Did he see it?.

Eveyeln's POV 

"What did you just type?!"

His voice was low, but trembling with fury.

"Don't you remember you're married? You had the audacity to say you had sex with him? How dare you defile me!"

He lunged forward before I could react, slamming me into the wall with a force that knocked the breath out of me. Pain shot through my back, but I bit my tongue, refusing to cry out. I tried to push against him, but he was stronger—too strong.

His chest was heaving. His nose skimmed down toward mine, then hovered just above my lips. I froze.

"You're drunk," he muttered, his voice strained, trying to contain the rage shaking through him. "That's why you're spouting this nonsense. We'll talk tomorrow."

No, this wasn’t just anger. This was jealousy. Possessiveness. The kind that doesn’t make sense when you’re never truly wanted.

We’d been married for a while now, yet never once had he touched me—not like that. I was still a virgin. A virgin wife. That’s what he made me. And somehow, I was still his, even without the intimacy.

"Alright then," I typed on my iPad, calm on the outside, storming on the inside. I turned and walked to my room, my legs trembling under me. I climbed onto the bed, the softness a temporary comfort, as his face replayed in my mind. Was that really jealousy? Or just wounded pride?

He doesn’t love me, I reminded myself. He never did. I needed to get it together.

Without wasting time, I got up and crouched beside my bed, reaching underneath to pull out the hidden cupboard. My hand brushed the cold surface of the phone—the one I’d used to blackmail him. I smiled faintly. Only one contact saved on it: Number 1—him.

I tapped the screen, and it began to ring, but then I'm an instant I ended the call. I wasn't ready yet. I shouldn't be talking. I can't be. That's the only way to survive. That's the way I survived.

My lips parted, voice barely above a whisper. “I can do this!“ I spoke softly. This was the second time in years I had spoken aloud—and even now, it sent chills down my spine. A strange thrill pulsed through me. Ever since the accident, everything had changed.

My stepsister died. My mother was on life support, her body hooked to machines we couldn’t afford. I had nowhere to go. So I did the only thing I could. I pretended to be mute. Maybe my father would pity me. Maybe he'd let me stay. And it did work. He took pity on me.

I remembered it like it was yesterday.

My stepmother’s wail cut through the hospital hallway. When she saw me, she charged, eyes red, fingers clawing at my dress.

"You murderer! You did this! You wanted her gone so you could take her place!"

She tried to strangle me right there. If not for the people who intervened, I might not have lived. I passed out, and when I woke up, the doctors said I was mute. But I could hear. And soon, I learned to fake the silence.

Under my father’s protection, his only remaining heir, I underwent surgeries, treatments… everything. But I never spoke. Speaking would be dangerous. His wife would kill me for sure. Being broken was safer.

And so, mute I became.

The beep of my phone pulled me back to the present. A message.

Samuel: “Did you get home safely, angel?”

I smiled. Angel. No one had ever called me something so soft before. He was different. He didn’t demand. He didn’t threaten. He cared.

But I quickly shook the feeling.

You can’t fall for him, Evelyn. You need him. That’s all.

I typed: “Yes. I’ll wire your money soon.”

He replied almost instantly.

“Don’t send anything. I’ll do it for free.”

My heart stuttered. Why? Why would he want to help for free? Could I really trust him?

Before I could spiral, I placed the phone down and turned to the other one. The secret one. I had to do this now. I had to get away from this loveless marriage. I was done.

I dialed Number 1 again.

Two rings. He picked up.

"You again? Why are you calling me now?"

Louis voice was angry but I heard it. That slight tremble.

I altered my voice with the modifier. He wouldn’t know it was me.

"Just wanted to remind you," I said slowly, "to divorce your wife. Because I’m in love with her."

There was silence on the line.

"What? Who the hell are you? You coward, if you’re in love with her, face me! I’ll never divorce my wife. You don’t get to tell me what to do!"

"Oh? But I’ve seen her naked. I’ve touched her. She has a mole on her breast. Do you even know that?"

"Shut the fuck up!" he roared. "You sick bastard, I’ll find you and throw you in jail! Don’t you dare talk about her like that! I know my wife. She’d never "

I interrupted him.

"I’ll send you a picture then."

And I did. I snapped a photo quick, sharp, reckless. Then silence.

My heart pounded.

Then I heard it.

Footsteps. Outside my door.

Shit.

I hadn’t locked it.

He never comes to my room. But now he was coming.

The steps got louder.

I shoved the phone back under the bed, no time for the cupboard, and scrambled to change into my nightshirt, tossing clothes aside as I leapt under the covers.

The door flew open.

I forced my breathing to steady, eyes closed, pretending to sleep.

"Hey."

His voice was softer now. Too close.

I opened my eyes and he was there, right in front of me. His face inches from mine.

Then his hand moved.

To my chest.

He yanked down the blanket, exposing my breast.

I slapped him. Hard. Instinctive. Furious. He stumbled back, his face crashing beside the bed.

"What’s this?" he muttered, reaching underneath.

No. No. No.

My heart dropped.

What did he see? Was it the phone?

No way…

Right?