"Let go of me!" Evelyn's voice was now a whisper, her eyes burning with hatred.
Michael ignored her struggle, his movements mechanical and devoid of the warmth that once defined them. Evelyn closed her eyes, a tear escaping. "Michael, let me go... you're dirty." The thought of him touching Erica Jones with the same hands made her skin crawl.
"You think I'm dirty?" His hand locked around her throat, not enough to kill, but enough to remind her who held the power. "What right do you have to judge me, Evelyn? You're the one who killed my child."
He was an animal venting his resentment, and Evelyn bit her lip until it bled, enduring the storm.
While Arise City slept, a white villa in the northwest corner of a private Estate in Germany was buzzing with secrets. A bodyguard entered a lavish dressing room, bowing to a middle-aged woman.
"Madam," he whispered. "We have a lead."
The woman's red-lipped smile widened. For twenty years now, she had been hunting and hiding like a ghost in the shadows. "The traffickers took a trip to Arise City two decades ago before they were caught," the man continued. "Julian was just there last month, but he found nothing." To this the woman pursed her lips.
"Find the child before my brother does," she commanded, adjusting her hairstyle in the mirror. "That child carries half the world's worth of secrets. You must find her as soon as possible."
Days passed in cold silence. Evelyn hadn't seen Michael since that night, but a phone call from a strange number broke the streak.
"Evelyn." The voice was smooth and authoritative.
"Julian? She hesitated for a while. "Why are you calling me?" she questioned, her voice flat.
The man chuckled. "There is a high-level charity gala tomorrow night between our governments. I find myself in need of a companion. Would you do me the honor?"
Evelyn hesitated. "The Federal Chancellor of a nation is short on women?"
"Erica Jones will be attending on Michael Thorn's arm," Julian said, his tone turning strategic. "If you want to defeat a woman like her, you have to strip away her limelight. You're a graduate of a top film and arts school, Evelyn. An 'International Superstar' is a small thing compared to what you could be."
Evelyn's grip on the phone tightened. Michael was flaunting Erica to the world while she was hidden away like a shameful secret. "What time?" She concluded without thinking twice.
"I have a house in the Springfield estate. Villa No. 18. Be there at five o'clock. My stylists will handle the rest."
That evening, Evelyn went downstairs for a glass of water. The front door opened, and Michael walked in with Erica. They froze when they saw Evelyn in her sleepwear.
"Michael, I'm going to rest," Erica said loudly, ensuring Evelyn heard every word. "I need to be perfect for the government gala tomorrow."
Evelyn didn't look at them. She finished her water and retreated to her room. But the door opened minutes later. Michael walked in, heading straight for the bathroom with his pajamas.
Evelyn ignored him, stepping onto the balcony to check her phone. She saw a comment on her latest post from Julian Sin's official account: "I envy your friendship." The internet was losing its mind, speculating if the Chancellor was a fan or something more.
Suddenly, a shadow loomed over her. Michael stood there, his hair damp, his eyes narrowed at her phone screen.
Evelyn ignored him, and turned to walk back inside.
But, he slammed his arms against the wall on either side of her, pinning her in place. "Who were you thinking about just now?"
Evelyn locked her lips and refused to answer.
"Listen to me, Evelyn Meyers." He reprimanded. "I don't allow you to think about other men. Not even the King of Hell." He leaned in, his body pressing against hers, his scent intoxicating and infuriating.
"Mr. Thorn, shouldn't you be with your 'Saint'?"
Michael gave a dark, predatory smile. "I'm with you now." He swept her up, carrying her back into the room. He hated her, he wanted to break her, but as his mother Eleanor Thorn often said, Evelyn was a siren he couldn't resist.
At 5:00 PM the next day, Evelyn arrived at the gates of Villa No. 18. It was a long walk, and her breath was shallow, but her resolve was strong. She rang the bell, and some one opened the door with a respectful bow.
"Welcome, Miss Meyers. The Chancellor is expecting you."
The interior of Villa No. 18. was a monochromatic power black and white light-patterned wallpaper with minimalist charcoal furniture. In the center of the expansive living room, a rack of nearly twenty designer gowns shimmered under the recessed lighting.
Julian Sin sat on the sofa, a tablet in his hand. The moment Evelyn Meyers walked in, he stood, and gestured to her. "Have a seat, take a drink and Choose from the dresses her. Pick the one that will make them forget everyone else in the room."
Evelyn paused then walked towards the dressed.
Her fingers trailed over the fabrics. She knew luxury, but the pieces Julian had curated were exquisite. Her eyes settled on two: a pristine white and a daring, blood-red gown.
"Second floor, middle room on the right," Julian directed. "My stylists are waiting."
Two hours later, the woman who stepped into Julian's private car was no longer the "walking corpse" of the Springfield Villa. Dressed in the floor-length red gown with a plunging back, her dark hair was intricately braided to expose her pale, elegant shoulders.
The charity auction, a joint venture between the Arise City government and Germany, was the social event of the season. The venue was crawling with tycoons, A-list celebrities, and high-ranking officials.
At 7:00 PM, the "Power Couple" arrived. Erica Jones looked noble in a lavender bra-style gown, her arm linked firmly with Michael's. Michael was the definition of cold dominance in a custom black suit, his presence commanding the room's attention.
"They truly are a match made in heaven," a socialite whispered. "The engagement rumors must be true."
Erica smiled, her eyes scanning the room for the press. Evelyn, where are you hiding while I take your crown? she thought triumphantly.
Then, the whispers changed. "The Chancellor is here!"
The grand doors opened. Julian Sin entered, but he wasn't alone. On his arm was a woman in a red diamond-encrusted dress that moved like liquid fire.
The room went silent. Evelyn wore only light, delicate makeup, but her natural beauty was radiant. She looked charming, moving with a grace that made every other woman in the room feel invisible.
"Who is that? She's so stunning!" The room erupted in whispers.
"Wait... is that Evelyn Meyers? Since when did she climb into the Chancellor's circle?"
In the middle of the crowd, Michael Thorn's hand tightened around his wine glass until his knuckles turned white. His jaw set into a hard line as he watched his wife, the woman he had just punished and humiliated, enter the room on the arm of a foreign head of state.
Evelyn, you have quite the courage, he thought, his eyes burning with a murderous glint.
Julian led Evelyn to the small stage. He ignored Michael's lethal stare and addressed the crowd. "I am honored to join you all for this cause tonight."
Erica's smile had vanished, replaced by a cold fury. She looked at Michael, but he was staring at his phone, seemingly ignoring the stage. She breathed a sigh of relief and moved closer to him, unaware that Michael's phone screen was dark, he was merely using it as a shield to hide his rage.
The auction began. The first item, an Emerald bracelet went to the Mayor of the cuty. Then, the second item was brought out.
Evelyn's breath hitched. It was an ink-and-wash painting of a mountain landscape. It wasn't a world-famous masterpiece, but it was the painting her late grandmother, had painted and mounted in their old living room.
"Starting price: 50,000," the auctioneer announced.
"100,000," Michael's voice cut through the room.
"200,000," Julian Sin countered, his tone elegant and steady.
"500,000," Michael bid instantly, not even looking up from his seat.
"One million," Julian replied.
The room erupted in hushed gasps. The painting wasn't worth a fraction of that, but the two most powerful men in the room were now locked in a silent, high-stakes contest.
"Two million," Michael escalated.
"Five million," Julian bid without hesitation.
"Ten million," Michael countered. The air in the room was electric. Everyone knew this wasn't about art anymore, it was about the woman standing between them.
"Twenty million," Julian bid, his voice calm.
Evelyn reached out and gently pulled Julian's sleeve, whispering, "Julian, stop. This painting isn't worth that much money."
Across the room, Michael saw the intimate gesture. His eyes narrowed, his grip on the glass nearly shattering the stem.