A tough question

Evelyn’s POV

What on earth was going on right now?

Why was he acting like this?

Louis's fingers clamped around my wrist like a vice. I tried to wriggle free, but his grip tightened instead. My heart raced in my chest, thudding so loudly I feared he could hear it. I bit back a wince, eyes flickering with panic.

Then Samuel’s voice cut through the tension, calm yet laced with amusement. “Really?” he scoffed.

I turned to face him. He looked composed, confident—his posture relaxed, his eyes gleaming with defiance. There was something magnetic about him. He wasn’t the type to be easily intimidated, and oddly enough, I liked that. It felt...safe. For the first time in a long time, someone stood up to Louis—not with violence or aggression, but with steady calm. I must have chosen the right man to play this charade with. He was convincing. Maybe too convincing.

“She’s not going anywhere with you!” Louis snapped. His voice cracked the silence like a whip.

Samuel didn’t flinch. “Why not?” he said, his voice cool. “I heard you two are getting a divorce soon, so why do you care?”

My breath caught. My eyes widened. How... How did he know that? I never told him—did I? I scoured my memory but came up blank. The confusion hit me in waves. But right now, it didn’t matter. What mattered was Samuel was pulling me away. Saving me. Whatever his reasons were, I clung to them like a lifeline.

Louis’s grip finally faltered, and in a sudden, swift motion, Samuel tugged me toward him. I stumbled into his chest, my face pressed against the smooth fabric of his shirt. For a second, I stayed there—frozen in the unfamiliar comfort. Behind me, Louis remained rooted to the spot, his eyes burning red with rage. I didn't care anymore. Not after all the women he shamelessly brought home, not after all the nights I cried myself to sleep.

“Let’s go,” Samuel said, guiding me to his car.

His car was immaculate, a luxury SUV that looked like it belonged to someone with a secret life of opulence. I settled into the leather seat, suddenly aware of how out of place I felt. Everything smelled expensive. The silence between us was thick, until I grabbed my phone and typed a message:

Who are you really? Do you own this car?

He glanced at the screen and burst into laughter—a sound that caught me off guard.

“I’m actually a rich billionaire who’s always admired you from afar. And when I finally saw you, I couldn’t let you go. I’ll help you get that divorce and make you mine,” he said dramatically, placing his hand on his heart before laughing again.

Something in his delivery—half-joking, half-serious—sent an odd flutter through my chest.

“I’m kidding,” he added with a chuckle. “This is my boss’s car. He’s been calling me nonstop. I’m probably getting fired tonight.”

I smiled faintly but said nothing. My fingers hovered over my phone as he asked, “Where should I drop you? Back to your husband’s house… or a hotel?”

I hesitated. I didn’t want to go home. Not tonight. Not after all this.

Hotel, I typed after a long pause.

He nodded, then drove in silence.

When we arrived, I got out, but before I could take another step, I spotted Louis’s car—just parked there across the street. My breath caught. He was watching us.

My fingers trembled as I typed: He’s here. He followed us.

Samuel's smirk returned. “Alright then,” he said. “Let’s give him a show. Tonight’s going to be a long night.”

Without hesitation, he looped his fingers through mine and pulled me inside the hotel.

“One room, please,” he said to the receptionist.

My stomach dropped. What are you doing?! I typed, holding my phone up to him, eyes wide.

“We have to pretend we’re in love. If we get separate rooms, he won’t believe it,” Samuel whispered back, his voice firm.

Reluctantly, I followed him into the elevator. Just as the doors began to close, a hand slammed between them. The doors reopened, revealing Louis.

My heart jumped. Was he seriously following us?

Samuel’s jaw clenched. “Are you following us now?”

Louis didn’t reply. His silence was louder than any words.

Samuel hit the button for our floor, but as the elevator ascended, it jolted violently. A low grinding noise echoed in the enclosed space. The lights flickered. The elevator began to shake.

I backed into the corner, gripping the metal rail. My chest tightened. I couldn’t breathe. Memories flooded back—being trapped as a child, my stepmother’s cruel laughter, the suffocating darkness.

I slid to the floor, hands trembling. My vision blurred. I tried to scream, to say something—but no sound came. Just airless panic. I couldn’t breathe.

“Evelyn!” Samuel was beside me. “What’s happening?”

Louis crouched down on my other side. “What’s wrong with her?”

I raised my hand, trying to sign, but they didn’t understand.

“She can’t breathe—she’s having a trauma response,” Samuel said, his voice tight. “She needs a paper bag—anything!”

“I don’t have anything,” Louis muttered, checking his pockets while still on the phone.

Samuel pulled me into his arms. His embrace was firm but gentle, grounding me. My cheek pressed against his chest as I tried to inhale. He whispered something softly, I wasn’t sure what, but the rhythm of his voice calmed me slightly. I looked past his shoulder and saw Louis’s face twist in guilt—but I didn’t care. Not anymore.

After what felt like hours, the elevator whirred back to life, the doors sliding open. Samuel didn’t hesitate—he scooped me into his arms and carried me to the room.

Louis remained behind.

Maybe this would be enough. Maybe now he’d let me go.

Once inside, Samuel gently placed me on the bed and stepped back. I grabbed my medication from my purse and took it, hands still shaking.

The room was quiet. Too quiet.

I lay down, pulling the sheets over me. I couldn’t go home tonight. Not like this.

By morning, I quietly slipped out and returned to the house. I crept in, hoping to go unnoticed.

“You’re finally back,” a voice said, slicing through the silence. Louis. “Hope you had fun.”

I froze, guilt and dread pooling in my stomach. I turned around.

He stepped closer. “Is this what you really want? Freedom? Divorce?”

I pulled out my phone, typed: Yes. That’s what I want.

His face hardened. “Really? Would divorcing me give you peace? Are you sure?”

Yes.

He ran a hand through his hair, eyes flaring. “What’s wrong with you? I gave you everything. A job, protection, got you out of that hellhole you called home. And this is how you repay me?”

He walked closer, faster. Before I could react, his lips crashed into mine. The kiss was rough, desperate. When he pulled away, his eyes searched mine.

“What about now?” he whispered, his voice hoarse. “Would you still divorce me?”

And for a moment, everything fell quiet. The chaos. The pain. The anger.

Just silence.

But could I believe him?

Was this real—or just another lie in disguise?