The Mafia Lord's Secret Lover (Evelyn) novel Chapter 289

Chapter 289: Utterly Miserable

Evelyn bit her lower lip, fighting the rising tremble in her chin.

"I do not know what to do," she admitted, the truth spilling out before she could filter it. "I have wanted answers my whole life. But now that you are here, I am... blank. I do not know if I should meet the rest of the family or walk away. I do not know what I am supposed to feel."

Finley softened, leaning slightly forward. "Then do not decide anything yet." His tone was calm and reassuring. "For now, just breathe. We can figure this out together. You are not alone in this."

Her eyes glistened as she saw him.

Before Evelyn could gather her thoughts or decide what to say next, Finley spoke again, his voice steady but careful, as if afraid to push her too far.

"Tell me about your grandmother, your mother... and you."

The words landed heavily in the quiet room.

For a brief moment, Evelyn felt as though the air had been sucked from her lungs.

Her mind stalled, caught between memories and emotions she had never allowed herself to explore fully.

She lowered her gaze to the polished surface of the table, her fingers unconsciously twisting together as she searched for the right words to begin.

"I... never met my grandmother," she finally said. Her voice was calm, but her chest felt tight. "I only know her through pictures."

She paused, swallowing hard.

"And my mother..."

Evelyn inhaled deeply, forcing herself to steady her breathing as images of Madison Taylor surfaced in her mind. Warm smiles. Gentle hands. A familiar scent she could never reasonably describe but still remembered. The tightness in her chest worsened, but she pushed through it.

"Her name is Madison Taylor," she continued softly. "She died when I was six. Even though my memories of her are limited, I still remember her very clearly. Her voice. Her laugh. The way she brushed my hair before bed."

Finley’s expression changed instantly. The composed, controlled man she knew as a client softened, his eyes darkening with genuine sorrow. But he said nothing, he waited till she finished.

"And... about me," Evelyn said quietly, her voice trailing off as memories of life under William Walters’ roof pressed against her chest.

She had never claimed her childhood was utterly miserable.

There were moments of warmth, of laughter, of feeling safe. But those moments were scattered, fragile, and easily overshadowed by what was missing. Love. Or rather, the kind of love a child expects from a father.

"You know my father is William Walters, right?" she asked, lifting her eyes to Finley.

"Yes," Finley replied at once. There was no hesitation. A flicker of anger crossed his face, sharp and unmistakable.

’Of course he knows,’ Evelyn thought bitterly.

"My father never truly loved my mother," she continued. "Even when she was still alive, I don’t remember him being warm. He was distant. Critical. Always there, but never present."

Her fingers curled slightly on her lap.

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