Chapter 16

Alexander Hamilton reached for the keycard, but Annabelle Taylor dodged his grasp like a nimble butterfly, flashing him a provocative smirk.

"Annabelle!" His voice simmered with suppressed anger.

"What?" She twirled the keycard between her fingers. "Dr. Carter is here for the first time. I'm just showing her around the hotel."

"Stop this."

Ignoring him, she pressed the keycard into Evelyn Carter's palm. "Second-floor suite. The restaurant is to your right." Her fingertip grazed Evelyn's skin—a subtle but deliberate provocation.

The two women locked eyes, tension crackling between them.

Evelyn glanced at the keycard, her lips curving slightly. "Thank you, Miss Taylor. Though I’d prefer directions from the hotel staff—they’re more professional."

"Suit yourself." Annabelle's smile was enigmatic.

Evelyn's luggage was minimal—a few changes of clothes stuffed into a tote, her white coat neatly folded. She never bothered with excess; in the hospital, everyone dressed the same.

"I'll head up now."

The motion-activated lights flickered on as she ascended the stairs. The moment the door closed behind her, she slumped against it, sliding to the floor, all pretense abandoned.

Her phone screen lit up with a string of missed calls from Vivian Dempsey.

"Hello?"

"What the hell? Vacation turns into divorce?" Vivian's voice exploded in her ear.

Evelyn summarized the situation in a few clipped sentences. A sharp shattering sound followed—Vivian had probably thrown a glass.

"Divorce her! That woman is clearly here to steal him!" Vivian hissed. "I'll pick you up tomorrow."

At lunch, Alexander's call came right on schedule.

"Seafood allergy," Evelyn said, staring at the swaying trees outside.

"There are other options."

"Not hungry."

"What did you eat?"

"Dog food."

Silence.

"See you tonight." She hung up and tossed the phone onto the bed. Exhaustion hit her like a wave, and she was unconscious before her head hit the pillow.

When she woke, the sunset painted the room gold. Evelyn lay still, staring at the ceiling, then froze as realization dawned. Her fingers drifted to her abdomen.

As a doctor, she knew exactly what this abnormal fatigue meant.

The restaurant was nearly empty. She ordered two bowls of congee and hot milk. The moment the server set them down, the golden couple appeared in the doorway.

"Wasn’t sure about your preferences, Miss Taylor. Just milk." Evelyn pushed the cup toward her.

Annabelle took a sip, then abruptly spat it out.

Instinct kicked in. Evelyn handed her a napkin. "Morning sickness?"

"I can’t stand sweetened milk." Annabelle ignored the offered napkin.

Alexander took it instead. "She only drinks plain milk."

Evelyn laughed softly. "A little sugar makes you vomit?"

"Personal preference." Annabelle shoved her half-finished milk at Alexander. "Don’t waste it."

When she started picking through his congee with chopsticks, Evelyn finally set her spoon down.

"Ginger?" Annabelle held up a strand. "Alexander hates ginger and century eggs."

Evelyn kept eating, eyes on her bowl.

"I never mentioned it to Evelyn," Alexander said, downing several spoonfuls. "The mountain air is damp. Ginger helps."

Annabelle stood abruptly, snatching the bowl. "Marriage is supposed to make you happy, not miserable!"

The porcelain clattered against the table, drawing stares.

"Enough." Alexander's expression darkened.

"You don’t even know each other. How can this be a marriage?" Annabelle sneered.

Evelyn wiped her mouth and stood. "Enjoy your meal."

"I'll walk you back," Alexander offered.

"Unnecessary."

"Then a stroll? The night view—"

"Reports to write." She strode toward the elevator without looking back. Annabelle's shrill voice chased her: "Alexander, how long will you keep lying to yourself?"

The elevator doors slid shut, sealing her in silence. Staring at her distorted reflection in the metal, Evelyn suddenly wanted to laugh.

This battle? She’d lost it from the start.