Chapter 2 Aftermath

Evelyn POV

I open my eyes to the smell of coffee drifting through the apartment. My body feels heavy, as if the night never really ended. For one merciful second I forget everything. Then it all comes back in a rush: the church, the empty aisle, Marcus's betrayal message, and the fact that his mom still wasn't reachable, with no reasonable explanation.

The memory settles over me again like it is brand new, and I have to sit there on the edge of the bed and breathe through it.

When I finally step out of my room, Priya is already in the kitchen. She looks over as soon as she hears my footsteps.

"You're up."

"Barely." My voice comes out rough.

"I slept on the couch," she says, handing me a mug once I shuffle closer. "Figured you shouldn't wake up alone."

"You didn't have to do that."

"I know." She shrugs like it was never a question. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I got hit by a truck and then had to give a press conference about it."

She almost smiles, but the expression never quite reaches her eyes. I glance at my phone in my hand. I do not want to look.

I look anyway. Forty new notifications are waiting for me. Some are kind, coming from my cousin, an old coworker and a few friends checking in, but most of them are not. I open one before I can stop myself. It is a screenshot someone has forwarded, and my stomach drops.

Marcus is already talking. Somewhere online, in posts I will never fully see, he is calling the whole thing a mutual decision, claiming he tried to be honest as early as he could, casting himself as the brave one in a story where he is the person who simply never showed up.

"He's lying," I say, mostly to myself.

"I saw." Priya's jaw tightens. "I already reported it. Not that it will do anything."

I set the phone down before I read anything else. My hands are steadier than they were yesterday, but not by much. Still, the words keep circling. A few minutes later a message from someone who used to be close to both of us arrives. I open it against my better judgment.

According to him, the real reason Marcus walked away may have nothing to do with honesty or second thoughts. He claims Marcus has already grown close to a new girl he recently met, and that this other relationship is the quiet force behind everything that happened at the church.

The idea lands harder than the public posts. Mutual decision. Honesty. All of it starts to look like cover for something simpler and uglier.

My mom calls a few minutes after that. Her voice is quieter than I expect, nothing like the tight, rushed tone from yesterday at the church.

"Hi, sweetheart." A small pause. "I just wanted to check on you. I've been up since six worrying."

"I'm okay. As okay as I can be."

"I told everyone at the house what happened. Your aunts, your uncles, your grandmother. I kept it simple, like you said." Another pause. "Everyone's shocked, but they're not asking questions anymore. I made sure of that."

"Thank you for handling it, Mom."

"Of course I handled it. You shouldn't have to." Her voice catches slightly. "Your grandmother wants you to come by when you're ready. No pressure. She just wants to see your face."

"I will. Just not today."

"I understand." A beat of quiet passes between us, softer than the tension from the night before. "How are you really doing, Evelyn?"

"I don't know yet," I admit. "I think I'm still waiting to feel something that makes sense."

"That's allowed." Her voice is gentle now, free of the reputation worry that filled the church. "Take whatever time you need. We're all here."

"I know, Mom. Thank you."

I hang up feeling steadier than I expected, grateful that at least she led with checking on me instead of managing everyone else's reactions. Priya watches me from across the kitchen, arms crossed.

"What are you going to do today?"

"Go to work."

She blinks. "Evelyn."

"If I stay here, I'm going to keep reading what people are saying about me. I'm going to sit in this apartment and watch him explain himself to strangers all day while I do nothing." I set my mug down harder than I mean to.

"At least at work I know who I am. Nobody there gets to rewrite that."

She studies me for a second, then nods slowly. "Okay. Then I'm taking you there."

"You don't have to."

"I know." She's already reaching for her shoes.

The office feels different the moment I walk through the doors, even though nothing about it has actually changed. Same glass walls, same hum of keyboards, same smell of coffee drifting from the break room.

Yet I catch the way a few heads turn as I pass, the way conversations dip lower, the way someone's eyes flick to their phone screen right after they see me. They know. Of course they know.

I keep my chin up and walk to my desk like nothing is wrong, because this is the one place I still know how to be strong. Numbers do not leave you standing at the altar. Deadlines do not lie to your face.

I sit down, open my laptop, and force myself to focus on the documents I never touched yesterday, grateful for something that makes sense.

The work is ordinary and demanding in the best way. Columns balance. Emails require clear replies. For almost forty minutes the rest of the world stays outside the screen.

Then my assistant appears at the edge of my desk, looking oddly nervous.

"Evelyn." She hesitates. "You've been asked to come upstairs."

"Upstairs?" I glance at my calendar. Nothing is scheduled. "For what?"

"Mr. Harper's office." She says it carefully, as if the words themselves might be dangerous. "He wants to see you. Personally."

I stare at her for a second, waiting for the rest of the sentence, the part where this makes sense. It does not come.

"The CEO wants to see me?"

She nods, already stepping back like she does not want to be part of whatever this is.

I glance down at my desk, at the documents I was just trying to lose myself in, and then back up toward the executive floor I have never once been personally summoned to.

Nathan Harper does not call people into his office without a reason, and I have never had a reason to meet with him without knowing what the meeting is about first.

He is the CEO of Harper Industries, and I am one of the executives who reports through the company's senior structure. Our conversations are usually brief, professional, and focused on work.

The rumors about Marcus and the new girl, the careful silence of my family, the way the entire office seems to know my private disaster, all of it suddenly feels small next to this single request.

I have no idea why the CEO of this entire company would want to see me the morning after the worst day of my life.