When the ceremony ended, Evelyn didn’t search for Charles.
She had known for a while that he was gone.
While she had been taking her vows, she had caught a glimpse of him leaving from the corner of her eye, without even looking back.
But she wasn’t disappointed.
Not anymore.
The moment he had ordered her to step forward and fulfill the wedding, she had realized that he didn’t care about her.
Maybe he never had.
Perhaps she had simply held on to an illusion of fatherly love that had never truly existed.
And now that the illusion had shattered, she had no reason to keep questioning it.
Her father had denied her as his daughter.
So she would no longer consider herself his daughter either.
“You may now kiss the bride.”
The officiant’s voice broke through her thoughts.
Evelyn frowned immediately.
She turned toward him, but before she could say anything, she felt Damian step into her personal space.
Her brows furrowed deeper.
She instinctively took a step back.
But this time, Damian didn’t allow her the distance.
He stepped forward, his arm snaking around her waist and pulling her against him.
“What are you doing, Damian?” she demanded, struggling against his hold.
“We’ve already been pronounced husband and wife, but that doesn’t change anything between us.”
Her voice hardened.
“You’re the betrayer, and I’m the one who was betrayed.
Death doesn’t have to step in to do us part.
We’re already apart, even with these sacred vows between us.”
She tried to pull herself free.
“So there’s no need to take this farce of a ceremony any further.”
Damian smirked with amusement.
How could he not be amused?
She was already in his arms, struggling against him, yet she still believed she could dictate what happened next.
It was almost amusing.
“Honey, you’ve misunderstood again.” His voice was calm, almost teasing.
“I lied to you.
Yes.”
His gaze held hers.
“I betrayed your trust.
Yes.”
His arm tightened slightly around her waist.
“But this marriage has never been a farce.”
His eyes darkened.
“We are husband and wife.
That is real.” He paused.
“So if we’re going to be husband and wife, then we finish everything as we’re supposed to.”
His gaze dropped to her lips.
“Even…” His free hand reached up, his fingers tilting her chin toward him.
“…the kiss.”
Before Evelyn could argue, his lips crashed against hers.
It wasn’t gentle.
It wasn’t tender.
It was claiming.
Damian wanted her to understand that she didn’t get to set the terms between them.
He did.
He wanted her to understand who held the power now.
Hadn’t she always been Charles’s favored daughter?
If Damian made her suffer, surely Charles would feel it.
That was the point.
The kiss was meant to be another reminder that he was in control.
But the moment their lips met, something inside Damian shifted.
He had wanted her to feel the scorch of everything he carried within him.
Instead, he was the one burning.
Her lips were soft against his.
Far too soft.
The way they moved against his made something twist painfully inside him, and for a moment, he felt his control slipping.
His emotions were breaking through the walls he had spent years building.
The more they slipped, the harder he fought to pull himself back.
To regain control.
To remember why he had come here.
Why he had taken her …
Why he had married her …
Evelyn, meanwhile, fought against him.
She tried to push him away, but against his strength, escaping his hold felt nearly impossible.
A tear slipped from the corner of her eye.
It rolled silently down her cheek before falling onto Damian’s hand.
The drop was warm.
And somehow, … it carried the weight of all her pain.
The moment it touched his skin, Damian froze.
His strength faltered.
His hold loosened.
So suddenly that the woman who had been unable to move even an inch managed to push herself away from him.
Evelyn glared at him.
And Damian stared back.
For a moment, neither of them moved.
A flicker of confusion passed through his eyes —a confusion that seemed to affect him more deeply than anything else ever had.
Another tear slipped down Evelyn’s cheek.
Damian’s fingers curled into fists.
His brows drew together.
He looked away.
“The wedding is done.
Let’s leave.”
The command was meant for his men.
And immediately, they moved.
One by one, the men began leaving the hall.
Xavier followed Damian as well.
Evelyn remained behind.
She closed her eyes.
She heard the steady footsteps fading into the distance, growing quieter and quieter until, eventually, there was nothing left.
No footsteps.
No voices.
No one.
She didn’t need to open her eyes; she already knew.
Everyone had left.
And she was alone.
Alone with the misery she had brought upon herself.
As the weight of everything that had happened that night finally came crashing down on her, the sobs she had held back for so long slowly broke free.
But there was no one left to console her.
And perhaps, from this moment onward, there never would be.
Seconds turned into minutes; Evelyn remained slumped on the stage, crying.
From a distance, Damian watched her.
He didn’t move toward her —neither to comfort her nor to tell her that crying wouldn’t change anything.
He simply stood there and watched as she trembled beneath the weight of the pain he had caused her.
The sight should have satisfied him.
This was what he had wanted.
He wanted her to suffer.
He wanted Charles Beaumont to suffer through her.
Yet watching her break apart like this didn’t bring him the satisfaction he had expected.
Instead, it made him feel suffocated …restless.
His gaze darkened.
His fingers dug into the wall beside him, the pressure increasing as though his bare hand might shatter the surface at any moment.
“Sir, it’s time.
Shall we go in?” Xavier’s voice came from behind him —calm and quiet.
He had been standing there the entire time, but he hadn’t said a word until now.
Damian glanced toward Evelyn one last time.
She was still curled in on herself, completely unaware that he was watching her.
He turned away.
“Let’s go.”
He started walking.
For a second, Xavier remained where he was, watching his retreating figure.
Then he glanced back toward the hall.
Toward the woman Damian had just married.
Assuming he would need to ask someone to escort her to the car, Xavier was about to call one of the men over when Damian’s voice suddenly stopped him.
“Escort her out after fifteen minutes.
I have a call and don’t want to be disturbed.”
Xavier raised a brow.
A call?
He had been managing Damian’s schedule and appointments for years.
Would he not know whether his boss had an important call scheduled?
Still, he said nothing.
He simply inclined his head.
“Understood, sir.
I’ll have someone escort her once she’s ready.”
Damian glanced back at him sharply.
Xavier met his gaze with a perfectly polite smile —the kind that suited his professional demeanor far too well.
For a moment, neither spoke.
In the end, Damian said nothing.
He simply turned and walked away.
Xavier watched his retreating silhouette for a moment before his smile deepened faintly.
He knew his boss.
Perhaps better than most.
And he knew exactly how strictly Damian kept his schedule.
There had been no call.
Not one.
Xavier glanced back toward the main hall.
Evelyn was still sitting alone on the stage, her body curled inward as though she were trying to make herself disappear.
His expression softened.
Then, slowly, understanding flickered in his eyes.
The understanding that wasn’t very much visible on the surface now, but soon it would be.