The air in the Lower East Side always carried a damp, moldy smell, like a wound that refused to heal.
Evelyn wrapped herself tighter in the old wool shawl she only wore when visiting home. Clutched against her chest was the three hundred dollars she had brought back from Chicago, along with several bottles of expensive cough syrup.
When she pushed open the crumbling door, a heavy scent of blood assaulted her senses.
"Mom?"
Evelyn's heart lurched into her throat, and she rushed to the bedside.
Maureen was slumped over the edge of the bed, coughing violently. Every tremor seemed as if it would expel her very lungs. In her hand, she gripped a handkerchief that was soaked through, a harsh, dark red.
"Evie..." Hearing her daughter's voice, Maureen frantically stuffed the handkerchief under her pillow and forced a pale smile. "Why are you back today? Isn't it a workday?"
"I asked the butler for leave." Evelyn poured a cup of water and helped her mother sit up. "I made some extra money in Chicago, Mom. This medicine is the best; you'll feel better after taking it."
Maureen watched her daughter bustling about, feeding her medicine and wiping away her sweat. But beneath the motherly love in her eyes lay a deep, unsettling worry.
"That Ashford man..." Maureen took the medicine, her breathing stabilizing slightly. "Does he treat you well? You weren't bullied in Chicago, were you?"
Evelyn's hand, in the middle of wringing out a towel, paused.
Flashbacks of Chicago nights raced through her mind: the cigar-filled room, William leaning into her embrace for a massage; him buying her the green dress in the cold wind; and last night, him kneeling on the floor, carefully holding her hand and blowing on the wound.
"No, Mom." Evelyn lowered her eyelids, the corner of her mouth unconsciously curving into a faint smile. Her voice was much softer than usual. "He... is different from the rumors. Although he has a bad temper, he is very capable. In the strike over there, he was actually protecting the company's interests, not exploiting the workers as the newspapers said... And he respects people with ability."
Maureen didn't speak.
She watched her daughter quietly. No one knows a daughter like her mother. Evelyn had been mature and hard from a young age; whenever she mentioned the rich, her eyes always hid knives.
But now, when she spoke of that man, the knives were gone. In their place was a soft light—something feminine that Evelyn herself probably hadn't even noticed.
Maureen's gaze lowered and suddenly fixed on Evelyn's right hand.
Wrapped around it was a band of pristine, obviously high-grade medical gauze.
"What happened to your hand?" Maureen's voice turned sharp.
Evelyn instinctively tried to pull her hand back. "Nothing, just bumped it while working. The Master... Mr. Ashford already bandaged it for me. He used the best ointment."
"He bandaged it for you?"
Maureen abruptly pushed away the cup of water Evelyn was offering.
Clang!
The tin cup hit the floor, splashing water everywhere.
"Mom?" Evelyn looked at her mother in shock.
Maureen's chest heaved violently. Her face, sallow from illness, was now flushed red with anger. She stared dead at Evelyn, her eyes filled with disappointment and fear.
"Evelyn Kyle, have you forgotten your last name?"
"I haven't..."
"You have!" Maureen screamed hoarsely. She grabbed Evelyn's wrist with surprising strength, her nails digging into the flesh. "Look at your eyes! When you talk about that man, you sound like you're talking about a hero!"
"He is not a hero! He is the son of a murderer!"
Maureen pointed out the window, as if she could see the tragedy of that year through the grimy glass.
"Five winters ago, a snowy day just like this! Your father went to fix that damn railroad just to earn two extra dollars for coal. And the result? When the crane collapsed, those overseers only cared about saving the machine! Your father was crushed underneath for two whole hours. He didn't die until his blood ran dry!"
"Where was William Ashford then?" Maureen demanded through her tears. "He was holding a ball in that warm manor! When we couldn't even afford to pay the mortuary to stitch your father's body back together, he was drinking red wine worth more than your father's life!"
"But that was an accident, and William wasn't the head of the family then..." Evelyn defended him subconsciously.
"Shut up!"
Slap!
A slap landed heavily on Evelyn's face.
It wasn't a hard blow, for Maureen had little strength left, but it hit Evelyn's heart a thousand times harder than Aurora's high heel.
The air went dead silent.
Maureen, her hand trembling, pointed at the door, tears streaming down her face. "Get out. Take your money and get out. If this money was exchanged for your soul, I would rather cough to death than take it."
"Mom..."
"You're in love with him." Maureen closed her eyes in despair, leaning back against the headboard as if her life force had been drained in an instant. "My daughter has fallen in love with the wolf that eats men. Oh God, what kind of retribution is this..."
Evelyn stood frozen, her cheek stinging. She opened her mouth, wanting to say "I haven't," wanting to say "It's just using him," wanting to say "I'm doing this for revenge."
But the words stuck in her throat, refusing to come out.
Using him?
If it was just using him, why did her heart race at his words that night in Chicago? If it was revenge, why did she feel fluttery instead of vindicated when he bandaged her wound?
She awkwardly placed the money and medicine on the table and fled the room as if escaping a fire.
...
Outside, it had started to rain.
The cold rain hit her face, mixing with tears that had fallen unnoticed.
Evelyn walked aimlessly through the muddy streets. On one side was her mother's hoarse accusation: "That is your father's murderer!" On the other was William's low, gentle voice: "This dagger matches your eyes."
One was her flesh and blood, the obsession of her two lives.
The other was the tyrant who gave her dignity, power, and unprecedented protection.
"I am not in love with him."
She muttered to the empty, rainy alley, as if hypnotizing herself.
"I am just... using him. Once I climb high enough, once I cure Mom's illness, once I trample Aurora under my feet... I will leave him."
But just then, a familiar black limousine pulled slowly to a stop at the mouth of the alley.
The window rolled down, revealing William's cold, sharp profile. He seemed to have been waiting for her. Seeing her soaked to the bone, his brow furrowed instantly.
"Get in," he commanded, his tone brooking no refusal. "Do you want to die of pneumonia?"
Looking at that man, Evelyn felt a hard block of ice deep in her heart melting irrevocably.
She knew her mother was right. She was playing with fire.
But this fire... was too warm.
Evelyn gritted her teeth. In the rain, she turned her back on the broken tenement filled with coughing and accusations, pulled open the car door, and sat into the "hell" that smelled of cigars and warm body heat.