Evelyn ate with clinical precision. For her, recovery wasn't about the luxury of flavor or the comfort of a warm meal; it was about calibrating a weapon. Every calorie was a calculated step away from the damp earth of the shed and a step toward the inevitable reckoning.
After lunch, she didn't bother asking for a ride. She hailed a cab to a high-end consignment boutique and sold the jewelry Eleanor had "graciously" returned. The dealer's offer was an insult—pennies on the dollar—but Evelyn didn't even blink. She wasn't selling heirlooms; she was liquidating the last decaying ties to a family that had already buried her.
By the time she returned to the Carter mansion, the transformation had begun. She wore new, sharp-lined clothes, her hair was a razor-edged bob, and she carried a burner phone that served as her digital fortress.
Eleanor was waiting in the foyer, her eyes scanning Evelyn's shopping bags with a mixture of suspicion and growing irritation. "You left without a word," Eleanor remarked, her voice tight.
"I didn't realize there was a check-out procedure for prisoners," Evelyn replied coolly, setting her bags down.
"Where did you get the money for this?"
"I sold the jewelry you gave me. If you'd wanted me to keep them, Mother, you shouldn't have made them feel like a bribe for my silence."
Eleanor's face flushed a deep crimson, but Evelyn was already walking away toward the cramped, drafty staff room she'd been assigned. She pushed the door open, but the smell hit her first.
She stopped. A smear of filth—animal waste—had been rubbed into the center of her pristine white duvet.
Evelyn didn't scream. She didn't cry. Those emotions had been burned out of her long ago. She stepped back into the hallway, her voice dropping to a conversational, terrifyingly calm level. "Why is there filth on my bed?"
The living room went cold. Iris appeared at the top of the stairs, clutching her designer lapdog. Her face was a masterclass in wide-eyed innocence. "Evelyn, what are you talking about?" Iris whispered, her voice trembling with practiced fear.
Evelyn leaned against the doorframe, her gaze boring into her sister until Iris's grip on the dog tightened painfully.
"Don't start your drama," Eleanor snapped, stepping between them. "You're in no position to accuse anyone—"
"I'm not accusing," Evelyn cut her off. "I'm stating a fact. If I'm as 'sick' as you all claim I am, then you should be very careful about what you leave where I sleep. Contamination is a two-way street, Eleanor. If I rot, this entire house rots with me."
The threat hung in the air, cold and logical. Eleanor flinched, an instinctive flash of terror crossing her face. Evelyn smiled. It wasn't a happy expression; it was the slow, deliberate baring of teeth.
Dinner was a silent war. The Carters spoke around Evelyn as if she were a ghost haunting her own chair.
"Grant's girlfriend is coming tomorrow," Eleanor said, pointedly staring at the salt shaker to avoid Evelyn's eyes. "Stay in your room. Don't frighten her. We don't need guests seeing... this."
"Frighten her?" Evelyn tilted her head. "Am I a sister or a horror story?" No one answered.
The next morning, a maid hurried into the garden where Evelyn was finishing her rehabilitative run. "Ma'am... Miss Xu is here. She's asking for the eldest Miss Carter."
Evelyn froze. Nora.
Nora Xu didn't care about the rumors. She didn't care about the 'filth' the Carters projected. The moment she saw Evelyn, she ran, her heels clicking on the gravel, and threw her arms around Evelyn's neck. For a heartbeat, Evelyn couldn't breathe—not from the hug, but from the sheer shock of human contact that wasn't meant to cause pain.
"You're so thin," Nora whispered, her voice thick with tears. "What did they do to you?"
"Nora, get away from her!" Iris shouted from the terrace. "She's dangerous! She's unstable!"
Nora turned, her eyes flashing with a cold fire that rivaled Evelyn's. "You're saying that about her while standing in the house she built? You're performing, Iris. And it's pathetic."
Nora grabbed Evelyn's hand. "We're leaving. Now."
In the safety of the car, the silence was finally a sanctuary. Evelyn explained the truth—the switch, the betrayal, and how her family had conveniently decided to keep the 'right' daughter while she was sold into hell.
"That's monstrous," Nora whispered, her knuckles white on the steering wheel.
"It's efficient," Evelyn corrected. "I was inconvenient. She was compliant."
Nora pulled the car over and gripped Evelyn's forearm. "I don't believe a word they say. I have a brain, Evelyn. A hug doesn't kill."
Evelyn felt a knot in her chest loosen—just an inch. Then, Nora's phone buzzed. A restaurant address.
"My father," Nora swallowed hard. "He's forcing me into a blind date. If I don't go, he cuts off my mother's medical fund."
Evelyn's eyes narrowed. The pattern of rot was everywhere. "We're going."
"What?"
"He wants you alone and trapped. I'm going with you."
They drove to a restaurant of glass and cold steel—a place where money buys total silence. Nora pointed through the window toward a man sitting alone. Short hair. Sharp glasses. A white shirt that looked like it had been pressed with a laser.
Lucien Hale.
Evelyn let out a short, breathless laugh. It wasn't amusement; it was the sound of a trap snapping shut.
"You know him?" Nora asked.
"I've met him," Evelyn said, her hand already on the door handle. "He's the doctor who told my family I was clean... and then watched them throw me in a kennel anyway. Let's go see what the 'good doctor' is selling today."