Chapter 18

Evangelina

I leave the church in a rush, my footsteps quick and unsteady as I make my way across town to Greer’s for Sunday brunch. The early afternoon sun beats down on me, but my mind is elsewhere, a whirlwind of confusion. My head’s a mess—thoughts tangled with guilt, desire, and uncertainty.

Who am I to cause the downfall and destruction of one man? The weight of it all presses down on me, suffocating in its intensity. I can’t deal with the storm of emotions swirling inside me.

Because when Benedict kisses me, there’s something undeniable between us. Something electric. It’s like a spark ignites the moment our lips touch, and it sends a shiver through my entire body. For a brief second, it feels like we could have something real, something lasting—maybe even forever. But that’s silly talk. It’s just a fantasy, a fleeting hope that has no place in reality. I need to remember he’s unattainable, out of reach in ways that matter most.

I pull into Greer’s driveway, grateful for the reprieve. The sight of her gorgeous home, with its overgrown flower beds and white picket fence, offers a sense of comfort. Today, I don’t have to think about the church or the priest who leads it. I can shut off my brain for a few hours and just be.

Before I can even knock, the door swings open. “Hi,” Greer says with a warm smile, her brown hair catching the light as she leans against the doorframe.

“Hi,” I reply, managing a small smile in return.

“I’m so glad you could make it.” She wraps me in a tight hug, her familiar scent of lavender and honey wrapping around me as she steps aside to let me in. The house smells of freshly baked cinnamon rolls and coffee, instantly calming me.

“You look amazing,” I tell her, noticing a radiant glow about her that I hadn’t seen before.

She grins and pats her stomach. “I’m pregnant.”

My eyes widen, and my grin grows as the news sinks in. “Oh wow.” Without hesitation, I pull her into another hug, holding her a little tighter this time. “Congratulations! That’s incredible.”

“Thanks,” she beams, her happiness contagious. “I’ve been dying to tell you. Come on, let’s sit and catch up.”

As I follow her inside, I finally feel some of the tension in my chest release. For now, I can set aside the turmoil of the morning and bask in Greer’s joy.

“You’ve been busy,” Greer says, leading me into her bright, sunlit kitchen. The smell of freshly brewed coffee fills the air, and the countertops are covered in trays of cinnamon rolls and fruit. Everything about her space feels warm and inviting.

“I have been,” I reply with a small smile, though I’m careful not to let too much slip. I don’t want to bog her down with news of the new job or the impossible assignment Father Carmichael has thrust upon me. Talking about Benedict feels dangerous, like if I open that door, someone might see right through me. Right to my heart, where all the feelings I’ve been trying to suppress are hiding. If anyone, even Greer, detects them, I’d be exposed.

“How’s everything going with your son?” she asks, concern softening her voice just as Roman and Ledger walk into the kitchen. Roman flashes me a warm smile, his arm already protectively around Greer’s waist, while Ledger trails behind with a knowing look, as if he’s always one step ahead.

I greet both of them quickly, congratulating Roman on the pregnancy before I settle back into the conversation. “It’s been an uphill battle, that’s for sure,” I admit with a sigh. “But I’m saving every penny I can. Hopefully, soon I’ll be able to start shopping around for a new lawyer.”

Greer’s eyes light up with that signature warmth, her smile reassuring. “Let me know when I can help. I’ve got a list of a few names for you, and I know some of them could make a real difference.”

“Thank you,” I say, my voice filled with gratitude. “I really appreciate it.”

Before we can dive any deeper, there’s a knock at the door. The sound echoes through the house, pulling us all from the conversation.

“That’ll be my brother,” Greer says, her eyes sparkling with excitement as she hurries toward the front of the house, her anticipation almost contagious.

Devereaux. He always has a larger-than-life presence, and as soon as he steps through the door, it’s clear nothing has changed. He’s dressed in his usual effortlessly cool style—a leather jacket slung over his broad shoulders, jeans that seem tailored just for him, and an aura of control that commands attention without him having to say a word. In his hand, he’s carrying an infant car seat, his son, Devereaux Jr., nestled inside, sound asleep under a soft, blue blanket.

Greer immediately wraps her arms around him, pulling him into a warm hug. “Where’s Chloe?” she asks, glancing around, expecting to see his other half following behind.

Devereaux's face hardens slightly, his jaw tightening. “She’s at the station. There’s been a murder downtown,” he says, his voice low but steady, the weight of the words hanging in the air.

The kitchen falls silent, the lighthearted mood shattered by the unexpected news. I feel the tension creep up my spine, a cold shock settling over the room as we all process what he just said.

“A murder?” Greer asks, her voice barely above a whisper, disbelief clouding her expression.

“Who?” Ledger steps forward, his arms crossed, eyes narrowing as he studies his brother.

“Gregory Saunders,” Devereaux replies, setting the infant seat gently on the floor and glancing at us. “Never heard of him before today, but apparently, he’s some high-profile accountant tied to the Delgados—or so the word at the station says.”

A murmur of recognition ripples through the room. Posey, who had quietly entered the kitchen moments earlier, nods, her usually soft features tightening with memory. “I remember him. Bane used to meet with him all the time.” She walks toward the counter, her arms crossed over her chest, a hint of unease in her voice.

My mind races as I glance between them, the pieces slowly clicking together. The Delgados. The name alone drips with power and danger—everyone in town knows to tread carefully around them.

I need to talk to Benedict. His voice echoes in my mind, the way he had casually mentioned the name to me just hours ago, as if it were nothing more than a passing thought. Now, Gregory Saunders is dead, and the coincidence sends a shiver down my spine.

Panic swells in my chest as I try desperately to remember where I’ve heard the name before. My mind is a fog, racing through fragments of conversations, faces, and memories, but nothing clicks fast enough. My heart pounds louder with each second as I grab my phone, fingers trembling as I type "Gregory Saunders" into the search bar.

The screen flashes, loading images of a brown-haired man, his eyes sharp behind wire-rimmed glasses. He’s impeccably dressed in every picture, the kind of man who wears tailored suits as effortlessly as most people wear jeans. My breath catches in my throat, and my fingers freeze over the screen as recognition slams into me.

Yes. I remember him.

The room spins as memories flood back—dinners with my ex-husband, business meetings where Saunders’ name was mentioned in passing. He wasn’t just some random accountant; he worked for my ex-husband. I’d seen him before, sitting across from us at sleek restaurant tables, quietly discussing numbers and contracts over expensive wine. I can picture his reserved demeanor, the way he always kept his cards close, his loyalty to my ex unquestionable.

The realization hits like a punch to the gut. My ex-husband, Benedict, the church, and now this murder—it’s all connected. But how? Why now?

I swallow hard, my thoughts a jumbled mess of fear and confusion. This is bigger than I realized, and suddenly, I’m in over my head.