Chapter 155

Her knees trembled slightly, betraying the sudden rush of nerves coursing through her.

The air between them crackled with tension, thick and undeniable.

Evelyn swallowed hard, pressing her palms against Alexander’s chest as she whispered, “Alexander… do you want to kiss me?”

A slow, knowing smile curved his lips, his eyes glinting with mischief.

Before he could respond, she squeezed her eyes shut, bracing for the inevitable.

Her thoughts raced. Tonight, Alexander surprised me. Not only did he rush Claire to the hospital, but he also put Lucas in his place.

A kiss isn’t too much to ask, right?

She waited, heart pounding—but nothing happened.

Confused, she blinked her eyes open. “Is something wrong?”

Alexander arched a brow, his smirk deepening. “Mrs. Whitmore, aren’t you being a little impatient?”

Evelyn’s cheeks burned crimson, the heat of her embarrassment impossible to hide.

Alexander didn’t miss the opportunity. He leaned in, his lips grazing the delicate shell of her ear, his warm breath sending shivers down her spine.

"Hold on, darling," he murmured, voice thick with promise. "We’ll save this for home. If I kiss you now, I won’t stop… and I’d hate to have you moaning my name in the backseat before we even get there."

Her pulse skyrocketed, her skin tingling at the sinful suggestion in his words.

Seriously? Again?

Hadn’t they just—hours ago?

And now he was already hungry for more?

Later, as Alexander drove, Evelyn stole glances at him from the passenger seat.

His fingers curled lazily around the steering wheel as the car took a smooth turn. The golden glow of the setting sun painted his sharp jawline, making his already devastating features even more striking.

When his gaze flicked to hers, there was a slow, knowing smirk playing on his lips—a look so effortlessly seductive it made her breath catch.

She couldn’t look away.

Not when he looked at her like that.

The car pulled out of the hospital parking lot, tires crunching over gravel. A sharp gust of wind sliced through the air, catching Ethan Caldwell’s attention.

He had been pacing in the shadows, restless after a sleepless night.

Then he saw them.

Alexander Whitmore guided Evelyn Carter into the back seat with a possessive hand at her waist. Ethan stiffened, his breath hitching.

But he didn’t move.

He watched, jaw clenched, as Alexander settled Evelyn onto his lap. Their bodies pressed close, fingers tangling, a quiet murmur passing between them.

Ethan’s pulse spiked when Alexander leaned in, tilting Evelyn’s chin up—only for her to duck away, her cheeks flushing.

A slow, relieved exhale escaped him.

She’s not into him.

Evelyn was just clinging to Alexander for security. Otherwise, why would she shy from his kiss?

It made perfect sense. Alexander was nearly thirty—practically ancient compared to Evelyn’s youth.

And she had always preferred him.

The tension in Ethan’s chest unraveled.

The tension in Evelyn's shoulders melted away like morning mist.

She exhaled deeply, feeling lighter than she had in weeks.

Alexander's words echoed in her mind, sharp and bitter. "Their marriage is a farce. Uncle Nathan's deluding himself!"

The sleek black sedan pulled up outside a 24-hour pharmacy near Memorial Hospital.

Alexander stepped out, his polished shoes clicking against the pavement. "Wait here," he murmured before disappearing behind the automatic doors.

Evelyn leaned back against the buttery leather seats, watching pedestrians hurry past.

A sudden screech of tires shattered the afternoon calm.

Her head snapped toward the commotion three blocks down. Flashing lights painted the buildings red and blue, but the distance obscured details.

Probably another fender bender, she thought absently.

When Alexander returned with a paper bag of medical supplies, they took the long way around the accident scene.

Through the tinted windows, Evelyn caught glimpses of paramedics working over a figure on the asphalt. The crowd swallowed the view before she could process it.

Whitmore Manor welcomed them with its usual quiet grandeur.

Alexander's hands were surprisingly gentle as he helped her with the ointment. The burn stretched across her shoulder blades where her fingers couldn't reach.

"I may not have a medical degree," he said, his breath warm against her neck, "but I've patched up enough rugby injuries to know what I'm doing."

His touch was methodical, almost clinical, yet something in his voice made her pulse stutter.

Evelyn closed her eyes.

For the first time since the gala, she allowed herself to hope.