Soren had never wanted this marriage in the first ce. There <b>hadn’t </b><b>even </b><b>been </b>a wedding, let alone wedding rings.
For a while after they got married, things between her and Soren <b>had </b><b>softened </b><b>a </b>little. She’d tried to bring up the topic of rings, hinting here and there, <b>but </b>Soren always pretended not to hear, skillfully steering the conversation elsewhere.
He’d given her plenty of jewelry over the years–nes, bracelets, earrings–everything except a ring.
Evangeline fell silent for a moment, ignoring the questions about Soren. She simply held the ring tightly, her voice barely above a whisper. “This belonged to my mother. It’s all I have left of her.”
Finn watched as her eyes grew distant, sadness flickering in their depths. He blurted out, almost without thinking, “Your mom must have been a wonderful person. She raised you to be kind and beautiful. If she could see you up on this stage today, achieving so much, I’m sure she’d be incredibly proud.”
Something about Finn’s words soothed Evangeline. Her anxiety faded, reced by an unexpected sense of calm.
He was right.
If her mother were still alive, she’d want Evangeline to be brave–to stand tall in front of the world and never shrink away.
Back when her mother was in charge of the Whitmore family, there was plenty of gossip and rumor swirling around, but her mother never paid it any mind. She simply stayed true to herself and did what she believed was right.
Thinking of this, the tension and fear gripping Evangeline’s heart melted away.
“Thank you, Finn,” she said, managing a small smile.
Finn arched an eyebrow. “You’ve already thanked me once.”
He gave the camera in his hand a little shake. “Go on. It’s your moment.”
Evangeline stood and strode toward the door.
Backstage at the press conference was utter chaos. As soon as she appeared, a swarm of people rushed up to her–touching up her makeup, checking her mic, making sure everything was in ce.
2001
<b>Glenn’s </b><b>face </b><b>was </b><b>taut</b><b>, </b><b>all </b><b>earlier </b><b>ease </b><b>reced </b><b>by </b><b>a </b><b>look </b><b>of </b><b>anxious </b>tensio
<b>He </b><b>told </b><b>Evangeline </b>not to be nervous<b>, </b>but honestly, <b>he </b><b>looked </b><b>like </b><b>he </b>was the one <b>about </b>to fall apart.
Evangeline’s mind shed back to a few years ago, when she and Glenn <b>had </b><b>stood </b>outside an investment firm, squeezing each other’s hands for <b>courage </b><b>just </b><b>before </b><b>a </b>big pitch.
By the time she was ready to go inside, her palm was slick with sweat<b>–</b><b>she </b><b>wasn’t </b>even sure if it was hers or Glenn’s.
But Glenn’s reputation had grown overseas these past years. She’d seen <b>him </b><b>at </b>events like this, always confident and unppable. So why did he look so <b>rattled </b>today?
She barely had time to think about it. Glenn’s nerves were contagious, and soon enough, Evangeline felt her own heart racing.
Oddly, though, she didn’t mind the feeling. It was a reminder that they were in this together.
She found herselfforting Glenn before finally heading toward the lift that would take her to the stage.
Glenn started to call after her, maybe to give her a few morest–minute
instructions, but then his eyes caught the diamond ring on her finger. He paused, visibly startled.
The press conference was drawing a massive audience, both in–person and online.
Flora had wanted to be there herself, but her sses conflicted with the event, and ever sincest time, Helena Carlisle had forbidden her from going out alone. With no other choice, Flora clutched her phone, glued to the livestream.
Comments scrolled by in a neverending stream.
Someone posted, “I want to see who this woman is. UME put her front and center for such a hugeunch–if she screws up, I’m never buying their products again.”
Others quickly chimed in.
“If Glenn’s really willing to risk thepany’s name for his love life, I’m done supporting him.”
“Same here. I’m out.”
On and on it went.
<b>2001 </b>
<b>Then </b><b>a </b><b>user </b><b>called Wallflower </b><b>shapped</b><b>, </b><b>“</b><b>You’re </b>all trashing her and <b>even </b><b>seen </b><b>the </b><b>product</b><b>? </b><b>Glenn’s </b><b>the </b><b>founder</b>, not a <b>pop </b><b>star</b>. He’s allowed to fit <b>girlfriend</b>. <b>If </b>you hate <b>it </b><b>so </b>much<b>, </b><b>leave</b><b>–</b>UME <b>would </b><b>be </b><b>better </b><b>off </b><b>without </b>you
Flora ignored thements. She didn’t care about the <b>product</b>, <b>not </b><b>really</b>. What she wanted to know was who Glenn’s rumored girlfriend actually was <b>what </b><b>kind </b><b>of </b>woman could she be?
Eventually, Flora made peace with it. Glenn was an adult. Having <b>a </b><b>girlfriend </b><b>was </b>normal. Besides, a girlfriend wasn’t a wife–she still had a chance.
After all, her brother and Poppy used to be inseparable, and then, <b>out </b>of <b>nowhere</b><b>, </b>Evangeline had appeared and married her brother instead.
Lost in thought, Flora suddenly noticed the lift on the livestream rising slowly <b>to </b><b>the </b>
stage.
A hundred spotlights converged on the center.
She stared, eyes wide, as the figure emerged.
Evangeline?
How could it possibly be her?
<b>20:01 </b>