Chapter 313

The woman stood trembling at the clinic doors, her threadbare dress hanging loosely over her swollen belly. Her sunken eyes held a desperate plea as she clutched her stomach—a womb that carried death instead of life.

In Cresthaven, the doctors could perform miracles. Or so she had heard.

But in her village, there was no mercy for women like her. A stillborn child meant disgrace. A death sentence at the hands of a furious husband.

That was when Evelyn Sinclair made her choice.

She handed Margaret Hayes’ newborn to the peasant woman, sealing the lie with a whisper.

A decade later, the truth unraveled.

Margaret’s sharp eyes noticed it first—the way Vanessa Hart’s blood type didn’t match. The numbers didn’t lie. The child she had raised wasn’t hers.

Panic set in.

Evelyn, older now but still clinging to the remnants of her beauty, saw the storm coming.

She couldn’t let Richard Hayes cast Vanessa aside. Not when the girl was her own flesh and blood.

So she sought him out.

Confession spilled from her lips like poison, each word laced with calculation.

Richard’s face darkened. "Where is Margaret’s daughter?"

Evelyn hesitated. But then—opportunity.

If she gave him this, perhaps he would give her something in return.

And he did.

The past reignited between them, a dangerous flame she had no intention of extinguishing.

Not when she still had so much to gain.

Evelyn Sinclair took pride in offering emotional comfort. Wealthy men constantly dealt with pressure—demanding clients outside, nagging wives at home. They craved women like her.

Evelyn Carter waited half the night, convinced Alexander had lied to her. Just as she was about to delete his contact, his message popped up with a location pin:

[My team tracked Damian Cross to this area. It's a rough neighborhood. Do you want me to go with you tomorrow?]

She studied the coordinates—a cramped, decaying district on the city’s fringe. The kind of place where shadows hid more than just secrets.

"Who are you texting?"

Alexander stepped into the room, his damp hair tousled, black silk pajamas clinging to his frame. The usual sharp edges of his presence softened slightly.

She didn’t bother hiding it. "Ethan."

His brow arched. He moved closer, sinking onto the couch beside her, his gaze dropping to her phone. Ethan’s WhatsApp stared back at him.

"What did he say? I thought you blocked him." His tone was deceptively calm, but the chill in his voice was unmistakable.

Evelyn remembered the doctor’s warning—Alexander’s temper was—

The wound on Alexander's lower back still needed daily dressing changes. Without hesitation, Evelyn hurried to fetch the first aid kit.

But before she could take a step, Alexander's strong fingers wrapped around her wrist, pulling her effortlessly onto his lap. She found herself straddling his thighs, their bodies pressed dangerously close.

The rich, masculine scent of his cologne enveloped her, sending her pulse into a frantic rhythm. The position was undeniably intimate—too intimate.

A shiver raced down her spine as Alexander leaned in, his lips grazing the sensitive skin of her neck. "Mrs. Whitmore," he murmured, his voice rough with barely restrained desire. "Don’t you think you owe me an explanation?"

Evelyn’s fingers curled instinctively into his hair, her breath hitching. "I’ll delete him right now, Alexander. Just… don’t move—"

"Who’s moving now?" His grip on her waist tightened, his dark eyes flickering down to where their bodies were flush against each other.

It was then that Evelyn realized her mistake. In her desperate attempt to evade his kisses, she had only stoked the fire inside him. Her heart hammered wildly, but it was too late—far too late.

Alexander’s injury had healed remarkably fast, and within days, he was unrestrained, his strength fully returned.

And now, with a feverish hunger, he took her again and again, lost in the heat of their passion.

His rough stubble grazed against her sensitive skin, sending shivers down her spine. The slight burn mixed with pleasure made Evelyn gasp.

Alexander's lips trailed lower, deliberately teasing.

She arched her back instinctively, nails digging into his shoulders. "Stop...it hurts," she breathed, though her body betrayed her words.

He chuckled darkly, the vibration against her collarbone making her tremble. "Liar."

Overwhelmed, Evelyn sank her teeth into his shoulder.

Instead of pulling away, Alexander groaned in approval. "Again," he demanded, pressing closer until no space remained between them.

The command sent heat pooling low in her belly. She bit down harder this time, tasting salt on her tongue.

His responding growl ignited something primal within her. The game had changed - she wasn't sure when she'd lost control, only that she never wanted it back.

Around them, the silk sheets twisted like the lies they told themselves. That this was just physical. That neither craved more.

The grandfather clock in the hallway chimed midnight.

Somewhere in Whitmore Manor, a phone began to ring.