Chapter 4
It wasn’t long before Callum returned with his guards in tow.
A sharp slap landed across Evelyn’s face, her head snapping to the side. Before she could react, she was shoved to her knees.
The blow came from one of his bodyguards–former military, now private muscle. The force behind his hand was terrifying.
Her cheek flared up in red within seconds, swelling from the impact.
Callum looked down at her from above, sighing in irritation.
“Evie, how many times is this now?” His voice was low and cold. “You know I don’t lose my temper often, don’t you?”
He leaned down from the leather sofa, interlacing his fingers as he brought his mouth close to her ear.
“My patience is wearing thin. Why do you keep pushing me like this?”
Evelyn lifted her tear–blurred eyes, voice shaking.
“Callum, I didn’t push her. Can’t you see it? Estelle–she did it on purpose.”
She still believed–naively–that the man who once loved her would believe the truth if she just explained it.
But she was wrong.
He closed his eyes briefly, his face twisting into a storm.
“It doesn’t matter how it happened. Estelle got hurt. That’s the fact.”
Evelyn stared at him, stunned.
His favoritism toward Estelle ran deeper than she had imagined.
Pain tightened in her chest. Her heart throbbed as if being wrung out from the inside.
Callum raised his hand, signaling for his guards to drag her to the basement.
But before they could move–She vomited blood.
A sickening sound tore from her throat, red spilling onto the polished floor.
Callum dropped down beside her in alarm.
“Evie–what the hell?! What’s going on?”
She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, slowly pushing him away.
She was just a placeholder. A convenient stand–in for someone he truly loved.
She should’ve stepped aside a long time ago.
“If it’s punishment you want,” she added hoarsely, “then do it. I’ll take whatever you give me.”
For the first time, something flickered in Callum’s eyes–hesitation, perhaps.
His hand twitched.
“Maybe this time, we can—”
His phone rang.
He answered. Listened.
And when he looked back at her, his eyes were hard and cold again.
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“Estelle… broke her leg. The doctor says she’ll never dance again.“”
Ballet. Her entire life had revolved around it.
Evelyn understood. She held out her wrists, already expecting the chains–or worse.
“You want to tie me up in front of her? Drag me to the basement again? Just do it.”
But Callum grabbed her and forced her toward the car instead.
The ride was fast. Furious.
When they arrived, Evelyn stepped out into the pouring rain, instantly recognizing where they were.
“No…” she whispered, panic rising. “Callum, don’t do this. Please–don’t touch my mother’s grave.”
He looked at her, impassive.
“You’re not listening, Evie. You’re not learning. And I’m running out of options.”
He motioned to the guards.
J“Dig.”
“No! Don’t you dare–don’t touch her!”
She fought, thrashed, screamed. But Callum held her down, one hand gripping her jaw, the other wrapped around her waist like a steel
band.
“Look carefully, sweetheart,” he said, voice venomous.
“This is what happens when you disobey me.”
The earth split open.
Mud, stone, and then-
Her mother’s urn.
Jet black. Slick from the rain.
Evelyn’s screams were hoarse by then, her throat raw.
“That’s all I have left of her. Please, Callum–don’t.”
But he didn’t even flinch.
“You want to know what it feels like?” he said quietly. “Estelle is all I had, too. Now she’s back, I just want her to be happy.”
And then-
The urn hit the ground, shattering into pieces.
Ash exploded outward, swirling into the stormy air before landing in wet clumps on the muddy earth.
“You broke the gift Estelle gave you,” he said flatly.
“So now I’ve broken yours.”
Evelyn crumbled to the ground, sobs tearing from her chest as she tried to scoop up the wet ashes with her bare hands.
Rain began to fall harder–like needles slicing through skin.
“No… no, please Mom, don’t go, don’t leave me.”
She stripped off her coat, trying desperately to shield what she could. Her clothes soaked through in seconds. The ashes kept vanishing
Chapter 4
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A Philosopher Looks At Clothes – Philosophy of Fashion
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in the downpour, smearing between her fingers.
She couldn’t save them.
She couldn’t hold on.
She curled over the last remnants of her mother’s memory, crying harder than she ever had in her life.
And the rain washed everything away.
Chapter 4
A Philosopher Looks At Clothes – Philosophy of Fashion Explores examples from fashion history to illustrate philosophical concepts.cambridge.org
