The Hidden Empress Stripping Her Secrets After Divorce novel Chapter 22

"Evelyn," her grandfather's voice pulled her back to reality, "if you really don't want to do this, I won't force you. It's just... I probably don't have many years left, and when I'm gone, I won't be able to face our ancestors..."

She had clutched her phone, standing alone in a room in a foreign country.

A flood of memories rushed through her mind—her grandmother stroking her hair, whispering, "Evelyn, you have to live for yourself."

And then... there was the Swiss bank account. The millions sitting in it were more than enough to save the Sullivan family several times over.

But...

"Grandpa," she finally said, "I'll do it."

On the other end of the line, her grandfather had broken down in tears.

"Evelyn, I'm so sorry... I'm so sorry..."

"Please, stop," she had murmured. "I'll fly back next week."

Three years ago.

Time had flown by so fast.

"Evelyn?" Arthur's voice yanked her completely out of the memory. "Are you still there?"

"I'm here." Evelyn wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. "I'm listening, Grandpa."

"I support the divorce," Arthur told her. "Whatever you need me to do, just say the word."

"There's no need, Grandpa," she replied. "I can handle it myself."

"You always do this." He sighed heavily. "Carrying everything on your own shoulders."

"I'm fine." Evelyn tried to force some lightness into her tone. "Really."

Another beat of silence passed between them.

"Evelyn," he said, "once the divorce is finalized... what are your plans?"

"I'm going to San Francisco," she said. "That's my first stop."

"San Francisco..." Arthur paused. "That's good. A change of scenery, a fresh start. I have some old friends out there. If you need anything—"

"No need, Grandpa," she interrupted gently. "I want to do this on my own."

"You child..." He sounded resigned but fond. "You're just as stubborn as your grandmother."

Evelyn smiled softly. "I'll take that as a compliment."

After chatting for a few more minutes, Evelyn hung up.

She walked back inside and sat down in the wicker chair her grandmother used to favor.

The moonlight poured through the window, casting a mottled shadow across the floorboards.

Her phone vibrated again. This time, it was a message from Penelope Lancaster:

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