Page 16 of Shattered Crown
“Thank you.”
Isabelled nodded and left the room. I heard her footsteps up the stairs, then I heard her knock, followed by the sound of Evie’s door opening. Then nothing.
What I would give to be a fly in that room.
I stood alone in the study, surrounded by books I'd never read and the ghost of my father's expectations.
I poured another whiskey.
I wanted Evie to be happy, even if that meant agreeing to Aria’s proposition. So, I would put my ego aside and let my daughter work for Aria Kealoha because that was what she wanted.
I would put what I wanted aside, whatever that was.
5ARIA
A week later,I was elbow-deep in vendor contracts when Priya appeared in my doorway.
"There's a child here to see you."
I looked up from my laptop. The foundation's Brooklyn headquarters hummed around us, phones ringing in the outer office, the copy machine churning through flyers for the upcoming health fair, Nalani's voice drifting from the conference room where she was running a volunteer orientation.
"A child?"
"Well. A twelve-year-old." Priya leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed over her vintage band tee. She was my operations manager, my reality check, and the only person on staff who could match my sarcasm for sarcasm.
Her dark hair was piled in a messy bun, held in place by what appeared to be two pencils and sheer willpower. "With a driver who looks like he could bench press a city bus. She says her name is Evie."
I set down my pen.Wait… what?I’d completely forgotten about that.How did she even find this place?Right. I’d handed her my business card over in Warren's office, bypassing Sebastian's outstretched hand. I'd done it partly out of spite,partly out of genuine interest in the girl. But I hadn't actually expected her to use it.
Rich kids didn't usually follow through on things like this. They expressed interest, got distracted by the next shiny object, and moved on. Summer programs in the Hamptons, tennis lessons, European vacations with nannies in tow. It wasn't cruelty, just the natural consequence of having too many options and too little stake in any of them.
But here Evie was. A week later. Actually showing up here.
"Send her in."
Priya raised an eyebrow but didn't comment. She disappeared back into the hallway, and I heard her voice, softer than usual: "Right this way, sweetie. She's expecting you."
I stood, smoothing the front of my linen blouse. The office wasn't much to look at: small desks, a mix of white and brown chairs, and walls covered with photos from our various programs. A far cry from the gleaming corporate spaces I could have afforded. But every dollar that didn't go into decor went into the work instead. That was the point.
Evie appeared in the doorway.
She looked smaller than I remembered. A week had passed, and the bandage was gone from her forehead, leaving only a faint pink line near her hairline that would fade to nothing within a month. She wore a navy blue dress with a Peter Pan collar, paired with ballet flats. Her dark hair was pulled back in a neat ponytail, every strand in place.
For a brief second, I wondered who Sebastian was paying to help his daughter get ready in the mornings. I knew for a fact that he wasn’t doing it himself. Did he even know she was here? He’d been pretty adamant about wanting her to do anything but volunteer work.
Speaking of, I hadn’t heard a peep from him since that day in Warren’s office. I’d forgotten all about the whole incident fromthe moment I walked out of that school. That was how irrelevant Sebastian Dubois was to me.
So, he’d thrown empty threats around. I wanted to laugh. It wasn’t surprising. He made a lot of noise, and that usually indicated an inability to act.
Her eyes moved around my office, cataloging. The cluttered desk. The overflowing bookshelves. The corkboard covered with photos of smiling women and children from our programs. The window that looked out onto a busy Brooklyn street rather than a manicured garden.
"Hello, Evie. I’m surprised to see you here," I said.
Evie's gaze snapped to mine. "You said I could come." Her voice was barely above a whisper. "Is that still okay?"
"Of course it's okay." I gestured to the chair across from my desk, one upholstered in bright yellow fabric that clashed magnificently with everything else in the room. It was my favorite. "Come sit. Tell me what made you decide to come."
She crossed the room carefully, like she was navigating a minefield. Perched on the edge of the yellow chair, her hands clasped tight in her lap. Her knuckles were white.
