Chapter 55

A sardonic smile curled Evelyn's lips as she studied the design request. Every corner of that cursed mansion had been meticulously curated with her soul poured into each detail, only for Nathaniel to discard her efforts like yesterday's trash. Now they had the audacity to ask her to redecorate it for him and his precious Victoria?

This was beyond insulting.

Clearly, they wouldn't stop until they'd stripped her of every last shred of dignity. If retreating only invited further humiliation, then confrontation was her only option.

Let them play their games. She'd match them move for move.

Her fingers dialed the number with icy precision. Robert's nervous greeting crackled through the line. "Mrs. Whitmore, I—"

"Spare me the formalities," Evelyn cut in. "We both know who placed this order. I'll take the job—at ten times my usual rate."

Robert swallowed audibly. "I'll need to consult Mr. Whitmore."

The line went dead. Across town, Robert rushed into Nathaniel's office, adjusting his tie. "Sir, Mrs. Whitmore demands a million dollars for the redesign."

Nathaniel's fountain pen stilled mid-signature. "A million?" His laugh held no warmth. "Does she think herself worth that sum?"

"We've burned through half that amount already with five incompetent designers," Robert ventured carefully. "At least we know her work meets your... exacting standards."

Nathaniel's gaze turned arctic. "You presume to know what pleases me?"

Robert wisely fell silent. After a weighted pause, Nathaniel waved a dismissive hand. "Pay the deposit. But remind her I won't release final payment unless satisfied."

Evelyn's phone chimed moments later. She pocketed the $200,000 deposit with grim satisfaction. Let the games begin.

The pharmacy stop was necessary—folic acid supplies dwindling. As she swapped vitamin labels with practiced ease, Evelyn's reflection stared back from the mirrored shelves. Not long now until freedom.

The Whitmore estate loomed like a gilded cage as her cab approached. Abigail's surprised gasp echoed through the foyer. "Mrs. Whitmore! You're—"

"Here on business." Evelyn swept past, her designer heels clicking against marble. The once-harmonious interiors now resembled a tasteless auction house. She fingered the garish new drapes. "Whose tragic idea was this?"

Abigail shifted uncomfortably. "Gregory acted on Ms. Sinclair's instructions."

Evelyn's laughter held knives. "How fitting. Out with the old, in with the new."

"Mr. Whitmore discharged Gregory immediately," Abigail blurted. "He was... displeased."

Evelyn's brows arched. Firing Beatrice's prized lackey? Nathaniel's obsessive perfectionism truly knew no bounds.

"Take inventory of all changes," Evelyn instructed, pulling out her tablet. "You'll assist with contractor coordination."

Abigail hesitated. "Won't you inspect the upstairs?"

Evelyn's grip tightened on her stylus. "Unnecessary."

Some ghosts were better left undisturbed.