The Mafia Lord's Secret Lover - Chapter 289

Chapter 289: Utterly Miserable
Evelyn bit her lower lip, fighting the rising tremble in her chin.

“I do not know what to do,” she admitted, the truth spilling out before she could filter it. “I have wanted answers my whole life. But now that you are here, I am… blank. I do not know if I should meet the rest of the family or walk away. I do not know what I am supposed to feel.”

Finley softened, leaning slightly forward. “Then do not decide anything yet.” His tone was calm and reassuring. “For now, just breathe. We can figure this out together. You are not alone in this.”

Her eyes glistened as she saw him.

Before Evelyn could gather her thoughts or decide what to say next, Finley spoke again, his voice steady but careful, as if afraid to push her too far.

“Tell me about your grandmother, your mother… and you.”

The words landed heavily in the quiet room.

For a brief moment, Evelyn felt as though the air had been sucked from her lungs.

Her mind stalled, caught between memories and emotions she had never allowed herself to explore fully.

She lowered her gaze to the polished surface of the table, her fingers unconsciously twisting together as she searched for the right words to begin.

“I… never met my grandmother,” she finally said. Her voice was calm, but her chest felt tight. “I only know her through pictures.”

She paused, swallowing hard.

“And my mother…”

Evelyn inhaled deeply, forcing herself to steady her breathing as images of Madison Taylor surfaced in her mind. Warm smiles. Gentle hands. A familiar scent she could never reasonably describe but still remembered. The tightness in her chest worsened, but she pushed through it.

“Her name is Madison Taylor,” she continued softly. “She died when I was six. Even though my memories of her are limited, I still remember her very clearly. Her voice. Her laugh. The way she brushed my hair before bed.”

Finley’s expression changed instantly. The composed, controlled man she knew as a client softened, his eyes darkening with genuine sorrow. But he said nothing, he waited till she finished.

“And… about me,” Evelyn said quietly, her voice trailing off as memories of life under William Walters’ roof pressed against her chest.

She had never claimed her childhood was utterly miserable.

There were moments of warmth, of laughter, of feeling safe. But those moments were scattered, fragile, and easily overshadowed by what was missing. Love. Or rather, the kind of love a child expects from a father.

“You know my father is William Walters, right?” she asked, lifting her eyes to Finley.

“Yes,” Finley replied at once. There was no hesitation. A flicker of anger crossed his face, sharp and unmistakable.

‘Of course he knows,’ Evelyn thought bitterly.

“My father never truly loved my mother,” she continued. “Even when she was still alive, I don’t remember him being warm. He was distant. Critical. Always there, but never present.”

Her fingers curled slightly on her lap.

“And after my mother died…” Her voice faltered. She paused, breathing in slowly, forcing herself to continue. “Everything became heavier. Quieter. Colder.”

She swallowed hard before going on. “He remarried just a few months later. I was still grieving, still trying to understand why my world had ended, and suddenly there was a new woman in my home…”

Evelyn let out a soft, humorless breath. The room felt smaller as she continued:

“I grew up learning to stay quiet. To not ask for too much. To survive without expecting affection from him.” She lifted her gaze again, meeting Finley’s eyes. “Maybe you already read about me. Five years ago, my father finally made it official…”

Her lips curved into a faint, bitter smile. “He kicked me out of the family.”

“I’m so sorry to hear that, Evelyn,” he said quietly. His voice cracked, just slightly, as if the weight of her loss had reached him more deeply than he expected.

“It’s fine… Everything is in the past now. I’m now happy with my life.” She said softly.

She could see him smile. A genuine smile flashed on his lips.

“I’m happy for you,” Finley said, reaching under his suit jacket and pulling out a leather wallet. From it, he carefully slid out an old photograph, its edges slightly curled with age.

“This,” he said, placing it gently on the table, “is your grandmother. She’s standing beside my father. His name is Theodor Morgan.”

Evelyn leaned forward without thinking. The moment her eyes landed on the photograph, her breath caught.

She knew that woman’s face.

Her fingers trembled as she picked it up. It was the same woman in the old picture she had cherished for years, the one she kept hidden among her most treasured belongings.

Evelyn’s heart tightened as she saw her grandmother standing tall beside a young man with sharp features and kind eyes. Her black hair framed her pale face perfectly, her blue eyes bright and confident.

She looked alive.

“She looks exactly like my mother,” Evelyn whispered.

Finley nodded. “That picture was taken a year before she vanished from the family.”

Evelyn’s vision blurred as she stared at her grandmother’s face. The resemblance was undeniable. The same eyes. The same delicate structure. The same quiet strength that seemed to radiate even from a faded photograph.

Black hair. Blue eyes. Pale skin.

The traits had passed through generations, carried silently, without explanation.

Her heart ached as she wondered what kind of woman Giselle Morgan had been. What fears had driven her to run away? What pain had forced her to cut ties so thoroughly on every aspect that even her own family could not find her again.

Slowly, Evelyn placed the picture back on the table before she reached into her bag.

She pulled out another photograph, one she had protected for years as if it were fragile glass.

“This is my grandmother,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper, “not long after she died. And the woman beside her… that’s my mother.”

Evelyn pushed the photograph across the table toward Finley.