Chapter 27

"Evelyn, thank you for being sensible and divorcing Adrian. You've returned him to me." Isabella Langley approached in her stilettos, her red lips curling into a victorious smirk.

She idly toyed with her freshly manicured nails. "Do you know why the Valentines treated you like a maid? Because in their eyes, you were nothing but a country bumpkin with no pedigree."

Evelyn leaned against the corridor wall, her expression blank, fingers digging unconsciously into her palms.

"Mrs. Valentine told me herself—if it weren't for the old lady's insistence, Adrian would never have married a nameless orphan like you." Isabella leaned closer, her voice dripping with mock sympathy. "I heard you weren't even registered in the Langley family records. How pathetic."

Evelyn suddenly laughed, sharp and humorless. "Your memory fails you, Isabella. It was Chairman Langley who hid the truth about the switched identities. And now you blame me?"

She straightened, her gaze cutting like a blade. "My affairs with Adrian are none of your concern."

Isabella's face twisted. Her manicured fingers clenched around her purse. "You—!"

"Move." Evelyn stepped past her. "A pregnant woman needs fresh air."

The rapid click of retreating heels echoed down the hallway. Evelyn watched the plane leaves drift past the window, her eyes burning.

Around the corner of the restroom, Adrian Valentine stubbed out his third cigarette. The choked sob of "I hate you" sent his throat bobbing violently.

In the lounge, lilies bloomed in perfect white clusters. Evelyn reached out, brushing a petal, remembering a snowy evening long past. Adrian had burst through the door, chilled to the bone, pulling a bouquet of frost-kissed roses from his coat.

"The florist was still open," he'd said, nose red from the cold, grinning like a boy seeking praise. "The last winter roses, according to the shopkeeper."

What had she said then? Probably scolded him for wasting money. Now, even the memory of her sharp words tasted like honey.

"How stupid," Evelyn muttered, wiping at her damp lashes. A crush at eighteen, heartbreak at twenty-five—just seven years in the end.

"Help—!"

A scream shattered the memory. Evelyn whirled toward the banquet hall, where panicked guests were already flooding into the corridor.