Chapter 5

Evelyn Carlson POV

On the third night in the basement, I received a call from my mother.

It was an old phone I had secretly hidden in the lining of my clothes—even the guards hadn’t found it.

Keeping something of my own hidden under the Moreno family’s nose was the only survival skill I had learned in three years.

“Evelyn…” My mother’s voice was hoarse and trembling. “It’s Grandpa… he’s dying. The doctors say three days at most. He keeps calling your name, Evelyn. He wants to see you.”

My hand began to shake.

Grandpa.

Henry Carlson—the only man in my life who had ever loved me unconditionally.

After my father abandoned us, he raised me alone.

He had pinched pennies to put me through medical school. The day I received my acceptance letter from Johns Hopkins, he cried like a child.

“My Evelyn,” he always called me that. “You’re going to be the best doctor. You’re going to save so many lives.”

I hadn’t let him down.

But I had also let him down for three years.

Since marrying Vincent, I had barely been home. All those so-called “family security concerns” and “maintaining the godfather’s wife’s image” had cut me off from everything in my past.

And now my grandfather was dying.

He wanted to see me one last time before the end.

“Mom,” I took a deep breath, forcing my voice to stay steady, “I’ll come back. I promise I’ll be there.”

After hanging up, I asked the guard to take me to Vincent.

He received me in the study.

Grace was there too.

She lounged on the sofa, watching me like I was some caged animal.

“Vincent,” I began, trying to make my voice sound sincere, “my grandfather is critically ill. He may only have a few days left. I’m begging you… let me go see him one last time.”

Vincent set down his papers and looked at me.

That look held no sympathy, no understanding—only scrutiny and suspicion.

“Your grandfather?”

“Yes. He raised me. He’s the closest person I have in this world. I…” My voice began to shake. “I just want to say goodbye to him.”

“Vincent,” Grace cut in, her tone dripping with mockery, “you can’t seriously believe her? This is obviously an excuse to avoid her punishment. A few days locked up and she’s already making up stories.”

“I’m not making anything up!” My voice rose. “You can check. You can send someone to verify—”

“Enough.” Vincent raised his hand, cutting me off.

He looked at me, his eyes cold as if regarding a stranger.

“Evelyn, you should know that in this family, trust is the most precious thing. You’ve already lost mine.”

“But this is real—”

“I said enough.” His voice turned to ice. “You will stay in the basement until I decide your reflection is complete. Don’t try to test my limits with such pathetic excuses.”

I looked at him, feeling a despair I had never known before.

I had once bet everything on this man.

And now, he wouldn’t even give me the chance to see my grandfather one last time.

“Vincent Moreno,” I heard my own voice, trembling, choked with tears, “someday, you will regret this.”

He scoffed.

“Take her back.”

As I was escorted back to the basement, I said nothing more.

But inside me, something went completely dark.

Not shattered.

Dead.

It was a strange feeling—like someone had lit a fire in my chest, then poured ice water over it. The flame struggled briefly, then went out completely. Not even ashes remained.

The agonizing three days that followed, I didn’t dare keep the phone on—the battery wouldn’t last.

I could only check once a day to see if my mother had called, to confirm whether Grandpa was still holding on.

Then my mother called again with the devastating news.

“Evelyn… your grandpa is gone. He kept waiting for you… he kept calling your name… until the very end…”

My mother’s muffled sobs came through the phone.

I didn’t cry.

I just sat there in the cold basement, listening to my mother’s sobbing, to the wind outside, to my own heartbeat.

Grandpa was gone.

I hadn’t even been able to see him one last time.

In that moment, I made my final decision.

Over the following days, I became remarkably compliant.

I ate on schedule, made no requests, and was polite to the guards and servants. When Grace came to “visit” me, I kept my eyes lowered, enduring her mockery and humiliation without resistance.

They thought I had finally been broken.

But they didn’t know that a woman who had once stood for fourteen consecutive hours at the operating table was never short on patience.

On the seventh day, Vincent sent word that I could return to the main house.

“Your reflection period is over,” Luca delivered the message, his eyes betraying something complicated, “but… Grace will be staying at the manor for a while. Vincent hopes you can… coexist peacefully.”

I nodded slightly.

“I understand.”

That night, back in the bedroom, I began to move.

I logged into my private offshore account—one I had opened with my own savings before marrying Vincent, never telling anyone about it.

Over the past three years, I had occasionally deposited money of my own. Not much, but enough to start over.

I contacted my old colleagues at Johns Hopkins to confirm they would write me letters of recommendation.

I booked a one-way ticket to Chicago.

Then I organized everything Vincent had ever given me—the jewelry, the designer bags, the custom clothes—and left them all in the walk-in closet.

I removed the wedding ring from my finger and placed it on the vanity, right next to the already-finalized divorce agreement, in plain sight.

At four in the morning, I walked out of the Moreno manor with two suitcases.

The guards didn’t stop me.

As “the godfather’s wife,” I had the freedom to come and go as I pleased. And it wasn’t yet dawn—no one would notice me.

I hailed a taxi and headed for the airport.

Sitting in the car, I watched New York’s nightscape slide past the window. The city’s lights still glittered, the streets still bustled—as if nothing had changed.

But I knew everything was different now.

Evelyn Carlson—once Johns Hopkins’ brightest surgical star, once the lady of the Moreno family—

Was now just an ordinary woman dragging two suitcases, boarding an early morning flight alone.

I did not shatter.

I did not look back.

This wasn’t escape—it was walking away on my own terms.

As the plane lifted off, I watched New York’s skyline recede through the window.

Goodbye, Vincent Moreno.

Goodbye, my foolish, humble, worthless love.

From now on, I, Evelyn Carlson, live only for myself.