Chapter 12
Ethan Sullivan’s lips curled into a cold smirk. “You think this is too much? The worst is yet to come.”
Evelyn Sullivan clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms. “Over my dead body.”
“Either come back to the villa with me, or I move in with you. Choose.”
Evelyn took a deep breath and turned toward the black Maybach.
“Where are your things?” Ethan called after her.
“One week. I don’t need anything.” She yanked the car door open without looking back.
The suffocating silence inside the car was broken only by the sharp rustling of papers in Ethan’s hands.
Evelyn’s gaze flickered to the documents. Her pupils constricted. “You’re acquiring MY?”
Ethan glanced up, surprise flickering in his eyes. “Since when are you interested in corporate takeovers?”
“About as interested as you are in me.” Her lips twisted in a mocking smile.
Remembering her mention of work the night before, Ethan narrowed his eyes. “You work at MY?”
“Which is why I suggest you drop this idea now.”
“Every company has a price.”
“Then we’ll see.” Evelyn’s laugh was icy. She wouldn’t let anyone touch MY.
Something about her reaction unsettled him. “What’s your position at MY?”
“Janitor.”
Ethan frowned. “Their HR department needs an overhaul.”
“Just because you can’t do something doesn’t mean others can’t.”
“If I’m a dog, then what does that make you?” He leaned in suddenly, his breath hot against her ear.
Evelyn jerked away, the tips of her ears burning.
Watching her flustered profile, Ethan found it inexplicably endearing. “Grandfather’s birthday is next Saturday. We’re going together.”
“Perfect timing to announce the divorce.” Her voice was flat.
Ethan’s gaze turned glacial. “Are you going to celebrate or give him a heart attack?”
“Why pretend? He’ll find out eventually.”
“Save the grand declarations until you have the five million ready.” His scoff made it clear he didn’t believe she could produce the sum.
Evelyn closed her eyes and said nothing more.
At the villa gates, she punched in the code—only for the system to reject it.
“I changed it.” Ethan stood behind her. “Your birthday.”
She laughed coldly. “Sure it’s not Isabella’s?”
Slamming in the numbers, she strode inside without a backward glance.
Ethan watched her go, fury churning in his chest. He’d thought of no one but her when resetting that code.
In the living room, the shredded divorce agreement in the trash bin was impossible to miss. Evelyn ignored it and sat down.
“What do you want for dinner?” Ethan took the seat across from her.
“Takeout.” She didn’t look up from her phone.
“Junk food.”
“I’m not asking you to eat it.”
“I mean, you’re not eating it either.”
Evelyn’s head snapped up. “Should I just drink air, then?”
“Cook.”
“Busy.” She kept tapping her screen. “Make your own damn food.”
To her shock, Ethan actually walked into the kitchen.
After ordering fried chicken, Evelyn went upstairs to shower. When she returned, her takeout was in the trash.
“Ethan Sullivan!” She stormed into the kitchen just as he emerged with a bowl of soup.
The scalding liquid nearly splashed onto her before Ethan shoved her aside. The broth splattered across his forearm, instantly raising angry blisters.
Evelyn scrambled for the first-aid kit.
“I’m sorry, but if you hadn’t thrown out my food—”
“I just wanted to have a meal with you.” His interruption was quiet.
“Don’t bother.” She bandaged the wound with clinical detachment. “We’re divorcing in a week. Distance is best for both of us.”
“Is there no other way?” His gaze burned into hers.
“No.”
“We could—”
“Enough!” Evelyn stood. “Five million in seven days. I expect you to keep your word.”
She turned toward the stairs, missing the storm that darkened his expression.
Late that night, Evelyn logged into a website she hadn’t touched in three years. A golden full moon emblem flashed: Welcome back.
She scrolled through mission listings. Only here could she secure five million in a week.
A message popped up.
Vulture: Back from the dead?
Iris: …
Vulture: Three years gone, and you pick a five-million job first. Partner up?
After reviewing the details, Evelyn accepted another three-million contract. The money was as good as hers.
At six the next morning, the doorbell’s shrill ring startled her awake.
Isabella Jackson stood on the threshold, shock written across her face.
“Evelyn? What are you doing here?”
