle" survivor.
"Maybe we should be careful," Iris whispered as they reached the door, casting a fearful look back at Evelyn. "What if she brought back a disease? Those places... they're filthy."
Evelyn's eyes narrowed into icy slits. "If you want proof I'm clean, ask for it. Or bring out the child you've been telling everyone I had. I'd love to meet him."
Her father's face darkened instantly. "Evelyn, enough. We've seen the reports. There's no need to lie about your... condition."
"I was examined at the precinct," Evelyn snapped. "Call them. Or take me to a hospital yourself."
"Is that a challenge?"
A new voice cut through the tension—deep, resonant, and entirely devoid of warmth. A man rose from one of the patio chairs in the shadows of the veranda. He was tall, his presence so commanding it seemed to s*ck the oxygen out of the space.
This was Lucien—Lucas's uncle, the man who had been sent to Europe years ago and returned as a legend in the surgical world. A man who dealt in cold facts and sharp blades.
"Uncle," Lucas straightened up, his posture turning submissive.
Iris seized the opportunity, her voice trembling with feigned concern. "Uncle Lucien! You're a doctor. Could you... could you just check her? For everyone's peace of mind? She's convinced she's fine, but after where she's been..."
Lucien stepped into the light. He looked at Iris with a faint, mocking curve of his lips. "You're afraid of dying, Iris. I'm not."
"But you have your kit, don't you?" Lucas added. "The protective meds?"
Lucien didn't answer. His eyes shifted to Evelyn. They were sharp, analytical, like a scalpel poised over skin. He didn't look at her with pity or fear. He looked at her like a complex puzzle he was about to solve.
"Give me your hand," he commanded.
Evelyn hesitated, her fingers curling into a defensive fist.
"See?" Iris cried. "She's hiding something!"
Evelyn looked Lucien in the eye and placed her hand in his. His grip was ice-cold and steady as a mountain. He didn't flinch. He turned her arm over, his thumb pressing against the pulse point in her wrist. He checked the scars on her forearms, his touch professional yet strangely intimate. He moved to her neck, his fingers pressing against her glands.
"Fever?" he asked.
"No."
"Night sweats?"
"No."
He stepped back, wiping his hands with a pristine silk handkerchief. The family held their breath.
"She's cleaner than any of you," Lucien said flatly. "No infection. No contagious disease."
The silence that followed was deafening. "What?" Grace whispered.
"But the police files said—" her father started.
Lucien turned a freezing gaze on him. "You asked for a professional opinion. You have it. Unless you've suddenly earned a medical degree while I was in London?"
Robert Carter swallowed his words. "No, of course not, Lucien."
"I have a surgery at six," Lucien said, checking his watch as if this entire family drama were a minor annoyance. "Don't call me for this nonsense again."
He walked toward his dark sedan without another word, leaving a trail of shattered expectations behind him. Evelyn felt a brief spark of triumph, but it died the moment Grace turned back to her.
"Evelyn... wait outside for a moment. We need to discuss... arrangements."
The heavy oak door slammed shut. Evelyn stood on the gravel, forgotten again. Ten minutes later, the housekeeper emerged, looking at the floor. "This way, Miss Evelyn," the woman whispered.
She led Evelyn away from the main house, past the manicured gardens, to a small, isolated structure in the far corner of the yard. It was a luxury build—cedar wood and iron bars—designed for the prize-winning Dobermans the Carters used to keep.
"Madam said..." the housekeeper swallowed hard, unable to meet Evelyn's eyes. "She said this is for the best. To prevent any... complications until we're sure."
Evelyn stared at the kennel.
"You want me," she said, her voice dangerously low, "to sleep where the dogs sleep?"