Hiding My Twin Heirs from the Ruthless Prince novel Chapter 2

“You want a what?” Sebastian laughed, the sound echoing off the stone walls like a whip crack. He sank into the leather chair behind his desk, fingers drumming on the armrest. “An annulment? Are you serious, Evangeline?”

“Yes, I am serious!” Evangeline’s voice broke as she shouted, tears streaming down her face, ruining her carefully applied makeup.

Lady Cordelia had vanished the moment Evangeline said ‘annulment,’ her silk dress rustling as she slipped through the servants’ door. The heavy silence that followed was broken only by the crackling fire and distant sounds of the evening court gathering in the great hall below.

Sebastian leaned back, his amusement fading into something darker. “You’ve lost your mind, haven’t you, wife?”

“Stop mocking me!” Evangeline cried, her fists clenched so tight her knuckles went white beneath her gloves. “I’m done, Sebastian. I can’t do this anymore!”

“Can’t do what, exactly?” His voice dripped with condescension as he gestured around the luxurious study. “Live in the finest palace in the kingdom? Wear gowns worth more than most nobles make in a year? Hold the title of Crown Princess? Or is it because I don’t worship at your feet like some lovesick peasant boy?”

The tears fell harder, but Evangeline kept her voice steady. “I’ve lived in this palace, Sebastian, but I’ve never belonged here. I’ve been your wife in name only—never loved, never cherished. You’ve treated me like a political decoration, a pretty thing to display at state dinners. I deserve more than this empty life!”

He studied her with cold detachment, like a scholar examining a specimen. “You really are serious,” he said finally, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper.

“Yes, I am,” she replied, lifting her chin with new resolve as she dabbed at her tears with a lace handkerchief.

Sebastian’s jaw tightened, a muscle twitching in his cheek. “And you think barging into my study demanding an annulment will fix everything?”

“It’s a start,” she said, her voice growing stronger.

He scoffed, rising from his chair with practiced grace. “Your audacity is remarkable.”

“I’m tired of being miserable, Sebastian!” she shouted, her voice bouncing off the tapestried walls. “I thought maybe if we had a child—”

He moved like a striking hawk, cutting her off with a raised hand. “Don’t,” he snarled, his voice colder than winter wind. “I don’t want children from you, Evangeline. I never have, and I never will.”

The words hit her like a slap. Her knees nearly gave out, and she grabbed a chair to steady herself. “You… you can’t mean that,” she whispered.

“Oh, but I do,” he said with a bitter laugh that held no warmth. “Did you really think having a baby would turn this arrangement into some fairy tale? There was nothing to save, Evangeline, because there was never anything between us. I have no desire to father children with someone so far beneath me—a minor princess from a failing duchy, sold off like livestock to cover her father’s debts.”

Her heart felt ripped from her chest, but she refused to let him see her completely broken. “Fine,” she said, her voice trembling but determined. “If that’s how you see me, then give me this annulment. Release me from this hell.”

He raised one perfect eyebrow. “Annulment papers? You came prepared for this fight, didn’t you?”

“Just sign the papers, Sebastian!” she snapped, finally losing her composure.

“As you wish,” he said with icy coldness. He went to his desk, picked up an ornate pen, and signed with deliberate, theatrical strokes.

When he finished, he straightened and carelessly threw the papers at her feet, where they scattered across the Persian rug like fallen leaves.

“There. You have what you wanted.”

Evangeline knelt to gather the precious documents, her hands shaking so badly she could barely pick them up. She clutched the papers to her chest, her vision blurred by fresh tears.

“Don’t come begging for my mercy,” Sebastian repeated, his voice as unforgiving as stone.

Evangeline said nothing. She fled the study and hurried through the darkened halls to her chambers, her heart breaking with each step. Once behind her locked door, she pressed her back against the heavy oak and slowly slid to the floor.

The annulment papers lay crumpled in her lap, but they felt heavier now—weighted with the end of her marriage and the uncertain future ahead. As she stared at them through her tears, one hand unconsciously moved to rest on her stomach.

“This is for the best,” she whispered to the empty room, to her unborn children, to herself. “It has to be.”