Page 17 of Until She’s Mine

Evelyn

A nother day, another party.

The Hamptons estate sprawls before me like something from a magazine spread—all white columns and manicured gardens that probably cost more than most people’s houses. Cars worth small fortunes line the circular drive as valets in crisp uniforms dart between them like well-trained soldiers.

The Lockwoods’ spring soirée is not as formal as their winter galas, but it still requires the right dress, the right smile, the right amount of deference to old money sensibilities.

I adjust the strap of my cocktail dress, and its pale blue chiffon flutters in the warm breeze.

It’s soft and unassuming, designed to blend rather than stand out.

The navy silk hugs my curves without being too revealing, the neckline modest enough to pass Helena’s scrutiny.

My hair is swept into a low chignon, pearls at my throat—I am the picture of propriety.

Across the manicured lawn, Tobias, now back from Europe, slurs something to his golf buddies, his arm slung around Charlie Lockwood’s shoulders. The way they laugh—heads close, eyes glinting with cruel amusement—sends ice down my spine.

“Evelyn!” The blonde from the yacht photos waves at me, her toothy smile gleaming under the string lights. “Over here!”

I force a smile and weave through the crowd, careful not to spill the champagne flute clutched in my hand. The blonde—I think her name is Blaire—wears a dress that barely covers anything, and her gaze flicks over me with barely concealed judgment.

“Tobias said you’d be late,” she says, voice pitched high with false sweetness. “Something about work?”

“Something like that.” My fingers tighten around the glass.

Blaire leans in, her perfume cloying. “He’s been so stressed lately. His work, the wedding planning—you really should be more supportive.”

Her words are a carefully placed barb, but I’ve been dodging them for years. I take a slow sip of champagne, letting the bubbles dance on my tongue before responding. “Funny, he didn’t mention any stress when he was sending me photos from Geneva. He looked quite relaxed.”

Her smile falters, but she recovers quickly, tossing her hair over one shoulder. “Men like Tobias need outlets, you know. It’s not personal.”

“How generous of you to understand him so well. I’ll make sure to be more… supportive .” I sip my drink again, watching her over the rim of the glass. The taste is bitter now, metallic. “Excuse me.”

I turn before she can reply, my dress whispering against my legs as I stride away. Tobias’s laughter rings out from somewhere nearby, loud and careless. My teeth grind together.

A waiter passes with a tray of fresh champagne, and I snatch another one, downing half in one go. The bubbles burn my throat, but the warmth that spreads through my chest is welcome. It dulls the sharp edges of my thoughts, if only for a moment.

Then I move towards my fiancé.

Tobias is leaning against the bar, his suit askew, a drink in one hand and a smirk on his face. He’s deep in conversation with Charlie, their heads bent together in that conspiratorial way that always sets me on edge.

“—thought she’d never leave,” Tobias hiccups, swirling his drink. “Luckily, room service arrived just in time to distract her while I slipped out.”

Lockwood grins. “The Swiss flight attendant or the redhead from the—”

My grip tightens, and the glass in my hand cracks.

Tobias’s head snaps up, his bleary eyes widening as he spots me. His smirk falters, and he looks almost guilty. Almost. Then he laughs, a little too loudly, and raises his glass in my direction.

“Evelyn! Didn’t see you there, babe.” His hands are clammy as they grab mine. “We were just talking about the Swiss Alps. You’d love it there. Fresh air, breathtaking views.” His voice wavers, the lie clumsy on his tongue.

I smile. “Of course, it sounds lovely.”

Tobias relaxes, and his grip on my hands loosens. But then his gaze shifts over my shoulder, and his jaw tightens just enough to betray him. I don’t need to turn around to know who’s there. I can feel Lucian’s presence like a shadow creeping across the room, heavy and inescapable.

“Evelyn,” Lucian’s voice cuts through the chatter.

I don’t turn around. “Excuse me, I need some fresh air.” I step away from Tobias, his hand slipping from mine as I walk toward the gardens. The muffled laughter and clinking glasses fade behind me as I step onto the gravel path that winds through the estate’s manicured grounds.

The evening air swallows my ragged breaths.

My heels crunch loudly against the gravel in the stillness of the garden.

The path is lined with roses, their scent heavy and sweet, but the petals glow like drops of blood in the last light of the setting sun.

I walk faster, desperate to put distance between myself and the suffocating crowd.

I make it three steps before my knees give out.

The gravel bites into my palms as I catch myself, the pain grounding me in a way the champagne couldn’t. My breath comes in short, shallow gasps, and I cry with ugly, gasping sobs I can’t contain.

This is what my life is about to be until my deathbed: smiling through the pain, pretending I don’t hear the whispers, the laughter, the things Tobias says about me when he thinks I’m not listening. The tears blur the roses into smears of red and black, like a painting left out in the rain.

A shadow falls across the gravel path.

Lucian stands motionless a few feet away, his black tie loosened, a half-drunk glass of whiskey dangling from his fingers. Sunset sculpts the hollows of his cheeks, the cruel line of his mouth.

His gaze sweeps over me, taking in the way I’m crumpled on the ground, my dress torn and dirtied, my hands scraped raw from the gravel. For a moment, he says nothing. Then he sets the glass down on a nearby stone bench and crouches beside me.

He doesn’t ask if I’m alright.

My throat feels raw, my words trapped beneath the weight of everything I can’t say.

I wipe at my cheeks with trembling hands, the tears smearing as I try to compose myself.

But Lucian doesn’t let me. His hand reaches out, his fingers brushing against my face, catching my tears before they can fall.

The touch is so gentle, so unexpected, that it only makes the sob in my chest tighten further.

“Look at me,” he says softly.

I shake my head, my fingers clenching into fists against the gravel. “I can’t.”

“You can. You’ve always had the strength to face what you fear most.”

I turn my head slowly, meeting his gaze. He doesn’t need to speak for me to understand the question hanging between us. It’s the one I’ve been avoiding for weeks.

His jaw tightens. “You knew from the beginning how this was going to end. The never-ending trips. The whispers behind your back. The way he smells like another woman’s perfume every time he—”

“Stop,” I plead.

He doesn’t. His hands frame my face, forcing me to meet his gaze. “You deserve more than scraps of attention from a man who’ll never—”

I kiss him.

Our teeth clash, the taste of whiskey and rage burning my tongue. Lucian groans, his fingers sliding in my hair as he drags me against him. Everywhere we touch ignites.

The world narrows to the slide of his lips, the possessive way his tongue claims my mouth. I forget the party. Forget Tobias. Forget everything except how right it feels to melt into him.

Lucian’s hands are everywhere—tangling in my hair, sliding down my back, gripping my hips with a fierceness that leaves me breathless. He deepens the kiss, his tongue sweeping against mine with a hunger that matches my own. My fingers clutch at the front of his shirt, pulling him closer.

His mouth moves to my neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin just below my ear.

I gasp, my head falling back as he trails kisses down my throat, each one sending a shiver down my spine.

His hands slide under the fabric of my dress, his touch searing my skin.

A desperate whimper escapes my lips, and I arch into him.

A roar shatters the moment.

Tobias stumbles down the path, his tuxedo jacket missing, his face purple with rage. “You fucking—I knew it!”

“Tobias—” I start, but my voice falters. What can I possibly say? That this isn’t what it looks like? That it’s worse? That I didn’t mean for this to happen, but now that it has, I can’t imagine it any other way?

Lucian shoves me behind him, his body a solid wall between Tobias and me. His voice is icy, dangerous, as he steps forward, forcing Tobias to take a step back. “Careful, brother. You’re in no state to have this conversation.”

Tobias’s eyes dart between Lucian and me, his chest heaving with ragged breaths. “You think you can just—” He stumbles over his words, his voice slurred and unsteady. “She’s mine! You hear me? Mine!”

“Is she?” Lucian’s gaze is unwavering as he moves closer, making Tobias retreat further. “Because from where I’m standing, you’ve been treating her as an afterthought for years. Tell me, Tobias, when was the last time you even looked at her? Really looked at her?”

Tobias’s mouth opens, but no words come out. His eyes flicker to me briefly before darting away again.

“When was the last time you listened to her? The last time you put her first?” Lucian continues. His hands are still clenched at his sides, his knuckles white with the force of his restraint. “You don’t deserve her. You never did.”

Tobias’s face flushes deeper. He stumbles forward and tries swinging a clumsy punch at Lucian, but his drunken movements are slow and uncoordinated.

Lucian sidesteps effortlessly, and Tobias stumbles past him, losing his balance and crumpling into the roses with a muffled curse.

The thorns claw at his suit, and he yelps, flailing as he tries to right himself.

His hand comes away smeared with blood from where the thorns have scraped his palm, and he glares up at Lucian with fury and humiliation.

Lucian doesn’t move to help him. He stands over Tobias, his expression cool and unyielding. “You’re making a fool of yourself. Go inside, sober up, and think very carefully about what you want to say or do next.”

Tobias’s whimper is answer enough.

When Lucian turns to me, I know that his coldness should terrify me. The possessiveness in his eyes should send me running.

But as he reaches for me, all I feel is the terrible, thrilling certainty: this is what being wanted truly looks like.