Page 32 of Until She’s Mine

Evelyn

T he Emerald Lounge is not the kind of place Tobias usually frequents. It’s too understated, too unassuming for his taste. It’s a quiet, dimly lit bar tucked away in the West Village, its walls lined with dark wood and soft ambient lighting.

I’ve been here with him once before, three years ago, one week after that night, to discuss our engagement and Tobias’s expectations of me.

The memory feels distant now, like a scene from another life.

Back then, I had been na?ve, eager to please, and willing to mold myself into the image of the perfect fiancée.

Now, as I step through the heavy wooden doors, I feel a strange sense of detachment.

I spot Tobias immediately, seated at a corner table with a glass of whiskey in hand. His tie is loosened further now, his jacket slung over the back of his chair. When he sees me, his face does something complicated, hope and hatred twist together.

I tighten my grip on the small velvet pouch in my hand; the engagement ring inside is the weight I’m eager to get rid of.

“You actually came.” His laugh is bitter. “I figured Lucian would send one of his attack dogs instead. Where’s your keeper, Evelyn?”

I slide the velvet pouch across the table. “He’s not my keeper. And I came because I want this over with, Tobias. For good.”

“You know it won’t be that easy.” He doesn’t reach for the pouch.

His fingers tighten around his whiskey glass.

“You think handing back the ring is enough? You signed a contract with me. It doesn’t matter to me what you want or how you feel.

Legally, you’re still bound to me. Or I’m going to the police with my file. ”

I freeze, my breath catching in my throat. The file. Of course, he’d bring it up. My fingers curl into fists beneath the table, nails digging into my palms as I force myself to stay calm.

“You wouldn’t dare,” I say. “Exposing me would ruin you too.”

Tobias leans back in his chair, a smug smirk playing on his lips. “Would it? You forget, Evelyn, I’m a Blackwood. Scandal tends to slide off us like water off a duck’s back. But you? You’re not so untouchable.”

My mind races, scrambling for a way out, but he has the upper hand. That file, filled with the mistake I’ve tried so hard to bury, could destroy everything I’ve built. Everything I have with Lucian.

Before I can say something I’ll later regret, the door swings open.

A blast of wet wind carries the scent of rain into the restaurant, followed by the unmistakable presence of Lucian.

He strides in, his tailored suit untouched by the storm outside.

Tobias stiffens, his smug smirk faltering for a fraction of a second before he schools his expression into one of forced indifference.

Lucian doesn’t so much as glance at me as he approaches the table, his focus entirely on Tobias. “Brother.” His voice could frost glass. “You look like hell.”

“Funny. I was just about to say the same aboutEvelyn.” Tobias grins, all teeth. “We were reminiscing about Claire Vasser. Remember Claire, Evie? From University? Thattragicfall from your dorm window?”

Claire.

The memories I’ve buried so deep come rushing back, unbidden and unwelcome. My chest tightens, and I feel as though the air has been sucked from the room.

I can’t breathe. I can’t think.

Lucian slides into the chair beside me. His thigh burns against mine even through layers of wool and silk.

Tobias leans forward. The scent of juniper and hate rolls off him in waves. “Claire’s mom sends me Christmas cards. Asks if I’ve seen you. Says the police report doesn’t add up—how Claire’s fingernails had oil paint under them when she—”

Lucian’s hand slams down on the table, the sound sharp enough to make Tobias flinch. The glass of whiskey trembles, spilling a few drops onto the polished wood. “Enough. You’re drunk, and you’re making a fool of yourself.”

“Ask her what happened that night, brother. Ask Evelyn what Claire saw the night she—” I don’t realize I’m standing until the chair clatters to the floor behind me.

My heart hammers in my chest, my breaths coming in shallow gasps as I stare at Tobias, his face twisted into a grotesque smirk.

“She never told you about the Caravaggio study, did she? The one she copied for Professor Hayes? Claire found out. And then—” He mimes falling, fingers fluttering like broken wings. “ Splat. ”

Lucian goes preternaturally still. His gaze is a brand searing through my skin.

The unspoken truths coil between us: the police never questioned why Claire’s ‘suicide note’ was written in my favorite indigo ink, and they never tested the paint under her nails against my studio supplies. Tobias made sure they didn’t.

Lucian takes out a file from his coat. The heavy thud of the folder hitting the wood echoes in the silence that follows.

“Open it,” Lucian commands, and slides it across the table to Tobias.

Tobias hesitates, his eyes flicking between Lucian and the folder, before he finally flips it open. His smirk falters as he scans the contents—bank statements, photographs, and pages and pages of documents. His face pales, and for the first time since I’ve known him, he looks genuinely shaken.

“What is this?”

“Insurance,” Lucian says. He leans back in his seat, his arm resting casually on the back of the booth behind me.

“Did you think I wouldn’t have something like this?

I know about your offshore accounts, tracing the missing millions from our Asian acquisitions.

You’ve been skimming from the family accounts for years, brother.

And now I have proof. Solid, irrefutable proof that would not only ruin you but land you in prison for a very long time. ”

Tobias’s hands tremble as he flips through the pages, his face growing paler with each passing second. “This... this is bullshit,” he stammers. “You’re bluffing.”

Lucian’s smile is cold and unforgiving. “Am I? Then feel free to test me. But know this: if you ever try to blackmail or threaten Evelyn again, if you so much as whisper her name in a way I don’t like, I’ll release this to the press and the authorities.

You’ll lose your reputation, your freedom, and whatever shred of dignity you have left. ”

Tobias slams the folder shut, his chest heaving as he glares at Lucian. “You wouldn’t dare. You’d be dragging the Blackwood name through the mud.”

“The Blackwood name will survive. You won’t. I’ve already spoken to Father about this. He knows everything. And he agrees that it’s time for you to distance yourself from the company.”

Tobias looks like he’s been struck. His jaw drops open, but no words come out. His eyes dart between Lucian and me, searching for some sign of weakness, some indication that this is all an elaborate ruse. But there is none.

His face twists with a mixture of rage and desperation, his fingers curling into fists on the table. “You think you’ve won, Lucian? You think this is over?” His voice is low, trembling with barely contained fury. “You’re wrong. This isn’t the end. You’ve just made an enemy out of me.”

Lucian doesn’t flinch, his expression as cold and unyielding as steel. “You’re not smart enough to be my enemy. You never were. Take the deal. Walk away and continue spending your time partying and drinking. Or fight me and lose everything. The choice is yours.”

The tension between them crackles like a live wire. I sit frozen beside Lucian as the memory of Claire and that night threatens to pull me under.

Tobias’s eyes narrow as he looks at me. “You think he’s your savior, Evelyn? He’s just another predator. And when he’s done with you, he’ll discard you like everyone else.”

My hands grip the edge of the table, and I meet Tobias’s gaze head-on. “You don’t know me, and you don’t know him.”

“Oh, I know enough. I know what kind of man my brother is. And I know what kind of woman you are—desperate and ready to cling to whoever offers you the most security. But mark my words, Evelyn, when he’s tired of you, when the novelty wears off, he’ll leave you broken. Just like you left Claire.”

Lucian’s hand closes around my wrist. “We’re leaving.”

I don’t resist as Lucian pulls me to my feet.

My legs feel like they might give out beneath me, but I force myself to move, to follow him out of the restaurant and into the cold, rain-soaked night.

The door swings shut behind us, cutting off Tobias’s last words, but they linger in the air like poison.

He leads me to the waiting town car, his face a mask of controlled fury. The driver opens the door for us, and I slide into the back seat, my body trembling despite the warmth of the car’s interior. Lucian climbs in beside me.

He doesn’t speak until the heater is blasting, then forces me to meet his eyes.

“Look at me.” His breath is hot on my frozen lips. “Are you okay?”

“Yes.” The lie tastes like guilt. Like blood on the sidewalk outside the dormitory.

His thumb traces my cheekbone.

Lucian knows.

Of course, Lucian knows.

“Your forgery was sold to the Getty last year,” he says. “I bought it back from them privately. It’s in the basement of the Adirondacks estate.”

Silence fills the space, and I stare out of the window to Manhattan’s glittering streets, trembling, and remembering that day.