As the grand doors swung open, maids stepped aside, allowing them to enter. The moment Evelyn stepped inside, her gaze landed on a young woman rushing toward them—Chloe Tyler, Carlos' sister.
"Big bro!" Chloe called out excitedly, but her enthusiasm faltered the moment she noticed Evelyn by his side. Her curious gaze turned sharp, scrutinizing Evelyn as if she were nothing more than an unwelcome intruder.
"Brother, who is this?" she asked, her voice laced with obvious disdain.
Carlos didn't hesitate. "My wife," he stated firmly, his fingers suddenly intertwining with Evelyn's.
Evelyn's breath hitched. Wife? She turned to him in shock, her heart skipping a beat at the unexpected gesture. Then, shifting her gaze back to Chloe, she immediately decided—she didn't like this girl.
"What? You what?" Chloe gaped, her voice rising in disbelief. "Are you out of your mind, brother?"
Evelyn bowed her head slightly before raising it again. "I'm Evelyn," she introduced herself, only to be met with a disgusted look from Chloe.
"When did you two even get married?" Chloe demanded, her voice dripping with indignation. "Even if you had to marry someone, it shouldn't be her."
Carlos took a step forward, his usual cold and terrifying aura settling over him like a dark cloud.
"Mind your words." His voice was dangerously low, every syllable deliberate. "You're talking about my wife."
A shiver visibly ran through Chloe as she paled. She might be arrogant, but even she knew when to step back.
Without another word, Carlos tightened his grip on Evelyn's hand and led her away.
They entered the living room, where the maids were busy setting up the dining table. As they walked, Evelyn noticed two people casting them sharp, disapproving glances. She frowned, feeling the unspoken hostility in the air.
Before she could dwell on it, a figure suddenly stepped in front of Carlos, forcing him to halt.
"Well, well, look who we have here." The man smirked, his tone dripping with mockery. "Didn't expect you to show up. You always turn down these family dinners."
Carlos barely spared him a glance, his expression cold as ice.
"Are you done talking?" he asked, his voice cutting like a blade.
Evelyn didn't miss the flicker of fear in the man's eyes. Though he quickly masked it, it was clear—Carlos' presence alone was enough to shake him.
Just as they were about to leave, a woman approached them. She was breathtaking—her smooth skin glowed under the soft lights, untouched by time. Draped in an elegant, expensive dress, she was adorned with jewelry that shimmered at her neck, wrists, and even in her perfectly styled hair. Though she was in her late forties, there wasn't a single wrinkle on her flawless face. She carried herself with a grace that spoke of power, wealth.
Evelyn expected him to stop, to at least acknowledge her, but he didn't. He walked past as if she were a stranger.
A sharp gasp cut through the air.
"Such an arrogant bastard. You can't even greet your own mother?"
"Leave him, Cole," the woman said, her tone laced with disdain. "Don't waste your breath. When has that bastard ever greeted me? I don't need his greetings. They only make me sick."
Evelyn's chest tightened. She turned to him, searching his face for something- anything---but all she found was a mask of indifference. What had happened between them to make a mother speak of her son with such bitterness?