Chapter 271

The kiss left Evelyn's mind reeling, her thoughts scattered like leaves in the wind. She couldn't quite decipher what Alexander was hinting at.

Pulling him closer, she murmured against his lips, "Darling, you're too intense. Does that answer your question?"

Alexander exhaled sharply. That wasn't what I meant, but she's not entirely wrong.

His gaze darkened. "Anything else you'd like to confess?"

Evelyn nibbled her lower lip, her lashes fluttering. "Could you... maybe let me rest tonight? Please?"

If she counted correctly, this was already the fifth round.

Her body ached in ways she hadn't known possible.

Alexander cupped her chin, tilting her face up until their eyes locked. "Tell me, Evelyn. Who did you see tonight?"

Her breath hitched.

So that was why he'd been acting so possessive all evening.

He already knew.

"Ethan had too much to drink," she admitted softly. "He got a little reckless, but it's nothing to worry about."

The air between them thickened with unspoken tension.

Alexander's grip tightened imperceptibly. "Is that all?"

Evelyn hesitated.

She could feel the storm brewing behind his calm facade.

And she wasn't sure she was ready to weather it.

The rosy flush still lingered on Evelyn's cheeks when she suddenly recalled Grace's warning—that when Alexander lost his temper, he might just snap Ethan's legs in half.

Out of sheer pity, Evelyn murmured, "Please...don't actually break his legs, alright?"

Alexander's gaze darkened instantly, simmering with something dangerous. "Mrs. Whitmore," he said, voice low and rough, "are you begging me for my nephew?"

In a surge of possessiveness, he sank his teeth into the delicate curve of her collarbone, drawing a sharp gasp from her.

The night stretched on, wild and relentless, until Alexander was finally sated. They had pushed each other to the edge, lost in the heat of the moment.

Now curled against his chest, Evelyn traced idle patterns on his skin, whispering soft words until the tension in his body eased.

She wasn’t pleading for Ethan’s sake. No, she just didn’t want to deal with the aftermath—Ethan limping around, using his injuries as an excuse to cling to them like a shadow.

Dawn had barely broken when the shrill ring of her phone shattered the quiet.

Still tangled in Alexander’s arms, Evelyn fumbled for her phone, half-asleep.

"Evelyn," came Vanessa’s voice, thick with tears. "Ethan wants a divorce. Did you put him up to this?"

The last thing Evelyn wanted was to handle Vanessa's drama at this ungodly hour.

She ended the call without another word and burrowed deeper into the warmth of the sheets.

Beside her, Alexander stirred, his voice thick with sleep. "Who was that?"

"Nothing important," Evelyn murmured, pressing closer to him.

No one made her feel as safe as Alexander did. As her husband, he was perfection—flawless in every way.

Evelyn nuzzled against his chest. "Should we get up?"

It was Christmas morning, after all. Sleeping in at Whitmore Manor felt a little indulgent.

Alexander cracked one eye open. "Do you want to get up?"

Evelyn could barely lift her eyelids. She hadn't gotten nearly enough rest.

As if sensing her thoughts, Alexander gazed down at her with that tender, knowing smile of his. "Go back to sleep."

Evelyn hesitated. "But—"

He leaned in, brushing a kiss against the corner of her lips. "Even if the world falls apart, I'll be the one holding it up for you. What's the harm in sleeping a little longer?" His arms tightened around her. "I'm not going anywhere."

The morning sun cast golden streaks across Whitmore Manor as the Caldwell family gathered to exchange Christmas greetings with Harold Aniston before breakfast.

Yet in the quiet attic bedroom, not a single movement disturbed the peaceful silence.

It was nearly midday when Evelyn Carter finally descended the stairs, her dark circles betraying her restless night.

Sophia Ellis opened her mouth to comment, but one sharp glance from Alexander Whitmore silenced her instantly.

Even Eleanor, usually so vocal about propriety, chose to study her teacup rather than challenge her son's unspoken command.

Vanessa Hart had spent the entire night staring at those damning divorce papers, her fingers trembling against the crisp legal documents.

Eleanor had dragged her from bed at dawn, insisting proper ladies rise with the sun on Christmas morning.

Yet no one dared disturb Alexander's sleeping wife.

The double standard burned in Vanessa's throat like bitter coffee.

272

The grandfather clock chimed twelve times as Evelyn shuffled into the parlor, her silk robe whispering against her ankles.

Alexander's gaze softened when he saw her. Without a word, he poured steaming cocoa into her favorite porcelain cup - the one with tiny forget-me-nots painted along the rim.

Across the room, Grace Caldwell's manicured nails dug into her palms.

Harold Aniston cleared his throat. "Shall we exchange gifts now that everyone's... present?"

A log crackled in the fireplace.

Evelyn's fingers brushed Alexander's as she accepted the mug.

Vanessa's champagne flute shattered against the marble floor.