Chapter 142: Let Us Work
"Reopened her—? Damn it!"
"Please," the doctor said without looking up. "Step outside, Mr. Everest. Let us work."
He dragged a hand through his hair, exhaling a curse under his breath before stumbling backward toward the door.
In the hallway, the world felt too bright. Nurses rushed past; one of his security men stood at a respectful distance, pretending not to notice the silent fury on his face. Evans leaned against the wall, chest tight.
He pulled out his phone with trembling hands and hit the video call button. The screen lit up, showing his wife’s sleepy face. Her hair was tied up messily, her eyes soft but alert the moment she saw him.
"Evans? God, you look terrible."
He let out a shaky laugh. "Thanks, honey. I needed that."
"What happened?"
"Ivy," he said simply. "She... she’s not doing great. The doctor’s stitching her up again. I don’t even know how it happened." He swallowed hard, forcing the words past the lump in his throat.
"Breathe baby. Maybe come home for a bit."
He nodded. "I love you, Riri."
"I know."
The call ended, leaving him in the hallway. He pocketed his phone and exhaled hard.
*****
When Trish got home that night, her apartment felt wrong. She flicked on the light.
Then she saw the man sitting in her couch.
Her pulse spiked. Without thinking, she reached into her bag, fingers curling around the pepper spray.
"That won’t do you much good against a gun, Trish," Evans said calmly.
Her fingers froze around the pepper spray, and she noticed the weapon in his hand. The matte-black muzzle of the gun pointed straight at her, unshaking, unhurried. Her pulse slammed in her throat.
Trish’s eyes flicked up to his face, and recognition crashed through her. Evans Everest — the billionaire businessman. Winn Kane’s nemesis. Every gossip column had splashed their rivalry for years: the empire, the woman, the power plays. And here he was, sitting in her living room.
"What the hell—" she stammered, clutching her handbag tighter. "What do you even want with me?"
Evans leaned back on her couch, utterly at ease. The gun rested on his thigh now, still pointed in her direction. His eyes were sharp and cold.
"I have one question," he said. "One question only. What did you do to Ivy?"
"What?! What do you mean, what did I do to Ivy?" Her mind scrambled. "Did... Oh my God!" she gasped, hand flying to her mouth. "Something did happen to her, didn’t it?"
Evans studied her closely. His jaw tightened as he exhaled, lowering the gun.
"If Ivy says she trusts you," he said finally, "then that’s good enough for me." He stood, holstering the weapon beneath his blazer. The sudden movement made her flinch, and he frowned slightly. "I’m guessing you weren’t kidnapped either."
Trish blinked, her fear slowly shifting to confusion. "No! I wasn’t! Wait, are you telling me Ivy thought I was kidnapped?"
Evans nodded grimly. "She was trying to protect you. Turns out, they were using you to control her."
"God, Ivy..." She rubbed a trembling hand across her forehead.
"But I don’t understand," Trish said, her brows knitting together as confusion replaced the fading fear in her eyes. "What is she doing with you?"
Evans sighed, shoulders sagging slightly under the weight of everything he couldn’t explain. He moved to the window, glancing out through the blinds at the glistening city night. "Winn is having you followed," he said finally.
"He doesn’t believe you’ve been out of contact with Ivy. And you can’t tell anyone — not even him — that she reached out to you. Ivy is in critical condition. She was attacked and left for dead."
Trish staggered back a step, one hand flying to her mouth. "Oh my God...Ivy—no. She can’t be—she’s—she was just supposed to—"
"She was told you were kidnapped," Evans interrupted gently. "That’s why she did everything they asked. That’s why she’s fighting for her life right now."
Trish sank onto the edge of the couch, trembling. "I don’t understand any of this. Who would do that to her? She’s—she’s the sweetest person alive."
"You can’t tell anyone she’s alive. Her life’s still in danger. Whoever did this will finish the job if they know she survived."
Trish nodded, still reeling. "So... what now?"
"Go to Commissioned as usual tomorrow," Evans said. "Pretend nothing happened. I’ll have you picked up and brought to her."
She hesitated, studying him with new suspicion. "Why are you helping her?"
"Because she’s my niece."
Her mouth fell open. "Wait—what? Your niece? Ivy?"
Evans gave a faint, tired nod. He glanced back out the window just as a pair of headlights disappeared down the street — the tail Winn had put on Trish, finally gone. The tension in his jaw eased a little.
He adjusted his jacket. "Looks like your shadow’s gone," he murmured.
Evans paused at the threshold and turned slightly. "See you tomorrow, Trish. And don’t make me regret trusting you."
As the door clicked shut behind him, Trish sat frozen for a long moment, the reality of it all crashing over her in slow waves. Then she groaned softly, dragging a hand through her hair.
*****
When Trish finally made it to Angel Dove Hospital the next day, the world outside had already dimmed into black. Security at the private wing was tight.
Ivy lay on the bed, her skin pale against the white sheets. A tangle of IV lines feeding into her arm.
Trish pressed a trembling hand to her lips, her throat tightening as tears welled up. "Oh my God..." she whispered. The emotions hit all at once — shame, guilt, fear, disbelief. "Oh my Lord, Ivy..."
Her knees almost gave way as she sank into the chair beside the bed.
Evans sat quietly near the far edge of the room. He said nothing, only folded his arms and leaned back — close enough to catch every word, far enough to give the two women space.
"Hey, Trish." Ivy’s lips tried to form a smile.