Chapter 05 : Evalyne’s Sister Debate
1678 Words
The party spun on.
Evalyne moved through it all like an automated version of herself. She did the photos. She did the press quotes.
“What inspired this collection?” a reporter from a streaming fashion channel asked, thrusting a microphone toward her.
“Contrast,” Evalyne said smoothly. “The tension between starkness and softness. Strength and vulnerability. The way winter can be both beautiful and lethal.”
She smiled and turned her head just enough for the cameras to catch her best angle. She did not think about wedding dresses. She did not think about what name would go next to hers on a certificate.
“Is there anyone special in your life you were designing for?” the reporter asked, eyes gleaming in that way they did when they were hoping to catch something viral.
She could have said no. She could have ended it.
Instead, she heard herself say, “There’s always someone in mind.”
The reporter lit up. “Is that a yes?”
“It’s a collection,” Evalyne said. “Not a love letter.”
She slipped away before they could press further, leaving them to speculate.
The night stretched. At some point, Anna cornered her near the back hallway that led to the staff kitchen and the staging area.
“What the hell was that?” Anna hissed, hands flung out. “Two years? London? An undercover boyfriend you’ve been hiding from your own sister?”
Evalyne sank onto a bench against the wall, the first truly uncomfortable piece of furniture she’d encountered all night. It was meant for exhausted interns, not the queen of the show.
“I didn’t plan it,” she said. The fatigue hit suddenly, like a wave. Her shoulders sagged. “They were talking. About Theresa. About me. I just wanted them to stop.”
Anna stared at her, then dropped down beside her, skirts rustling. “So you invented an imaginary boyfriend to shut them up?”
“I invented an imaginary relationship,” Evalyne corrected. “Apparently it’s not enough to build an empire. You have to have built a picture-perfect domestic life, too.”
Anna’s voice softened. “Eva, they’re idiots.”
“They are idiots with microphones,” Evalyne said. “They repeat things. They shape… the narrative.”
“The ‘narrative,’” Anna echoed. “You mean gossip.”
“It’s never just gossip,” Evalyne replied. “It gets picked up. It becomes speculation, then articles, then assumptions. ‘Is the ice queen unlovable?’ ‘Can a woman be too successful to find love?’ ‘Theresa Reid-Delaire: The Girl With No Father.’”
Anna flinched. “Okay. That last one is gross.”
“They would write it,” Evalyne said. “They already whisper it. People talk, Anna. Teachers, parents, investors. ‘She’s brilliant, but…’ Always a but. Always an unspoken question. If I had a partner, if Theresa had a father figure, half of those questions would disappear.”
Anna was quiet for a long moment. Voices drifted from the gallery, muffled by the wall.
“You do realize,” she said slowly, “that you just promised to produce a fiancé and a wedding in one month.”
“I realize,” Evalyne said.
“From where?” Anna demanded. “The Imaginary Boyfriend Store? You don’t date. You barely flirt. You screen your calls.”
“I’ll… figure it out,” Evalyne replied. It sounded pathetic, even to her own ears.
“How?” Anna pressed. “You can’t just… order a husband the way you order fabric samples.”
“People do things like that all the time,” Evalyne said. “Arranged marriages. Contracts. I can find someone. There are matchmakers. Agencies. Men who like money more than they like freedom.”
“That’s a horrifying sentence,” Anna said. “And also, you’re you. You’re not some influencer hiring a fake boyfriend for i********:. If this blows up in your face, it’s not just tabloids. It’s investors. It’s your board. It’s Theresa.”
The name twisted something in Evalyne’s chest.
“I’m aware,” she said quietly.
Anna’s shoulders slumped. “I just… I don’t like seeing you like this. They don’t get to make you feel less because you’re not wearing a ring. Harris already did enough damage with that.”
“This isn’t about Harris,” Evalyne said reflexively.
Anna gave her a look that said: yes, it is.
“Okay,” she amended, rubbing at her temple. “It’s not only about Harris.”
There had been so many nights, in those first months after the divorce, when she had lain awake staring at the ceiling, replaying his last rant.
What good is any of this if you don’t know how to be a wife? A mother? You can’t cuddle a balance sheet, Evalyne.
She’d thrown herself into work harder after that. It had been the only place where effort produced predictable results.
“Evie,” Anna said softly. “You don’t have to prove them wrong by breaking yourself in half.”
Evalyne let out a breath that felt like it had been trapped for years. “I’m not breaking,” she said. “I’m… adjusting strategy.”
“By lying.”
“By protecting my daughter.”
Anna frowned. “Lying about a father doesn’t fix the damage one made.”
“It might stop new damage,” Evalyne said. “Children are cruel. You said it yourself once. If they believe there’s someone, if their parents believe it, they might leave her alone.”
“And what about you?” Anna asked. “What about what you want?”
Evalyne thought of quiet nights. Of someone in the bed beside her who didn’t make her want to check the time. Of not having to sit through yet another dinner where all the conversation pivoted around husbands and vacations and she had nothing to offer but profit margins.
“I want them to stop looking at me like I’m… incomplete,” she said.
Anna sighed, resting her head briefly against Evalyne’s shoulder. “You’re not.”
“They think I am,” Evalyne said. “Sometimes I almost believe them.”
Anna was quiet for a long beat.
“Fine,” she said at last. “If you’re really going to do this, we’ll… figure something out. But promise me one thing.”
“What?”
“Don’t pick someone who’ll hurt her,” Anna said. “Or you. No matter how desperate you are to shut Lucia up, don’t invite a new Harris into the picture.”
Evalyne’s mouth twisted. “I’d rather marry my legal team.”
Anna snorted. “Honestly, that might be safer.”
Mina appeared at the end of the hallway, eyes wide. “Madam Eva? We… um… we need you. The DJ is confused about the speech order and the caterer wants to confirm dessert service timing, and Vogue Korea wants a quote before they leave.”
Evalyne straightened, slipping the armor back on. “Of course.”
Anna touched her wrist. “We’ll talk about this later.”
“There’s nothing to talk about,” Evalyne said, rising. “I have a month.”
“To fall in love?” Anna asked dryly.
“To find someone who can convincingly pretend to,” Evalyne replied.
She stepped back into the light.
The rest of the evening blurred into a familiar pattern. Speeches were made. She thanked her team, her investors, her “loyal clientele.” People clapped and toasted. Influencers posed beside the new campaign imagery, angling their phones just so. An actor whispered something flirtatious into her ear; she smiled and let it pass over her like wind against glass.
Just before midnight, the crowd began to thin. Cars were called. Fur wraps appeared. Lipstick faded on napkins.
“Fantastic as always, Madam Evalyne,” the gallery director gushed. “We’d be honored to host you again next season.”
“Send the invoice to my office,” Evalyne said.
“Of course.”
When the last guest had gone, when the staff were sweeping up stray canapés and abandoned programs, Evalyne stood in the center of the now-quiet space and looked up at the largest image on the wall.
It was of a woman in one of her coats, standing alone on a dark street, snow swirling around her, light spilling out from a doorway behind her. She looked strong. Untouchable. Beautiful and solitary.
Evalyne stared at that image and, for the first time, saw not the stitching on the coat or the way the light caught the model’s jaw, but the empty space beside her. The place where, if it were an advertisement for someone else’s life, a second figure might stand. A hand might reach.
Her phone buzzed.
A message from Kai:
Theresa asleep. Asked if you were still working. I told her yes. She nodded. Said “okay.”
Evalyne’s grip tightened.
She typed back: Thank you. I’ll be home soon.
She didn’t move yet.
The gallery smelled of cooling lights and wilting flowers. Her heels clicked softly as she walked toward one of the floor-to-ceiling windows. Outside, the city pulsed.
“You can buy anything,” Lucia had said once, half-joking, years before. “Even a reputation.”
Evalyne had laughed then.
Now, she watched her reflection in the glass, the flicker of doubt in her eyes, the jewelry that caught the light, the bare ring finger resting against the window.
She could buy buildings. She could buy fabric, influence, silence. She had just purchased herself a piece of narrative: the promise of a man somewhere in London, a long-distance love headed toward a wedding.
All she had to do now was find him.
Or someone willing to wear his shadow for a while.
She turned away from the glass and headed for the exit, her wrap swirling around her like a cloak.
In one month, there would be no turning back.
- Writer
