Three days of her meticulously constructing a narrative of indifference, a fragile wall against the unwelcome pang of hurt and the surprising sting of jealousy that still dared to surface. She had almost begun to believe her own carefully crafted facade, clinging to the hope that his abrupt departure from her office would translate into a prolonged absence.
That fragile hope shattered that afternoon with the arrival of a terse, demanding message on her private, unlisted number – the one only a handful of people, including Hunter, possessed.
Hunter: Dinner. Hotel LaVelle. 8 PM. Don’t be late.
Evelyn scoffed, her fingers tightening around her phone, her eyes blazing with a mixture of indignation and a reluctant flicker of intrigue. No polite preamble. No inquiry about her availability. Ju
