Chapter 42

Evelyn couldn't help but wonder—if that woman was still alive, would she be his mistress?

And if she was dead… was she merely her replacement?

Either possibility twisted her heart into knots, leaving a bitter taste in her mouth.

As Evelyn drowned in her thoughts, Dominic’s mind wandered too.

He pulled out his cigarette box, his expression unreadable. "Tell me," he said, voice low, "what exactly did you see in Julian?"

"I don’t like him anymore," Evelyn replied flatly.

If they hadn’t cleared the air earlier, she might have kept using Julian to provoke him.

It was petty, but Dominic had a habit of exploding over the smallest things.

If she didn’t push back, she’d lose her sanity.

"Is it because you finally realized he’s a broke nobody?" Dominic flicked the unlit cigarette between his fingers.

"Is money the only thing you value?" Evelyn shot back. "When Julian was chasing me, he wrote me letters every day. He took me to museums and concerts. We had real conversations—"

"Sounds like pretentious nonsense," Dominic cut in, his voice sharp. "The only thing he cared about was getting into your pants. That’s why his business is a disaster. What you call ‘wonderful’ was just a joke."

"Were you always this perfect and successful? At fifteen, I liked cute boys. At sixteen, the smart ones. At seventeen, athletes. At eighteen, I fell for talent. I loved Julian. It’s in the past, and I might despise him now, but I won’t pretend it meant nothing."

"Enough!" Dominic snapped the cigarette in half, his eyes icy. "Go to your room."

Evelyn pressed her lips together and stood.

She didn’t go to her room, though. Instead, she headed to the dining area—she was still starving.

"Mrs. Wilkins, is there anything to eat?" she asked, her tone eerily calm, as if she hadn’t just been in a screaming match with Dominic.

Mrs. Wilkins quickly prepared dinner for her.

Evelyn sat at the table, pulling out her phone to see a flood of messages from Sophie.

Sophie: Party’s over. Not feeling him—too soft. He wasn’t into me either, but suggested dinner next time. Probably family pressure.

Sophie: He said his parents barely give him spending money. How could he have two hundred million? Did you mishear?

Sophie: Dinner this weekend. I need answers. Also, why’d you leave so fast?

Evelyn typed back: Long story. I’ll explain tomorrow.

Sophie called immediately.

Evelyn’s grip tightened on her phone.

She glanced toward the living room—Dominic was still there.

If she answered now, he’d hear everything.

She declined and texted: Can’t talk. See you on campus tomorrow.

Later that night, fresh from his shower, Dominic paced his room in a gray silk robe.

His legs, usually weak, now thrummed with restless energy.

A single question gnawed at him, carving deep lines into his brow and tightening his chest.

Finally, he grabbed his phone and called Nathan.

"Nathan, find me an art exhibition or concert tomorrow. Afternoon or evening."

"Yes, sir," Nathan replied. "Any particular theme or preference?"

Dominic froze.

He’d never stepped foot in a gallery or concert hall.

Even now, the idea bored him.

"Something women like," he muttered.

"Understood. Though, women’s tastes vary by age—"

"Just pick one," Dominic snapped.

Nathan fell silent. It was the first time Dominic had ever made such a bizarre request.