Chapter 2

Matthew was always considerate towards Evelyn, spending most of his time by her side, but social obligations still pulled him away, leaving her alone at times.

Just like now, Evelyn, looking totally drained, was curled up on a sofa in the corner, nursing a glass of milk. A few women hovered nearby, whispering just loud enough for her to catch every catty word.

"Is that Mrs. Stone? Why is she wearing sunglasses at night?"

"Because she's blind. They say she has prosthetic eyes. Someone accidentally knocked her glasses off once—it was horrifying."

"Really? That must be so ugly. Poor Mr. Stone, having to stay with such a... creature."

"I know, right? Mr. Stone is insanely handsome—way hotter than any movie star. Such a shame he's stuck with her."

"Honestly, I bet Mr. Stone's gonna ditch her sooner or later. Isn't Ms. Chandler from the Chandler Group chasing after him? The paparazzi snapped them together a couple of days ago. The story got scrubbed, but everyone in our circle knows about it."

"Mr. Stone actually had dinner with MS. Chandler—if that's not a sign, I don't know what is."

They laughed and gossiped, and Evelyn heard every word, loud and clear.

This wasn't the first time. Ever since Matthew took over the Linwood Group, Evelyn had faced scenes like this plenty of times.

The Linwood family was neck-deep in the underworld, and whenever someone dared to talk trash about her, Evelyn would make sure those women paid for their loose tongues.

But Matthew always stepped in before things got out of hand, never letting her go too far.

Over time, the schemers just got more and more brazen.

And Evelyn's days grew more miserable by the minute.

She'd cried, she'd thrown fits, but Matthew always hit her with the same old line. "We're trying to clean up our act right now. Blow off steam if you have to, but you can't go around maiming or killing people. Come on, be a good girl."

Evelyn couldn't take it. She'd gotten used to Matthew spoiling her without limits—there was no way she was going to just sit back and take it.

But Matthew stopped indulging her. Instead, he started icing her out.

He stopped coming home regularly, stopped reaching out to her at all.

If he wanted, he could disappear from her world completely.

For Evelyn, who relied on him for everything, it was pure devastation.

She barely made it three days before she started hurting herself, trying to force Matthew to come back to her.

She'd slash her own skin with a knife, down antibiotics with liquor, and bang her head against the wall again and again.

After enough times, Evelyn's body was falling apart, but it was like she'd gotten addicted—hurting herself became her go-to way of demanding love from Matthew.

Watching from the sidelines, I always felt like Matthew was doing it on purpose. He'd freeze her out, then reel her back in, treating Evelyn like he was housebreaking a pet.

Honestly, as long as she was miserable, it was like her pain was his entertainment.

Of course, that was just me speculating—Matthew kept his thoughts locked up tight.

Even when he was by himself, he never dropped the mask he wore for everyone else—not a single stray emotion or look out of place.

Suddenly, Evelyn chucked her glass of milk at those women talking trash.

One of them didn't dodge fast enough—the glass nailed her in the back of the head, and she yelped in pain.

Instantly, everyone in the room turned to stare.

Evelyn stumbled toward them, shouting, "You little bitches! Running your mouths right in front of me? I'll rip your mouths to shreds!"

But at the end of the day, she was blind. One of the women pretended to stretch her leg out casually, and Evelyn tripped hard.

Her hand slammed down onto the shattered glass, cutting it open until blood and flesh mixed together.

Someone snickered, and then mocking laughter rippled through the crowd, surrounding Evelyn with ridicule.

"She's just a blind girl, and she thinks she can fight?"

"If Mr. Stone wasn't protecting her, she'd be out begging on the streets. She's so ugly, nobody would want her—even if she tried to sell herself."

"She really is shameless, still clinging to Mr. Stone like her life depends on it. If I were her, I would've offed myself ages ago—just dragging yourself through life like this is pathetic."

The jeers kept piling on. Evelyn clamped her hands over her ears, desperate to block it out, and started shrieking, "Matthew! Matthew!"

There was a time when Matthew was her guardian angel—whenever she called his name, he'd appear out of nowhere, always there to help, to comfort, to shield her from the world.

But now, no matter how raw her voice got from screaming, Matthew never showed up.

Did Matthew really not hear her calling? Of course he did.

He was up on the second floor, leaning against the railing, tucked away in a spot where he could see everything happening in the banquet hall, but no one could see him.

He just watched as Evelyn got hurt, broke down, and screamed, idly swirling his wine glass in his hand.

His gaze was like a bottomless lake—impossible to tell if the glint in his eyes was anger or amusement. Matthew just stood there, composed and calculating, master of the whole scene.

Finally, Evelyn snapped—she went straight for the nuclear option: hurting herself.

She grabbed a shard of broken glass from the floor and started cutting into her own arm, over and over.

Gasps erupted all around as her blood mingled with the crimson fabric of her gown.

Evelyn let out a crazed laugh. "Matthew! Get out of here! If you don't, I'll make you regret it!"

But as the seconds dragged on, Matthew still didn't come.

Evelyn went off the deep end. Maybe she figured she hadn't gone far enough with the self-harm, and that was why Matthew was still a no-show.

She went full psycho, biting and tearing at her own fingernails right there in front of everyone.

Just like that, she yanked them out with her teeth, laughing in wild, desperate hysteria, blood all over her face and hands.

I watched from the shadows, and I couldn't help but shudder deep inside.

Because if anyone knew that kind of agony, it was me—I'd lived through it myself.

Back then, when Evelyn wanted to force me to talk about my undercover team, she had her men rip off all ten of my fingernails with pliers. The pain was so intense that I blacked out on the spot. But Evelyn wasn't done—she used even more brutal methods to drag me back to consciousness, just so she could keep torturing and interrogating me.