Chapter 4

The doctor hesitated before answering.

"If fortune favors us, three to four months. If not… it could be indefinite."

She softened her tone. "But you're young. The odds are in your favor."

Time slipped away unnoticed. The crisp air of autumn settled over Ravenswood.

Evelyn stepped out of the shower, her skin still damp.

She perched on the edge of the bed, uncapping the new moisturizer she'd picked up earlier. The rich cream glided smoothly between her fingers as she worked it into her skin.

"Dominic," she mused, turning toward him. "This weather is drying everything out. Want some?"

Without waiting for an answer—not that she expected one—she moved to his side.

Her fingertips traced his cheekbones, applying the cream with gentle strokes.

Then—

His eyes snapped open.

Dark amber, sharp as cut gemstones, locking onto hers with startling intensity.

Evelyn's breath hitched.

She saw his eyes open every day, but this—this was different.

"Too rough?" She kept her voice light, though her pulse betrayed her. "I'm barely pressing."

Her fingers lingered, smoothing the cream over his jaw.

A quiet laugh escaped her.

"Internet says you've never had a girlfriend because of your condition. But honestly?" She patted his arm. "You're not bad. Strong shoulders. Good muscle tone—"

Then—

A sound.

Low. Guttural.

Her hands froze.

"Dominic?" She jerked back, nearly stumbling off the bed. "Was that you?"

Her wide eyes met his.

And this time—this time, there was no mistaking it.

His gaze burned with something she'd never seen before. Not emptiness. Not vacancy.

Rage. Distrust.

A living, breathing glare.

"Mrs. Wilkins!" Evelyn bolted downstairs, her voice cracking. "He's awake! Dominic just spoke!"

Her heart hammered against her ribs.

Awake.

Not just open-eyed. Not just breathing.

Alive.

And the first words out of his mouth had been a demand—Who are you?

The house erupted into chaos within minutes.

Mrs. Wilkins arrived first, then the doctor, then the security team. Soon, the room was packed with stunned faces.

"I knew you'd come back to us!" Eleanor Blackwood wept, clutching her son's hand.

Gregory exhaled sharply. "Mother hasn't slept properly since the accident. You have no idea what this means."

The doctor's hands trembled as he checked Dominic's vitals. "A medical miracle. With rehabilitation, full recovery is possible."

Eleanor swayed on her feet. The shock was too much—she collapsed into Gregory's arms.

As they carried her out, Evelyn hovered near the doorway, suddenly uncertain.

The air in the room had changed.

Dominic sat upright, his spine rigid against the headboard. His stare cut through the space between them like a blade.

Cold. Calculating.

"Who," he repeated, each syllable dripping with venom, "is she?"

The doctor flinched. Mrs. Wilkins bowed her head.

"Master Dominic, this is Evelyn Thorne. Your wife. Madam arranged the marriage while you were—"

"Get her out."

His voice cracked like a whip.

Evelyn didn't wait to be told twice.