Don't Flatter Yourself

"I've made myself perfectly clear."

Evelyn's voice was cold, each word a deliberate strike. "Whatever existed between us is finished. How much longer do you intend to embarrass yourself by clinging to me?"

The finality in her tone sent a sharp, unexpected pain through Julian's chest.

A flicker of genuine panic lit in his eyes. Was she actually serious? Could it truly be over?

Isabella, observing from the side with a smug expression, let out a theatrical sigh. "Oh, Evelyn, really. Who are you trying to deceive? The entire city knows you've been obsessed with Julian for years. A love like that doesn't just vanish overnight."

Evelyn nearly laughed at the absurdity. How long would this woman persist with her pathetic performance? "Isabella, does this involve you in any way? It seems the slap I gave you last time wasn't memorable enough. Shall I provide a reminder?"

Her hand lifted, swift and decisive.

Isabella shrieked, stumbling backward, her face instantly pale. The phantom sting of the previous blow was still vivid. She had no desire to experience the real thing again.

Julian stared at Evelyn, barely recognizing the woman before him. His composure shattered. "Evelyn, stop this! Is this how you treat people? What has gotten into you?"

Their raised voices had attracted a crowd. Spectators gathered near the boutique entrance, whispers spreading, all eyes fixed on the unfolding scene.

Evelyn remained utterly indifferent to the audience. A scornful smirk touched her lips. "Perhaps I am unhinged. So what? Would you like a demonstration?"

Julian flinched, a cold dread shooting down his spine. He took an involuntary step back.

"Julian!" Isabella's voice quivered as she clutched his arm, her knuckles white.

Her frightened cry snapped Julian back to reality. He squared his shoulders, moving protectively in front of Isabella. "Evelyn, enough of this stubbornness. I understand you're still angry about what happened. We can discuss this privately at home. There's no need for a public spectacle."

His jaw tightened as he noted the growing number of onlookers. Public humiliation was his greatest fear. He lowered his voice, attempting a reasonable tone. "You're here purchasing men's clothing. If they aren't for me, then who could they possibly be for? Stop this nonsense. Let's go home."

Evelyn emitted a soft, derisive sound, one eyebrow arching elegantly. "Is it so impossible to believe I might be buying them for my husband?"

Julian blinked, stunned. Then, a slow, condescending smile spread across his face. "Precisely. I am your husband. Evelyn, whatever you're upset about, I promise to make it up to you. We'll have an even grander wedding."

Behind him, Isabella's fists clenched, her nails biting deep into her palms.

She seethed internally. This is just another one of her cheap tricks to get his attention.

Evelyn's lips curled into a mask of pure contempt. "Julian, don't flatter yourself. When did I ever say my husband was you?"

The smug certainty on Julian's face froze, replaced by a flicker of confusion.

Isabella recovered more quickly, letting out a sharp, disbelieving laugh. "Evelyn, are you actually claiming to be married? To someone else? You expect us to believe that?"

His expression hardened again, his gaze sweeping over her with arrogant assurance. "Everyone knows you could never belong to anyone else. You love me too much. The idea is ridiculous."