Chapter 5

Evelyn POV

I took in the sight of Bryce—tall, impeccably dressed in a tailored suit that accentuated his athletic frame, with chiseled features that still turned heads wherever he went. Those striking blue eyes that had once seemed so kind now stared coldly at the officers. Those same blue eyes as mine, a coincidence that had once felt meaningful.

I remembered the day at his family's summer home when we were ten. Bryce had been showing off, balancing on the edge of a large water tank behind the greenhouse. His foot slipped and he plunged in. I ran over and pulled him out just as he was losing consciousness. I held him, dripping and coughing, until he could breathe again. He was dazed, barely aware of what had happened.

Three weeks later, Bryce told me excitedly that Serena had saved his life that day. She had apparently described the whole incident to him—details she couldn't have known unless she'd been there. I tried to tell him the truth, but he brushed me off, too captivated by the beautiful girl who claimed to be his rescuer. It was the beginning of his infatuation with her, and the first time I realized how easily Bryce believed what he wanted to believe.

The officers paused, looking between Bryce and Ryan. The tension in the air thickened.

"Who made the complaint?" Bryce asked, his voice cold.

"I did, Finch," Ryan replied. "Your mother was causing a disturbance."

Bryce's jaw tightened. "Carter, this is my family business. What's it to you? Mind your own affairs."

"Finch, nobody's interested in your family business," Ryan shot back. "But when your mother is screaming so loudly that she's disturbing everyone in the building, that becomes my business. And if your mother is suspected of abusing your wife, I might just have to report domestic violence."

Bryce stepped closer to Ryan, his voice dropping to a threatening tone. "Evelyn is my wife. Stay away from her. What I do with her is none of your concern. Careful, or I might report you for trying to seduce my wife. Don't think I haven't noticed."

I felt my cheeks burn with embarrassment. Ryan's expression hardened, clearly angered by the accusation, but he maintained his composure.

Meanwhile, Alex, Bryce's assistant had approached the officers and was speaking quietly with them. I caught the subtle movement as he passed an envelope to one of them. The officer glanced inside, then nodded.

"It seems there's been a misunderstanding," the officer announced. "Mrs. Finch, please try to keep the noise down in the future."

"Make sure this situation doesn't repeat itself, Mr. Finch," the second officer added, pocketing the envelope. "Good day, everyone."

As the police left, Ryan fixed Bryce with a cold stare. "I hope that resolves the issue, Finch, because I'll be watching."

Before leaving, Ryan's eyes met mine. He didn't say a word, but his gaze conveyed concern and an unspoken offer of help. I understood his message perfectly, and it gave me a small measure of comfort. Bryce noticed our exchange, his eyes narrowing dangerously.

When Ryan was gone, Bryce turned to Cassidy. "Cassidy, I think you know by now that you're not welcome in my apartment. Stop hanging around Evelyn so much."

Cassidy rolled her eyes. "Someone needs to look out for her, since you clearly don't."

[Cassidy, please...] I signed desperately, my eyes pleading with her not to make things worse.

"Miss Mitchell, please leave now," Alex said firmly. "Or I'll call security."

Cassidy looked at me, her expression torn. With Bryce watching us intently, I knew he would scrutinize any hand movements I made. I needed my message to be clear and private, so I typed quickly on my phone instead.

[I'll be okay. Please go. I'll message you later.]

"Fine," she said reluctantly, giving Bryce one last contemptuous glance. "But Evelyn, call me if you need anything. Promise?"

I nodded as Alex escorted her to the door. The sound of it closing behind her felt like the sealing of a tomb.

Bryce immediately turned his anger on me. "What the hell did you do? Were you trying to get my mother arrested?"

I typed on my phone: [I didn't do anything. Your mother was shouting and destroying my things.]

"What have you done to this place?" Irene interjected, gesturing around the apartment. "I just came to check on you, and look at the mess you've made of everything. This is what happens when you have a defective person trying to manage a household."

She turned to Bryce, her voice dripping with disdain. "Son, you absolutely cannot have children with her. What if the child is born unable to speak or has some other defect? It would bring shame to the Finch name!"

I stood frozen, my hand unconsciously moving to my stomach where his child was growing—a child he knew nothing about.

Bryce put his arm around his mother. "Don't worry, Mom. I would never have children with her. I'll only have children with someone I actually love."

His casual cruelty struck me like a physical blow. In that moment, looking at his cold, dismissive expression, I finally saw a chilling void where respect should have been. Not just indifference or frustration, but a profound lack of regard. I was nothing to him—less than nothing.

My fingers curled into fists at my sides. The hurt transformed into something harder, something colder. This man, this beautiful, hollow man who had never truly seen me, would not be the father of my child. He didn't deserve to know about the life growing inside me.

As Bryce continued berating me, his words became distant noise. I'd spent years trying to earn his respect, his love. No more. I would get out of this marriage, whatever it took. My child deserved better than a father who could be so callous, so cruel to their mother.

I watched Bryce comfort his mother, both of them allies in their scorn against me. In that moment, I made my decision. I would leave. I would protect my child from becoming part of this toxic family. And I would do whatever it took to ensure that Bryce Finch never had the chance to hurt either of us again.

As they continued their tirade, a cold clarity washed over me. I remembered the special clause in our marriage contract—the one his grandfather had insisted upon to keep him in line. If Bryce divorced me, or if I divorced him on grounds of abuse or infidelity, he would lose his controlling stake in Finch Designs. The company he prized above all else would slip from his grasp.

Bryce had never bothered to explain the details to me, assuming I was too simple to understand. He didn't know I'd read every word of that contract, that I understood exactly what was at stake.

I looked at Bryce and Irene, so smug in their superiority, so certain of their power over me. They had no idea what was coming. The "defective" woman they so easily dismissed was about to become their worst nightmare.

Bryce wanted to deny me the dignity of motherhood? Fine. I would deny him the only thing he truly loved—his precious company, his identity, his legacy. The humiliation I felt now would be nothing compared to what awaited him. And unlike what they had done to me, this punishment would be one he had earned through his own cruelty.

I would make Bryce regret the day he chose to believe Serena's lies over the truth.