Chapter 14

Ethan Caldwell had come to Eclipse Lounge for Alexander Whitmore's signature, but instead of securing the document, he left looking like a complete fool.

The humiliation was too much. He stormed out, shoulders slumped in defeat.

Lucas Bennett swirled his drink, watching with amusement. "Alexander, you're acting strange tonight."

Alexander smirked. "Am I?"

Lucas leaned in, eyes glinting with mischief. "Don't play dumb. You know exactly what I mean."

With Ethan gone, Alexander suddenly lost interest in staying. "I'm leaving."

Lucas arched a brow. "Since when do you bail early? Who’s the woman that’s got you this distracted?"

"You wouldn’t get it," Alexander said, stubbing out his cigarette. "I’d give her the world if she asked."

Lucas let out a low whistle. "Look at you, turning into a poet."

He leaned closer, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "It’s her, isn’t it? That girl who saved you all those years ago. Evelyn Carter?"

Alexander’s expression darkened, confirming everything.

Lucas grinned. "I knew it."

Without another word, Alexander grabbed his coat and walked out, leaving Lucas shaking his head in amusement.

The game was far from over.

Lucas Bennett waited, but Alexander Whitmore said nothing, only giving him a sharp glare.

Seeing he'd hit a nerve, Lucas smirked and pushed further. "Why torture yourself over her? While you were off playing soldier, she spent seven years with your nephew."

"If Ethan Caldwell had half a brain, they'd probably be married by now."

Lucas couldn't resist playing matchmaker. "Look, if I were you, I'd make my move while she's still pissed at him. Strike while she's emotional—she might just say 'yes' before she realizes what she's doing!"

Alexander didn’t bother responding, turning toward the exit.

But then he paused, glancing back. "Where’s Claire?"

"At home. Why?"

"Tell her to keep Evelyn company at the hospital tomorrow. I’ll send you the address."

And just like that, Alexander walked out, leaving Lucas feeling like an errand boy.

"Seriously? Claire and I are fighting. Why would I go home now? You think I came out in this storm just to sit around alone?"

Lucas had no intention of returning to an empty apartment—that’s why he’d dragged his friends out in the first place.

He took another swig of whiskey, and thoughts of Claire Dawson crept in.

The storm had raged all night, but dawn brought calm, the air crisp with the scent of rain-soaked earth.

Evelyn stirred awake, her mind foggy with remnants of a dream she couldn’t quite grasp.

"You’re up early."

The deep, amused voice sent a jolt through her. She turned sharply to find Alexander sprawled on the other side of the bed.

He lounged against the headboard, watching her with those piercing eyes that always seemed to see too much. His white shirt was rumpled, the top buttons undone, revealing a tantalizing glimpse of sculpted chest.

Evelyn’s brows furrowed as panic flickered in her chest. "What the hell happened?"

Alexander’s lips curved into that infuriating smirk. "You look shocked. Don’t tell me you don’t remember how I ended up here?"

Her fingers clenched the sheets, suspicion coiling tight.

I don’t even know him! How did he get into my bed?

The room spun as fragments of the night before teased at her memory—laughter, too much wine, the warmth of his hand on her waist.

But nothing concrete.

Nothing that explained why Alexander Whitmore, the man she’d sworn to avoid, was now smirking at her like he’d won some unspoken game.

Her pulse hammered.

This was bad.

Really, really bad.

Alexander straightened his shirt with an unreadable expression.

"You clung to me all night, refusing to let go," he said, voice low. "If anyone should be complaining, it's me."

Evelyn's thoughts scattered.

She remembered the doctor's visit, then collapsing into bed—but everything after was a blur.

There were hazy impressions of warmth, of strong arms around her, but no clear details.

Her fingers twisted in the sheets. "Are you absolutely certain I was the one who—?"

Alexander didn’t answer. His attention was fixed on his half-buttoned shirt.

Then his hands stilled.

His gaze dropped pointedly to her right hand.

Following it, Evelyn realized with dawning horror that her fingers were curled tightly around the very button he’d been trying to fasten.

Her stomach lurched. I did this? Oh god. This can’t be happening.

No matter how hard she tried, the memories refused to surface.

The silence stretched, thick with unspoken tension.

Alexander exhaled sharply. "Do you intend to let go?"

Evelyn jerked her hand back as if burned.

Heat flooded her cheeks. This was beyond humiliating.

She opened her mouth—to apologize? Explain?—but no words came.

Alexander finished buttoning his shirt with deliberate slowness.

His eyes locked onto hers. "Next time," he said evenly, "I expect you to remember."

Then he turned and walked out, leaving Evelyn staring after him, pulse racing.

Next time?

What exactly had she done last night?