Chapter 96

At precisely ten in the morning, a sleek Rolls-Royce pulled up in front of the weathered gate of a modest community house. The car door swung open, and a tall, imposing figure stepped out.

Dominic Blackwood was dressed in a tailored navy blue quilted coat, a charcoal-gray cashmere scarf draped elegantly around his neck, and polished leather boots that gleamed under the morning light. Despite the layers meant to ward off the chill, his face was unnaturally pale, shadows beneath his eyes betraying his exhaustion. His aristocratic bearing made him seem utterly out of place in the humble surroundings.

Behind him, his driver and bodyguard emerged, arms laden with exquisitely wrapped gifts.

Clara Thorne hurried from the kitchen at the sound of knocking, her eyes widening when she saw Dominic standing at her doorstep.

"You—what are you doing here?" she stammered, then quickly stepped aside. "Come in! I heard you were unwell. Are you feeling better?"

Though early winter had settled in, the weather wasn’t harsh enough to warrant such heavy clothing.

Dominic glanced at the spotless floor and hesitated. "Should we remove our shoes?"

Clara waved a dismissive hand. "No, no need! Just come in."

She ushered him inside, her gaze flickering to the lavish gifts his men carried.

"Why did you bring all this?" she asked, bewildered.

Evelyn had returned home last night with all her belongings in tow. Clara hadn’t dared to pry, but she had assumed her daughter had finally ended things with Dominic for good. She never expected him to show up at her doorstep.

"I came to pay my respects," Dominic said smoothly, settling onto the sofa.

Once the driver and bodyguard had deposited the gifts in the living room, they excused themselves. Clara fumbled for the remote and turned up the heating.

"So… you and Evelyn… last night…" Clara trailed off, uncertain how to broach the subject.

Dominic met her gaze with quiet intensity. "I didn’t see her last night. There’s been a misunderstanding between us."

"Oh." Clara sighed, pouring him a cup of steaming water. "She rarely tells me anything about you two. I don’t even know what to say." She handed him the cup, studying his pallor. "You don’t look well. You should be resting at home."

"I’m fine," he murmured, cradling the cup between his hands.

Clara perched at the edge of the sofa, watching him. Illness had softened his usual commanding presence, making him seem almost vulnerable—a stark contrast to the unapproachable man she’d met before.

After a moment, she gathered her courage. "Dominic, what exactly do you feel for Evelyn? I divorced her father when she was young. She never had a proper family, never knew what it was like to be truly loved." Her voice wavered. "If you don’t care for her, please… let her go."

"Divorce isn’t the issue right now," Dominic said, taking a measured sip. "Recently, she’s been spending time with a man—Tristan Chamberlain. You may not know him, but I do."

Clara’s expression darkened with understanding. "You’re saying he’s dangerous?"

Dominic gave a single, grave nod. "I need you to convince her to stay away from him."

Clara nodded fervently. "Of course. I’ll talk to her as soon as she wakes up."

Dominic frowned, checking his watch. It was already half past ten. Evelyn was still asleep?

Clara noticed his confusion. "She went to bed very late last night. She hasn’t woken yet."

Just then, the bedroom door creaked open.

Evelyn emerged, still in her pajamas, her long hair tousled from sleep. Her drowsy eyes snapped wide the moment they landed on Dominic.

"Evelyn, Dominic is here to see you," Clara said quickly, rising to her feet. "I’ll go pick up some groceries. You two talk."

With that, she made a hasty exit.

Evelyn’s gaze flicked to the heater, then to Dominic’s heavy coat. He was still sick.