Julian stopped short of the Ward villa. He wasn't going in; he was waiting for Evelyn to come to him, crawling with an explanation and an apology.

His mother, Eleanor, had already heard the news of Evelyn’s return. She was practically counting the minutes until the girl showed up to return the cash and beg for forgiveness. "Even if she brings back every cent," Eleanor declared, "I won't have that girl crossing our threshold again. She’s proven herself unstable."

Julian didn't argue, though he didn't agree either. In his mind, Evelyn had been acting out of pure petulance lately. A cold shoulder was exactly what she needed to realize her place. Seeing her son’s silence, Eleanor felt a surge of relief. As long as Julian saw Evelyn for what she was, the girl’s desperation wouldn't matter.

"If she has a shred of conscience left," Eleanor added, "she’ll return that money tonight."

Julian leaned back. He loathed how money-hungry Evelyn had become, but he remained confident. If she still wanted a future with him—and he was certain she did—she would eventually hand the money back.

Meanwhile, the object of their calculations was far from repentant. Evelyn waited until the Ward household fell into the rhythmic silence of sleep before she unlatched her window.

In her previous life, she had been too submissive to ever dream of escape. Because she had been such a "good girl," the Wards had never bothered to bar her windows. She slipped out into the silver moonlight, the world outside crisp and clear.

In the courtyard sat two bicycles. One belonged to her father; the other was her own—a reward for being an "Advanced Worker" the previous year. She had gifted it to Caleb, never having treated herself to such a luxury.

With a silent thought, she swept both bikes into her spatial ring. She didn't stop there. The empty water vats and the heavy stoneware jars used for pickling in the corner of the yard vanished as well.

The next morning, Mrs. Ward’s shrieks tore through the neighborhood. "Thieves! Filthy, godless thieves! Someone stole our bicycles!"

"Bastards!" she howled at the sky. "If I find out who did this, I’ll tear their whole family apart limb from limb!"

Mr. Ward, late for the factory, had no time for his wife’s hysterics. He snapped at her to report it to the police and rushed off to catch the bus. Caleb, still half-asleep, barely stirred. Stolen? Fine, he thought groggily. Out with the old, in with the new. Evelyn’s sitting on eight thousand dollars, isn't she? We’ll just buy better ones.

The police arrived, poked around, and left empty-handed. The bicycles had seemingly evaporated into thin air. No tire tracks, no footprints—Evelyn had swept the ground beneath her window with meticulous care.

By the sixth day, Julian’s patience began to fray. Why hadn't she come?

He sought out Seraphina, who met him with a troubled look. "Her parents have her under house arrest," Seraphina whispered. "They’ve locked her in her room until she learns some humility."

Julian frowned. Locked in her room? To his skewed logic, this only proved how much her parents had spoiled her. If she were truly disciplined, she wouldn't be so headstrong.

"Julian," Seraphina bit her lip, looking small and fragile. "Evelyn is so angry. I’m terrified to face her. I haven't told her you were with me that day... I’m afraid she’ll never speak to me again."

Julian felt a flicker of annoyance at Evelyn’s "overreaction," but he didn't blame himself. He had been doing a good deed, hadn't he? How could that be a mistake?

"Then don't tell her," Julian decided. He had planned to explain himself, but Evelyn’s recent behavior had drained his sympathy. Besides, he didn't want Seraphina to become the target of Evelyn’s displaced rage.

"But what will you tell her?" Seraphina asked softly.

"I’ll tell her I was in a car accident," Julian said, his voice flat. "That I’ve been in the hospital with a leg injury. Once she hears that, she'll realize how monstrous her behavior has been."

Seraphina gazed at him with wide, admiring eyes. "Do you think she’ll be mad that we lied?"

"It’s a white lie," Julian dismissed. "A mercy."

"I trust you," she murmured. "How much longer will they keep her locked up?"

"Until she repents," Julian said coldly. "And I’m in no hurry until she does."

On the seventh day, the "prison" doors finally opened—but only because Mrs. Ward wanted something.

"The bikes are gone, and you’ve drained our accounts," Mrs. Ward spat, looming over Evelyn. "Your father, a department head, has to take the bus like a peasant. Give me the money for new bicycles. Now."

Evelyn reached into her stash and pulled out three hundred dollars. It was a pittance compared to what Mrs. Ward expected. As the older woman snatched the cash, her eyes darted to the remaining pile. She felt a surge of greedy relief; the money wasn't in a bank or hidden outside. It was right here.

"I need to buy the permits, too! This isn't enough," Mrs. Ward barked. "And what about the dowry? You called off the wedding—that money belongs to this house!"

Evelyn sat there, looking pale and fragile, her silence a wall of stubborn defiance. The sight of it sent Mrs. Ward into a frenzy. She raised her hand to beat the cooperation out of her.

"Touch a single hair on my head," Evelyn whispered, her voice like ice, "and I will burn every single bill in this room."

Mrs. Ward let out a harsh, disbelieving laugh. "Burn it? Go ahead! If you have the guts, I'll take your damn last name!"

Evelyn didn't blink. She stood up and bolted for the kitchen.

Caleb blocked the doorway, his face twisted in annoyance. "Mom! Stop it! She’s lost her mind—can't you see she's gone mental? Don't provoke her. Let’s just go get the bikes first."

Mrs. Ward glanced at the manic glint in Evelyn’s eyes and hesitated. "I’ll settle with you when I get back," she hissed. She slammed the door, locked it from the outside, and left with her son.

The moment they were gone, Evelyn was out the window.

She picked the lock to the main hall and moved straight for her parents' bedroom. It was a shrine to their greed, filled with heavy birch furniture. But her eyes were on two specific chests made of precious red sandalwood. Mrs. Ward bragged about them being her own dowry, but Evelyn knew the truth: they had belonged to Sophia.

Inside the chests were bolts of high-quality fabric her father had embezzled from the factory. Evelyn didn't hesitate; the chests and the silk vanished into her space.

She knew exactly where the "rainy day" fund was. She had cleaned this room for years. She ignored the obvious hiding spots and went for the massive wardrobe. It was two meters wide and impossibly heavy—anyone else would have needed three men to move it.

Evelyn simply touched it. Gone.

In the sudden vacuum of the room, a small patch of disturbed earth was revealed beneath where the wardrobe had stood. Evelyn dug. Within minutes, she unearthed two rectangular tin biscuit boxes.

She pried the first one open with a pair of scissors. Her breath hitched. It was packed tight with stacks of hundred-dollar bills, neatly bound with yellow rubber bands. She opened the second. More of the same.

Even Evelyn was stunned. She had underestimated the "family's" hidden wealth. There had to be at least twenty thousand dollars here—all crisp, clean, and illicit.

She swept the empty room with a final, predatory gaze. Her eyes landed on the only thing left in the room: a ceramic spittoon.

Knowing Mrs. Ward's penchant for hiding things in the most disgusting places...