"I'm bleeding," Evelyn whispered. "And you won't even look at me."
Still, silence.
So Evelyn did what she never thought she would. She dropped to her knees.
Genevieve stiffened, but didn't move.
"Please," Evelyn begged, tears falling freely now. "Please. Just tell me I matter. That I'm not some... burden. Some failure. Please don't turn away. I'm begging you—don't leave me alone in this."
The only sound was the ticking of the clock above the fireplace.
Genevieve's shoulders trembled for the briefest second. Evelyn saw it—felt it—and for a flicker of a heartbeat, hope rose.
But then Genevieve stepped away.
She walked toward the window, her voice barely above a whisper. "Get up off the floor, Evelyn. You're not a child."
And she said nothing more.
Evelyn's sob caught in her throat. She stayed there a moment longer—on her knees, hollow and shaking—before she stood, wiping her cheeks roughly with the back of her hand. She smoothed her dress, straightened her shoulders, and looked at her mother one last time.
"You were my last hope," she said quietly. "And now I know better."
Genevieve didn't respond.
Evelyn turned and walked out of the room.
____
The morning sun bled gold across the marble steps of the Carter estate—an illusion of warmth on an otherwise bitter day.
Evelyn's heels echoed against the paved driveway as she approached the wrought-iron gates. The manicured hedges looked just as pristine as they had her whole life, and yet, everything felt foreign. She wrapped her arms tightly around herself, her suitcase wheels dragging behind her like an afterthought.
She was at a hotel with Eleanor but had left the hotel early—before Eleanor could talk her out of it. Before the reality of yesterday could solidify into something unbearable. This was her home. Her sanctuary, even if it was a cold one. Surely, after what happened, She would come back, even if only to regroup. To breathe. To survive.
But the gate didn't budge when she pressed the button.
She tried again. "Access denied," the automated voice echoed through the intercom, as mechanical and emotionless as the people who had raised her.
Her fingers hovered over the keypad, shaky but determined. She typed the usual code. Then tried her birthday. Then the master override she used when Liliana forgot the digits during one of her many scandalous late-night escapades.
Nothing.
A soft click, and the camera above the gate turned, swiveling toward her. Evelyn stepped back, the cold knot of dread twisting in her stomach.
A voice crackled through the speaker. "You are no longer authorized to enter this property."
Her breath caught. "What?"
"This residence has been restricted under Mr. Carter's direct order."
She staggered back as if slapped. Mr. Carter. Not "your father." Not even "sir." Just cold, clinical rejection wrapped in mechanical courtesy.
Evelyn grabbed the intercom. "Put my father on. Now."
There was a pause. A click. Then silence.
Then the line went dead.
The suitcase slipped from her fingers. Her knuckles turned white as she gripped the gate, staring at the pristine path beyond—the one she used to skip down as a girl, barefoot and laughing, trying to chase after Liliana even when Liliana never looked back.
A memory flashed: her mother brushing her hair before a school recital, Evelyn too nervous to speak. Her father clapping her shoulder the day she was accepted into Harvard. Liliana and Daniel teasing her during Sunday brunches, but she always held her head high. Because this was her home. No matter how fractured, no matter how flawed.
And now… she was a ghost outside of it.
She pressed the button again, hammering it like a lifeline. "Please," her voice cracked. "It's me. Evelyn. Just let me speak to someone. To him—to my mother. Anyone."
Nothing.
A shadow moved behind the curtains of the upstairs window. Evelyn's eyes snapped up. Her chest seized.
Genevieve.
She was watching.
Their eyes met—just for a second.
Evelyn raised a hand, mouthing, Please. Her breath misted in the cold morning air. "Mom," she whispered, hoping her voice would somehow carry through the glass. "Please don't do this."
Genevieve stood perfectly still. Her elegant silhouette unmoving, like a statue chiseled in marble. Her robe was wrapped tightly around her frame. Her expression unreadable.
And then, she turned.
Just like that.
She turned and walked away.
The curtain slipped back into place, erasing her like she was never there.
Evelyn stumbled back, numbness replacing the rage she didn't even have the strength to summon. Her lips trembled, and she shook her head in disbelief.
"No," she whispered. "Not like this."
She tried to step back, to regain control, but her knees gave out. She sank to the pavement, clutching her suitcase like an anchor in a storm she couldn't escape. Her breath came in ragged bursts. Her pulse thudded in her ears. The chill of the stone seeped into her bones.
The last twenty-four hours crashed down like a tidal wave: Daniel's betrayal. Liliana's triumphant smirk. Her father's cruel condemnation. Her mother's silence. And now this—locked out, not just of a home, but of an entire life.
She looked up at the mansion—the place that raised her, imprisoned her, and now discarded her. The place she once believed love could live in, if only she worked hard enough for it.
That belief was dead now.
A honk jolted her. A black car pulled up along the curb.
It was her old coursemate.
She stepped out, dressed sharply as always, her auburn hair pulled back in a sleek ponytail, eyes shielded behind dark sunglasses.
"Eve," she called gently. No questions. No pity. She understood what happened.
Evelyn didn't move. Couldn't.
She crouched beside her, placing a hand on her shoulder. "They don't get to do this to you."
"They already did."
"Don't beat yourself up, it's not your fault". " I'm in a hurry right now, I'll give you a call later ".