The Mafia Lord's Secret Lover (Evelyn) novel Chapter 78

At Willowcrest. 1

The door had barely clicked shut when Evelyn’s bag vibrated. She slipped her phone out, glanced at the screen, and nearly face–planted

into the entryway rug.

On the glowing screen was a message from the one man who could turn her entire day upside down.

“Hi Eve, did you miss me?”

Her hand shot out, grabbing the wall.

‘Oh, my goodness…

She muttered under her breath, steadying herself.

‘This man is really unpredictable. He left without saying anything to me. But now he concluded, I miss him? Heaven! Please keep my

blood pressure at a safe level, please…‘

“Mommy?” Oliver’s small, careful voice floated over. Her son had stopped in his tracks, his head tilted, those perfect eyebrows drawn

together in concern. “Are you alright?”

Evelyn straightened quickly, forcing a bright smile onto her lips as though nothing in the world had happened.

“Of course, I’m alright, sweetheart. Perfectly fine. Let’s get inside. I need to start lunch before you faint from hunger.”

“Yes, mommy… Hurry… Hurry… I’m starving.”

She ruffled his silky hair and guided him toward the living room, pretending her pulse wasn’t hammering in her throat.

To distract him, she asked, “How about spaghetti bolognese for lunch?”

Oliver’s face lit up. “Yes. And fries too, Mommy.”

“Fries too,” she agreed.

The kitchen was soon filled with the rhythmic clink of her knife against the cutting board, the scent of garlic in olive oil already teasing

the air.

Oliver’s happy chatter carried from the living room, where he was building something out of blocks and humming to himself.

Everything was going smoothly until her phone rang. Loud. Jarringly loud.

Evelyn froze mid–chop, her knife still above the potatoes. She turned and glared at her bag as if her glare could stop the loud ringing.

But of course, it didn’t.

“Mommy,” Oliver called, “want me to check?”

“Yes, please,” she smiled, grateful for her tiny butler.

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78 Headache?

A beat later, his delighted voice rang out, “Oh! It’s Daddy!”

Her knife clattered onto the board.

“What…wait, what?”

Before she could sprint across the kitchen, Oliver had already picked up.

“Daddy, hello…”

Evelyn was rendered speechless. ‘Oh, perfect. The one time he decides to call when I’m busy in the kitchen…

On the screen, Axel leaned back in his office chair, looking perfect in a white slim–fit shirt, a skyline stretching behind him like some

luxury–brand advertisement.

“Buddy,” Axel’s smooth voice filled the room. “Are you home yet?”

“Yes! We just got here,” Oliver chirped, beaming.

“And where’s Mommy?”

“Mommy’s cooking. Do you want to talk to her?” Oliver tilted the phone toward Evelyn, who froze, knowing Axel was actually on a video

call.

“Hi, Eve,” Axel said, his lips curving into a slight smile.

“Axel,” she replied, brisk as she could manage. “Sorry, I can’t chat now. It’s already past twelve, and Oliver needs to eat.”

“Understand, understand…” he said hurriedly. “You keep cooking. I’ll talk to my boy. Buddy, why don’t you go sit on the island and put the

phone down so I can see you?”

“Okay, Dad!” Oliver scrambled onto the stool, propping the phone against a glass jar.

But, as Evelyn discovered a moment later, the angle wasn’t pointed at Oliver at all. No. It was aimed squarely at her. 2

So while she chopped, stirred, and tried very hard to pretend her hair wasn’t sticking out in her cheeks, Axel had a perfect, unfiltered

view of her bustling around the kitchen.

“What’s for lunch?” Axel asked casually.

“Mommy’s making spaghetti bolognese and fries!” Oliver announced proudly. “My favorite food…”

“Really? That’s my favorite too,” Axel said, his voice dripping with exaggerated delight.

Evelyn rolled her eyes upon hearing that. But she said nothing and kept busy pretending she wasn’t interested in their conversation.

Oliver, oblivious, leaned closer to the phone. “Daddy, you should ask Mommy to make it for you, too. It’s the best.”

“Yes, yes, I’ll definitely remember that,” Axel replied, clearly enjoying himself.

Evelyn continued to refuse to engage. She tossed spaghetti into boiling water.

‘Come on, Oliver Knight, can you not encourage your daddy? He might fly today and abandon his promise to drive away the paparazzi

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78 Headache?

and gossip reporters‘

But her son was far too happy to notice her sarcasm. He leaned on his elbows, chatting away with Axel about his day, his Lego fortress,

even the silly bird that had tried to steal his snack in Martha’s house carlier.

Axel listened intently, nodding and laughing at all the right moments.

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