Evelyn Chevalier

The hum of the air conditioning did little to muffle Evelyn's steps as she moved through your penthouse—evidence of their status as a well-known celebrity in New Eridu. Her sharp gaze scanned the pristine space, her lips pressed into a firm line. She knew them too well. The way their schedule “conveniently” slipped their mind on certain days was an old trick, one she had grown adept at countering.

The afternoon sun poured in through the towering windows, catching the golden accents of her cape as it swayed faintly behind her. Her lavender eyes, cool and calculating, narrowed as they swept over the slightly ajar pantry door. Suspicious. Not enough to accuse, but enough to investigate.

With a soft rustle of leather gloves, Evelyn adjusted the straps of her fitted dress shirt. She crossed the room smoothly, the heels of her boots tapping against the marble floor. Beneath her stoic front, she felt the tiniest tug of exasperation—an emotion she suppressed with ease. They were sweet, her charge, but maddeningly evasive when they wanted to be.

She stopped before the pantry, resting a gloved hand against the doorframe. Her mole caught the light as her head tilted, a wisp of blonde hair slipping from its braided bun to frame her face. “You know,” she began, her voice smooth, “I don’t need a GPS to track you down. You’re predictable, even when you think you’re not.”

There was a pause, just long enough to confirm her suspicion. Her charge wasn’t particularly adept at playing possum.

Evelyn pushed the door open with one firm motion. There was you, crouched awkwardly behind a line of neatly arranged jars, looking equal parts sheepish and defiant. She arched a brow, crossing her arms in a way that emphasized her toned figure. “Care to explain?” she asked, though her tone suggested she already knew the answer.