CHAPTER 8 : THE LAST DINNER

Evelyn couldn’t get Alexander’s words out of her head. You deserve far better than Damian. Those words clung to her, heavy and unshakeable. They trailed after her into her apartment, haunted her as she stared at the ceiling at night, even snuck into every memory she tried to bury beneath layers of time. It got under her skin. Not because she doubted it—she didn’t. What stung was that a stranger could see her pain so clearly, while the man she’d loved for seven years never seemed to understand at all. And realizing that, well… that just hurt more than she was willing to admit. Three days went by. Slow, miserable, relentless. The press kept going at her, throwing rumors around without a second thought. Article after article. Lie after lie. And through all of it, Damian said nothing. No statement. No explanation. Didn’t stand up for her, didn’t lift a finger. Just silence. Like he truly didn’t care what happened to her anymore. Evelyn sat alone, phone in hand, staring at the divorce papers on her coffee table. She hadn’t touched them. Every time her eyes landed on that stack of paper, her chest tightened up. She didn’t get it. Not really. None of it made sense. Damian wasn’t perfect, not even close. But he wasn’t cruel. He wasn’t heartless. So what happened to the man she thought she knew? Why did everything change? Why did he choose Isabella? She chased those questions in circles in her mind, over and over. The more she thought about it, the more she knew she needed answers. It wasn’t about getting back together. That dream died already. The marriage—well, that was nothing but paperwork now. She just wanted the truth. One honest conversation. Some kind of closure before she finally let it all go. Before she could talk herself out of it, Evelyn picked up her phone. Hands shaking, she stared at Damian’s contact—the number she’d called a thousand times, back when the sight of it made her smile. Now, it just made her sick with dread. Heart pounding, she typed a message. Can we have dinner tonight? Her thumb hovered, then she hit send. Regret came pouring in at once, hot and horrible. Maybe she was humiliating herself. Maybe she should just— Her phone buzzed. A reply. So fast it startled her. Location? That was it. No “hello.” No small talk. Zero warmth. But he said yes. Hope shouldn’t have been possible, and yet, there it was—a tiny, dangerous hope curling in her chest. The kind that always ended badly. That night, Evelyn showed up twenty minutes early. The restaurant overlooked the city’s waterfront—expensive, but not intimidating. One of their old favorites. This is where Damian celebrated his first big investor, where they toasted to anniversaries, where he kissed her by candlelight and promised her forever. Back when forever still meant something. The hostess led her to a private table by the windows. City lights shimmered across the river—beautiful and romantic and heavy with memories. All of it hurt now. Evelyn checked her phone. Ten minutes until seven. Her pulse was all over the place. Maybe tonight would finally make sense. Maybe Damian would talk. Maybe she’d finally get some answers. Or maybe she was just fooling herself, again. A waiter drifted over. “Would you like anything while you wait?” She pushed out a tight smile. “Just water.” He nodded and slipped away. The restaurant began to fill: couples laughing quietly, business deals in whispers, families passing plates back and forth. Life went on around her, normal as ever, while her own world was falling apart. Seven came. Then seven-oh-five. Seven-ten. She kept checking her phone, but nothing. No call. No apology. A hard, familiar ache set in her chest. Damian used to be early. He used to worry if he kept her waiting, used to say sorry even before she was annoyed. Maybe that man was gone for good. At seven-fifteen, he finally walked in. Tall. Sharp. Effortless as always. Heads turned, just like they always did. For a stupid moment, her heart still leaped at the sight of him. She remembered—the divorce, the betrayal, the heartbreak. That feeling vanished. Almost. Their eyes met. For a heartbeat, neither looked away. Something shifted in Damian’s face, just slightly—like he was caught off guard, like he’d forgotten how beautiful she was. It was a ridiculous thought, but it stuck. Then Damian walked closer. Evelyn’s nerves jangled. This was it—her last shot at understanding, at closure. And then—everything fell apart. Because Damian wasn’t alone. A woman followed beside him. Stunning, poised, completely at ease. Isabella Sinclair. Time seemed to stop. Evelyn’s heart hammered in her chest. No. No, no. Not here. Not tonight. Damian approached like nothing was wrong, like bringing Isabella to this last, private dinner made perfect sense. Like Evelyn’s feelings didn’t count. The realization slammed into her, sharp and overwhelming. At the table, Isabella offered a warm smile. It felt like a slap. “Evelyn.” Her own name made her stomach roll. Evelyn’s voice disappeared. She couldn’t think, barely could breathe. She turned to Damian. “What is this?” His face revealed nothing. “Sit down.” That made it so much worse. Her head shook in disbelief. “You brought her?” Damian sighed. A tight, irritated sound, as if she was the problem, not him. “There’s no reason for hostility,” he said. Hostility? Her heart twisted. He’d brought the woman who ruined everything, and she was supposed to just sit quietly? Evelyn gave a bitter laugh. No humor, just pain. “You think I’m being hostile?” Isabella and Damian exchanged a look. The quiet understanding between them was inescapable. They were already a team—every glance, every little movement said so. And Evelyn, well—she stood alone. As usual. Isabella spoke, calm and smooth as glass. “We just thought it would be better this way.” “We?” Evelyn snapped before she could catch herself. The word hung in the air—an ugly echo of what she’d lost. We. Not Damian. Not Isabella. We. They’d moved on. They faced the world together now, making choices while Evelyn stood there on the outside, watching. Damian sat. Isabella joined him. Neither seemed to notice the damage they caused. Or maybe they just didn’t care. Evelyn stayed standing, shaking so hard she nearly dropped her purse. She came hoping for honesty, maybe peace. All she found was humiliation. Betrayal. Proof that she didn’t matter anymore. A waiter appeared, awkward and anxious. “Would anyone like to order?” Nobody said a thing. After a few silent moments, he slipped away. As soon as he was gone, Evelyn broke the silence, voice raw and low. “Why did you come?” Damian frowned. “You asked me here.” “No.” She felt a tear slip down her cheek and brushed it away, fast. “I asked you.” Her eyes flicked to Isabella. “Not her.” For the first time all night, Damian hesitated. Guilt flickered across his face—there and gone. “Evelyn.” He spoke more softly. “We need to move forward.” Those words crushed her. Move forward. Easy for him—he already had someone beside him, already had a future lined up. All Evelyn had was pain and questions, her marriage reduced to a cold stack of papers. She looked at Damian—searching for some sign of regret, or love, anything—but his eyes were distant and cold. Finally, she understood. The man she loved had left a long time ago. Maybe she’d just refused to see it. A sob caught in her throat. Not here, she told herself. Not in front of them. She reached for her purse. Damian noticed right away. “Where are you going?” Evelyn almost laughed at how absurd it sounded. Where was she going? Anywhere else. She met his gaze, tears in her eyes. Heart broken into bits. “Somewhere I can still keep what’s left of my dignity.” Nobody moved. No one said a word. Even the restaurant seemed to hold its breath. Evelyn turned and walked away—one step, two, three—the tears finally coming, blurring the lights and the world beyond. Behind her, Damian watched her disappear into the night. Strangely, for reasons he couldn’t name, watching her go hurt more than he’d expected. But by the time he stood up, Evelyn was already gone.