Evelyn's POV
"Evelyn!" My mother grabbed my shoulders, steadying me. "What on earth is going on? We heard a crash—"
"Mom." I gasped for air. "Mom, Isabelle is alive. She's upstairs. She's—"
"I know, darling." Catherine's smile was bright. Too bright. Wrong. "Isn't it wonderful?"
The words hit me like ice water.
"You know?"
"Of course I know." She squeezed my arms, her perfectly manicured nails digging in. "We've known for months. Your father worked so hard to save her. It's a miracle."
"Months?" I couldn't process this. "You've known for months and didn't tell me?"
"We couldn't risk the publicity." My father appeared behind her, his face stern. Victor Whitmore, brilliant CEO, loving father. Except he wasn't loving. Not to me. "The treatment was experimental. If word got out—"
"I'M YOUR DAUGHTER!" My scream echoed down the hallway. "I cried for FIVE YEARS thinking she was dead!"
"Lower your voice." My father's eyes went cold. "We have guests."
Guests. Two hundred of Manhattan's elite, celebrating my engagement. My engagement to the man currently upstairs with my supposedly-dead sister.
"Marcus was in bed with her," I said. Each word felt like swallowing glass. "Your miracle daughter. In Isabelle's memorial room. During MY engagement party."
My mother's face paled. "That's... that's not possible. You must have seen—"
"I saw EXACTLY what I think I saw." Tears burned my eyes. I wouldn't cry. Wouldn't give them the satisfaction. "He said the engagement is off. Said she's the one he's always loved."
Silence.
My father and mother exchanged a look. Some silent conversation I wasn't part of.
"Well." My father cleared his throat. "Perhaps it's for the best. Marcus and Isabelle did have a history. It's natural they'd want to reconnect after everything she's been through."
Natural. He called it natural.
"What about ME?" My voice cracked. "What about what I've been through? I spent five years becoming her! Wearing her clothes! Dating her boyfriend! Trying to fill the hole she left!"
"Don't be dramatic, Evelyn." My mother's sympathy evaporated. "This isn't about you."
"My engagement party isn't about me?"
"Your sister just came back from the dead." She said it like I was being selfish. Like I was the problem. "Show some compassion."
Compassion. They wanted compassion.
I'd given them five years of compassion. Five years of being the good daughter. The obedient daughter. The daughter who buried her dreams to make them happy.
And I'd gotten nothing. Not even the truth.
"Where was she?" I demanded. "Where has Isabelle been for five years?"
"A private facility in Switzerland." My father's voice was clipped. Professional. Like he was giving a board presentation. "Recovering from her injuries. The treatments were delicate. We couldn't risk moving her or having visitors."
"You couldn't risk a five-minute phone call to tell me my sister was ALIVE?"
"We did what we thought was best."
"Best for WHO?" I was shouting now. Didn't care. "Not for me! Not for Isabelle! For YOU! For your reputation! For your precious company!"
My father's hand moved so fast I barely saw it.
The slap snapped my head to the side, the sound echoing through the hallway. Pain exploded across my cheek. My ears rang.
I touched my face. My fingers came away red. His ring had cut me.
"Victor!" My mother gasped, but she didn't move to help me. Didn't step between us. Just stood there, hand over her mouth, looking horrified but doing nothing.
"You will NOT speak to me that way." My father's voice was deadly quiet. "I am your father. You will show respect."
I stared at him. Really looked at him for the first time in years.
And saw a stranger.
"You hit me," I whispered.
"You were hysterical."
"You HIT me."
"Evelyn—" My mother reached for me.
I jerked away. "Don't touch me."
Footsteps on the stairs. Marcus appeared, now fully dressed. Isabelle drifted behind him like a ghost, her face still empty, still wrong.
"Is everything alright?" Marcus looked at my bleeding cheek. "What happened?"
"Nothing that concerns you." My father straightened his jacket. "Since you're here, we should make an announcement. The guests are getting restless."
"Announcement?" I could barely form words.
"About the engagement." My father moved past me like I didn't exist. "Marcus and Isabelle's engagement. Since you two have decided to end things."
"We haven't decided ANYTHING!" I grabbed his arm. "You can't just—"
"Take your hands off me." He yanked free, adjusting his sleeve where I'd wrinkled it. "You're embarrassing yourself."
"Dad, please—"
"Catherine." He turned to my mother, ignoring me completely. "Get Isabelle cleaned up. Marcus, come with me. We'll make this quick and painless."
They walked away. All of them. My father, my mother, Marcus, Isabelle. Moving down the stairs toward the party like a perfect family.
A family I wasn't part of.
I stood alone in the hallway, blood dripping down my chin, my engagement ring heavy on my finger.
Below, I heard my father's voice boom: "Ladies and gentlemen, if I could have your attention..."
I moved to the banister. Looked down at the crowd of people in their expensive clothes with their expensive drinks.
"We have a miracle to share tonight." My father's arm went around Isabelle's shoulders. She stood there like a doll, barely blinking. "Our beloved daughter Isabelle has recovered from her accident. She's come home to us. And we're thrilled to announce her engagement to Marcus Kane."
Gasps. Whispers. Confusion rippling through the crowd.
"But wait," Senator Morrison called out. "Wasn't Marcus engaged to... the other daughter? Evelyn?"
"A misunderstanding." My father's smile was practiced. Perfect. "Evelyn has been under tremendous stress. The grief of losing her sister affected her deeply. She became... confused about the nature of her relationship with Marcus."
Confused. He was calling me confused.
"In fact," my father continued, his voice carrying to every corner of the room, "we've been concerned about Evelyn's mental state for some time. Tonight's outburst—throwing vases, making wild accusations—has confirmed our fears. We'll be seeking professional help for her."
The crowd murmured. Some looked sympathetic. Most looked uncomfortable. A few pulled out phones, probably already texting their friends about the drama.
"So please," my father raised his glass, "join us in celebrating Isabelle's miraculous return and her engagement to Marcus. Let's focus on joy tonight, not on my poor daughter's delusions."
Applause. Actual applause.
They believed him. All of them. Two hundred witnesses, and they believed the powerful man over the hysterical daughter.
I looked down at the scene—my father accepting congratulations, my mother dabbing fake tears, Marcus kissing Isabelle's hand, Isabelle staring at nothing with those dead eyes.
And I knew with perfect clarity: they would destroy me.
If I stayed, if I fought, if I said one more word—they would lock me away. Call me crazy. Make me disappear just like they'd made Isabelle disappear.
I had to leave. Now.
I turned and ran. Through the hallway, past the family portraits, toward the front door. Nobody stopped me. Nobody called my name. Nobody cared.
Outside, the night air hit my face like a slap. The cold stung my cut cheek. My lungs burned. I couldn't breathe couldn't think couldn't—
I ran blindly down the driveway, my heels clicking against stone, my vision blurred with tears.
And crashed straight into something solid.
Strong hands caught me before I fell. Steadied me. Held me like I was worth holding.
I looked up.
Gray eyes. Dark hair. A face I'd seen exactly three times but somehow knew better than my own family.
Damien Ashford. The Ice King. My neighbor. The man who'd never spoken to me but was looking at me now like I was the only person in the world.
"Easy," he said, his voice deep and cold and somehow gentle. "I've got you."
And for the first time that night, I believed someone actually did.