Chapter 318

The afternoon sun streamed through the windows of The Canopy, casting golden patterns across the white linen tablecloths. Across from Evelyn Carter, a woman sat with her young son—a boy no older than six, dressed in a miniature blazer, carefully maneuvering his knife and fork like a seasoned gentleman.

He was adorable.

When he caught Evelyn’s gaze, he peeked up from his plate, offering a shy, dimpled smile before ducking his head again. Her heart melted instantly.

A memory surfaced—Alexander Kensington’s teasing voice, warm and low, whispering in her ear after she’d brought home those wooden carvings. A son and a daughter, Evelyn. Wouldn’t that be perfect?

She had scoffed then. But now, watching this little boy, the idea didn’t seem so absurd.

Smirking, she pulled out her phone and snapped a picture of her plate—seared scallops drizzled in truffle oil, vibrant greens, a glass of crisp white wine. She sent it to Alexander with the caption: Food envy yet?

Given the time difference, she expected silence. The message was more for herself—a small indulgence in missing him.

Her phone buzzed almost immediately.

A photo of a perfectly cooked ribeye, glistening with herb butter, accompanied by creamy mashed potatoes. His reply: Likewise.

She huffed a laugh. The man knew exactly how to provoke her. That steak was her weakness.

Gripping her phone, she typed back: Midnight snacks lead to love handles, Mr. Kensington.

His response was instant. Already married. Who cares?

Cheeky. She fired back: I’ll demand a refund if you ruin that physique.

No returns. Final sale.

She was about to retaliate when—

CRASH.

The sharp sound of shattering glass cut through the hum of conversation. Chairs screeched. Gasps erupted.

Evelyn spun in her seat.

Behind her, chaos unfolded. A woman was on her knees, sobbing. A small body convulsed on the floor—the same sweet boy who had smiled at her moments ago. His face was ghostly pale, lips tinged blue, limbs jerking violently.

"Serena?!" Evelyn shot to her feet, rushing forward.

Serena Whitaker—her friend—stood frozen, hands pressed to her mouth, eyes wide with panic. "Evelyn, I—I don’t know what happened! He just—he collapsed!"

The boy’s mother wailed, clutching his tiny hand. "Please, someone help!"

The restaurant staff hovered uselessly, one already on the phone with emergency services.

Evelyn didn’t hesitate. She dropped to her knees beside the child, fingers already checking his pulse.

"Let me see."

The world narrowed to the boy’s shallow breaths, the tremors wracking his small frame.

And the terrifying realization—this wasn’t just a faint.

Something was very wrong.