Chapter -8

Ian's Pov

The next day at work, I found myself staring blankly at the sky between tasks, my mind lost in an endless loop of unanswered questions.

Why did she do it? Why did Evelyn take her own life? Was Lucas not good enough for her? …Was I not good enough?

I tapped my pen restlessly against the desk, the rhythmic sound blending with the hum of office chatter. My phone buzzed, snapping me out of my thoughts.

It was Lily.

"Sir, I've sent you a mail… please check it, sir. It's urgent. I can't keep walking back and forth to you, the meeting room, and everything else."

I exhaled sharply. Right. Work.

"Okay, I'm checking it," I muttered, pulling up my inbox.

But there was nothing. No new mail.

I frowned and called her back.

"There isn't any mail, Lily. Send it again."

She let out an exasperated breath before snapping, "Just because I took prints of your mails before doesn't mean you forget your own email ID! Log in to your other account, take a print, and sign it. I'll come get the paper in twenty minutes."

Before I could respond, the call ended.

I blinked at the screen. Wait… I have another mail ID?

It took me fifteen frustrating minutes to go through the verification process. As soon as I logged in, my inbox flooded with unread emails, the notifications stacking up one after another.

A headache crept up my temples as I rubbed my forehead.

How the hell am I supposed to know which mail I need to print?

I sighed and began scrolling.

Then I saw it.

My breath hitched, my fingers freezing over the mouse.

A mail. From Evelyn.

My chest tightened painfully. My hands shook as I hovered over it, my pulse hammering against my ribs.

This… this was sent three days before her death.

Why? Why would she email me? And why on my work email of all places?

A wave of dread washed over me, cold and suffocating.

I swallowed hard, forcing myself to gather the courage I wasn't sure I had.

And then, I clicked it open.

As the email opened, my vision blurred for a second. My fingers felt numb against the mouse, my breath shallow. The weight in my chest pressed harder. I didn't know if it was grief, regret, or something darker—something closer to anger.

Why did she write to me? After all these years?

My hands trembled as I forced myself to read.

Subject: I'm sorry, Ian.

Dear Ian,

I know I have no right to write this to you. But before I leave, I need to say it.

You were always so kind to me. So patient. I wonder… did I deserve that? Maybe not. But you gave it anyway. And I took it—without thinking, without realizing what it meant to you. Maybe that was selfish of me. Maybe I hurt you more than I ever intended.

But I never lied to you, Ian. Not once. I only did what I had to. You were strong. You always were. And you had so much love to give. More than I could ever return. Maybe in another life, things would have been different.

I don't expect you to forgive me. I just hope you remember me kindly.

Be happy, Ian.

Evelyn

My jaw clenched as I stared at the words.

She never lied?

My fingers curled into a fist, nails digging into my palm. I could almost hear her voice in my head, soft and distant, like she was the victim in all of this. Like she hadn't torn me apart and walked away.

She wanted me to remember her kindly.

How convenient.

I leaned back in my chair, my throat tight, my breath uneven. A bitter laugh slipped past my lips, hollow and dry.

After all these years, even in death… Evelyn Winslow still knew how to hurt me. 

My vision blurred as I stared at the screen. The words felt like a noose tightening around my throat, suffocating me under the weight of everything I had buried for years. My chest ached, a deep, hollow pain spreading through me.

"You were strong."

Then why am I feeling weak now?

A sharp, broken sob tore from my throat before I could stop it. My hands clutched at my face, desperate to contain the wreckage inside me, but the dam had already burst. I hated this. I hated how she still had this power over me, how even in death, she could reach into my chest and twist my heart until it bled.

Tears spilled down my cheeks, hot and relentless. I bit down on my lip, trying to muffle the sound, but the office walls felt too small, the air too heavy. I was drowning.

Then the door clicked open.

"Sir, I—" Lily's voice cut off abruptly.

I didn't look up. I didn't have the strength. My shoulders shook violently, my hands gripping my hair, trying to hold myself together.

A beat of silence.

Then, the sound of soft footsteps.

I flinched slightly when I felt her presence beside me, her voice quieter now. "Mr. Sinclair?"

I forced out a breath, trying to pull myself together, but I knew I looked pathetic. Weak. The way I swore I'd never be again.

"Did… something happen?" Lily's voice had lost its usual sharpness. It was still firm, but there was something else—concern.

I swallowed, but my throat felt raw. I didn't answer. Couldn't.

A moment later, she sighed, and I heard the rustling of fabric before I felt warmth beside me. Lily had sat down, not too close, but not far either.

"You're crying over a woman, aren't you?" Her voice held no judgment, just a resigned sort of understanding.

I let out a hollow chuckle, but it barely even sounded like one. "What gave it away?" My voice was hoarse, broken.

She didn't answer immediately. Instead, she reached into her pocket, pulled out a tissue, and shoved it into my hand. "Wipe your face, Mr. Sinclair. You look miserable."

A shaky breath left me.

For some reason, the way she said it—so bluntly, so unaffected—made me laugh, just a little. A cracked, uneven sound.

Lily sighed. "You men are so dramatic. One heartbreak, and the world ends for you."

I swallowed hard, my fingers tightening around the tissue. "She died." My voice barely made it past my lips.

That shut her up.

I heard her shift beside me, and then, in a voice much softer than before, she asked, "Was she important?"

I closed my eyes.

Yes. No. I don't know anymore.

But my silence was enough of an answer.

Lily didn't press. She just sat there, quietly, as I tried to gather whatever was left of me.

After a while, she exhaled sharply. "Listen, sir, I don't know what kind of person she was. But whoever she was, she isn't here anymore. You are. So maybe you should stop looking at a ghost and start looking at yourself."

I turned my head slightly, staring at her through blurry eyes.

She crossed her arms. "And while you're at it, sign the damn document."

A wet chuckle escaped me, surprising even myself.

Lily just rolled her eyes and stood up. "Take your time, but not too much. I'm not waiting all day."

And just like that, she left.

Leaving me alone with my grief, my memories, and the ghost of a woman who still refused to let me go.