Chapter 4
Isabella was declared out of danger a week later.
To make up for Evelyn’s “mistake,” Frederick canceled all engagements and stayed at the hospital, tending to
Isabella.
But whenever the nights grew quiet, his mind kept returning to Evelyn’s deathly pale face that day.
His phone, too, remained unusually silent. The old Evelyn would have torn his world apart by now.
Lost in thought, he felt a gentle tug at his sleeve. Isabella looked up at him weakly. “Frederick, are you still
upset with Evelyn?”
Her voice snapped him back. Suppressing a flicker of unease, he answered coldly, “Don’t mention her.”
Just then, his private phone rang. He answered immediately.
“Hello, is this Mr. Frederick Sterling?”
Hearing a stranger’s voice, Frederick frowned, tone hardening. “Who is this?”
“This is Serenity Memorial Chapel. Your wife passed away at home from complications of brain cancer. We
need you to come identify the remains.”
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Frederick froze for a beat, then let out a cold, disbelieving laugh as if hearing the world’s worst joke.
“A funeral home? To escape blame, Evelyn even bribed a place this grim?”
His shout echoed down the sterile hallway, sharp and ugly. “Tell Evelyn to come find me when she’s actually
dead! This fake-death act only makes me despise her more!”
“Sir, show respect for the deceased,” the voice replied flatly. “The body arrived with no vital signs. Time of death: six days ago, late at night. Unclaimed after twenty-four hours, she’ll be processed as a Jane Doe.”
The line clicked off.
Frederick stood motionless. His phone slipped from his hand and hit the floor near his feet with a dull thud.
Six days ago. Late at night.
The exact time he had hung up on her last call.
He didn’t remember driving to Serenity Memorial Chapel. He ran every red light, his mind looping one frantic
thought, Evelyn is lying. She’s always acting. When I get there, she’ll jump up and laugh at how panicked I
look.
But when he stood before the cold metal gurney and watched the attendant slowly pull back the white
sheet,every lie he told himself shattered.
Beneath the cloth, the woman was little more than bones draped in skin. Her face, once stubborn and sharp
with the urge to control him, now lay gray and wasted like discarded paper.
Frederick’s hand trembled as he reached for hers. “Evelyn?” His voice was small, afraid to wake her. “Stop
playing. Get up.”
As he moved her limp hand, the wedding band-cheap, something he’d tossed at her carelessly during their
rushed ceremony,slipped from her emaciated finger.
It hit the floor with a faint clink and rolled to his shoe.
Muscle atrophy after death had made it too loose to stay on.
“Frederick Sterling! How dare you show your face!”
A raw, grief-torn scream cut through the room. Beatrice stormed in supported by an aide, clutching crumpled
papers. She hurled them at his face.
“Look! Look what you’ve done!”
Mechanically, he gathered the pages.
First: a terminal glioblastoma diagnosis, dated months ago.
