The first time Evelyn realized that her life didn't belong to her yet, she was sixteen.
It wasn't a dramatic revelation. No argument. No official announcement. Just a conversation she shouldn't have overheard.
She was coming down the stairs of the family house, barefoot, drawn by voices rising from the living room. The door was ajar. She stopped instinctively when she recognized her father's serious tone.
— This needs serious thought, he said.
— She's still young, her mother replied.
— Exactly. This is when it all gets decided.
Evelyn froze on the step, her heart beating faster than it should.
— The Carters have been interested for a long time, her father continued. They've always been clear about it.
The Carters.
She knew the name. Everyone knew it.
— Nathan is a good match, her mother added after a pause. And Evelyn is…
— Suitable, her father finished.
Suitable.
The word hung in the air, heavy, final.
Evelyn went back upstairs quietly. That night, she didn't cry. She didn't understand everything yet, but something inside her had cracked. A vague but persistent intuition: some choices would be made for her.
Years went by.
Evelyn grew up in a house where order and appearances mattered more than feelings. Her brother, Lucas, spoke of departures, travels, ambitious careers. They listened with pride.
— You'll go far, her father said.
— A determined boy, her mother added.
Her sister, Hannah, laughed a lot, talked about dreams, love, freedom. They smiled at her words like promises of the future.
— She has time, they said. She will choose.
Evelyn often stayed in the background. Not because she was explicitly forced, but because she had understood that some voices carried more weight than others. And hers… easily got lost in the background.
At twenty-two, the announcement finally came. Not as a shock. More like confirmation of what she had always known.
— Evelyn, come sit down, her mother said one evening.
The table had already been cleared. Lucas had gone out. Hannah was sending messages on her phone. Evelyn immediately felt this conversation was only about her.
Her father folded his hands in front of him.
— The Carters want to move forward.
Evelyn met his gaze.
— Move forward to what? she asked softly.
A silence. Then:
— Towards marriage.
Her mother spoke, trying to soften the blow.
— This is not a surprise, Evelyn. The two families have known each other forever. It's logical.
Logical.
Another word used to justify the irreversible.
— And me? she asked. Am I not asked for my opinion?
Her father looked at her long and hard.
— We are asking you now.
She understood it was a lie. The decision was already made.
— Nathan is a serious man, he continued. Respected. Stable. He can offer you a secure life.
— And if he doesn't love me? she whispered.
Her mother looked away.
— Love comes with time.
Evelyn didn't answer. She just nodded.
— Alright.
The word she said like signing a contract without reading the fine print.
The wedding was organized quickly. Paris was chosen for the ceremony: elegant, neutral, symbolic. The families were delighted.
— Perfect, said Eleanor Carter, Nathan's mother. Discreet and prestigious.
Evelyn met Nathan properly only a few weeks before the wedding. They found themselves in a private lounge, surrounded by parents pretending to give them intimacy.
— Pleased to meet you, he said, offering his hand.
— Likewise, she replied.
They exchanged small talk. He spoke of work and projects. She listened.
— I know this isn't ideal, he finally said.
— No.
— But I'll make sure you lack nothing.
She looked at him.
— That's not what I asked for.
He remained silent. Then gave a polite smile.
— I know.
On the wedding day, Evelyn felt alien in her own body. The dress was perfect. The guests numerous. The smiles flawless.
— Are you ready? her mother asked, adjusting her veil.
— Yes.
The "yes" she said at the altar didn't waver. Perhaps that unsettled those who knew her the most.
The first night, they shared a huge hotel room. Nathan took off his jacket, loosened his tie.
— We can take our time, he said.
— Alright.
They made love without passion, without violence, without unnecessary words. It was quick. Silent. Almost distant.
Afterwards, Nathan turned to the other side of the bed.
— Good night, he said.
— Good night.
Thus began their life together.
The following months confirmed Evelyn's fears. Nathan was rarely home. When he was, he was busy, distracted, elsewhere.
— I leave tomorrow, he often said.
— For how long?
— I'll call you.
He rarely called.
Their nights together became increasingly spaced. Always scheduled. Never spontaneous.
— We need to think about an heir, he said one evening, without looking at her.
She nodded. She sometimes wondered if her body had become just a function.
Three years passed.
At twenty-five, Evelyn lived in a vast, almost empty house. The servants came and went like shadows. Linda and Rose cleaned silently. Mark maintained the garden without ever looking up. Mr. Whitman ensured strict adherence to the rules.
— Would you like to go out today, madam? he asked one morning.
— No.
She went out little. Nathan preferred she stayed discreet.
— People talk, he said. I want to avoid that.
One evening, he returned earlier than expected. His face was closed.
— There has been an incident, he said.
— What kind of incident?
— Threats. Nothing concrete, but…
He stopped.
— I will hire a bodyguard.
— For you?
— For you.
Evelyn frowned.
— I hardly ever go out.
— Exactly.
His tone left no room for discussion.
— He will live here, he added.
That night, Evelyn stayed awake for a long time.
The next day, she watched a black car stop in front of the house. A man stepped out. Tall. Calm. Observant, almost too much.
Mr. Whitman returned to her.
— Madam, this is Mr. Brooks.
The man slightly bowed his head.
— Pleased to meet you, madam.
— Evelyn, he replied.
They looked at each other a second too long.
Without knowing it, something had begun.