A cloying blend of women's perfume, tobacco, and stale liquor assaulted her senses.
Eva Sullivan didn't need to look up to know who stood before her.
Instinct took over. She recoiled, putting several feet of distance between them. "What is the meaning of this, Mr. Henson?"
Seeing his face again clawed at old wounds. It felt as though a fist had clenched around her heart, squeezing until it bruised.
Elliot noticed her revulsion. His expression faltered, but he quickly recovered, tilting his umbrella to shield her from the downpour. "What happened before... that was my fault. I'm here to apologize."
His tone dripped with heavy, feigned remorse. If she hadn't heard the truth with her own ears that night, she might have been fool enough to believe him again.
She glanced at the curtain of rain, then fixed him with a cold stare. "If you have something to say, say it."
For the favored son of the Henson family to lower himself to this—standing in the rain, offering apologies—it meant he had hit a wall. A wall only she could dismantle.
Elliot reached for her hand, but she sidestepped him effortlessly.
A flicker of annoyance crossed his brow, instantly masked by a look of tender concern. He pulled a velvet box from his pocket and offered it to her. "You mentioned you liked this once. I had a friend bring it back from abroad."
Inside lay a bracelet of lustrous pearls and deep red rubies—the latest piece from her favorite designer. She had planned to fly to Paris to buy it herself before the crisis at her uncle's company derailed her life.
She couldn't remember the last time she had cared about such things.
Once, this gesture would have sent her heart racing. Now, looking at the glittering gems, she felt nothing but a hollow ache.
"Let me guess," Eva said, her voice flat. "You're here about the Salazar contract."
She didn't touch the bracelet. She just stripped him bare.
Elliot's patience snapped. He dropped the pretense. "You handled Blake Salazar's order before. The contract has expired, and I hear he's looking elsewhere. I need you to smooth things over."
Eva let out a short, self-mocking laugh. "Sorry. I can't help you."
Years ago, when Old Mr. Henson returned to the country, Elliot had been desperate to prove himself. He had boasted that he would secure the Salazar Group's annual contract. But it was a massive account, and wolves were circling. Elliot's proposal had been mediocre at best.
To save him, Eva had debased herself. She leveraged every connection, drained her savings, and played the dutiful companion to Blake Salazar's wife for a week just to get a foot in the door.
She remembered the night she finally secured the deal. She had drunk until she vomited, curling up on a bathroom stall floor, clutching the signed contract to her chest while alcohol burned a hole in her stomach.
And her reward? Walking in on Elliot tangled in the sheets with another woman.
God, I was stupid.
She turned to leave, but Elliot caught her wrist in a vice-like grip.
"Eva Sullivan, what is wrong with you?"
His face had darkened, the veins in his hand bulging as he squeezed the umbrella handle.
Eva ripped her arm free, her gaze turning glacial. "A soulless, boring bootlicker. Isn't that what you called me? Have you run out of entertainment, Mr. Henson?"
She stared straight into his eyes. For a second, his pupils dilated. Panic flashed across his face.
"You heard that? Listen, let me explain. I didn't mean it. I just—"
"You were just drunk? It meant nothing?" Eva smiled, though her eyes burned with unshed tears. "Is that the script?"
"Eva..."
The rain intensified, drumming a chaotic rhythm against the asphalt.
Eva took a steadying breath and looked away. "We are done. Completely."
"No, actually, we never really started. Instead of debasing yourself here, you should try relying on your own competence to save that contract."
Elliot's expression hardened into ice. He straightened his spine, looking down at her with his usual arrogance. "I'm giving you a chance. Don't regret this."
Eva looked up, catching a glimmer of expectation in his eyes.
Expectation?
He actually thought she would fold. He thought she would beg him to take her back, just like before.
She laughed, the sound sharp and brittle. "My only regret is that I ever met you."
Elliot slammed the bracelet onto the wet ground. He gave her one last look of utter contempt before turning on his heel.
A moment later, the roar of an engine tore through the air. His luxury sports car peeled away, tires screeching as they mercilessly crushed the scattered pearls into the mud. Dirty water splashed up, stinging Eva's face.
She watched the taillights fade into the gray mist.
She stood rooted to the spot, her eyes losing focus.
It was over.
CRACK.
Thunder exploded overhead, a deafening boom that shook the ground beneath her feet. It felt as if a hammer had slammed into her chest.
A child's scream echoed in her ears.
In a heartbeat, the street vanished. She was back there. The smell of burning rubber... the white smoke rising from the twisted metal... the rain unable to wash away the blood.
She lay on the glass-strewn pavement, unable to move, watching through a haze as paramedics lifted her parents onto stretchers. They were so still. So red.
The memory clawed at her throat. The agony, sharp and familiar, pierced her heart. It had been over a decade, yet every thunderstorm dragged her back to that hell.
"Eva! Eva!"
A frantic voice broke through the nightmare. Eva turned her head, her vision swimming. As the face before her sharpened, the dam broke.
"Auntie..."
"I've got you. I'm here."
Amelia Fletcher pulled her into a fierce embrace, patting her back rhythmically. "It's okay. Let's go home."
Inside the warm house, Landon Mason emerged from the kitchen, spatula in hand. Seeing Eva's drenched, trembling form, his face crumpled with worry.
He opened his mouth to ask what happened, but a sharp glare from Amelia silenced him. He swallowed his questions and retreated.
Upstairs, Amelia wrapped Eva in thick, warm towels.
"Silly girl," she muttered, rubbing warmth into Eva's arms. "Why didn't you call your uncle to pick you up? Look at this weather! And that husband of yours—Austin let you come home alone in this storm? The man is useless."
"Auntie, he's in Harbor City on business," Eva lied through chattering teeth. "He had the driver bring me."
Amelia paused, studying her niece's pale face. "Did he... did he bully you?"
Eva shook her head, forcing a weak smile. "No. He treats me well."
Seeing the doubt in Amelia's eyes, she added, "He bought the Harbor Bay villa. He said it would be our wedding home."
Amelia hesitated, then sighed softly. "As long as he treats you right. Go take a hot bath. I'll make you some ginger soup."
"Thank you, Auntie."
The moment the door clicked shut, Eva's smile collapsed. She leaned against the wall and slid down to the floor, tears streaming silently down her face.
While rain drowned Seaview City, Harbor City basked in clear, ruthless sunlight.
A black sedan glided through the bustling streets, the harbor waters glittering in the distance.
Inside the car, Austin Farley rested his head against the leather seat, eyes closed. When Grace Simmons's call came through, he answered without moving.
"Sir, Mrs. Farley has returned to the Mason residence."
"Mm." His voice was low, devoid of emotion.
Grace hesitated on the other end of the line. "There's... something else. Elliot Henson went to the Mason house to see her. It appears they still have unfinished business."
