Chapter 368
Ethan Caldwell leaped from the garden wall.
His landing was far from graceful, sending a sharp pain shooting through his twisted ankle. He gritted his teeth and pushed through it.
The night was unnervingly still as he limped toward the guesthouse where Alexander Whitmore resided.
No guards. No witnesses. Just the suffocating silence of the estate.
A dim glow seeped from one of the upstairs windows. He moved closer, his pulse erratic.
Then—he heard it.
Soft, breathy moans. A woman’s voice, laced with pleasure.
His blood turned to fire.
He knew that voice. Evelyn.
Ethan’s hands clenched into fists. His imagination painted the scene behind that door—Alexander, claiming her, savoring every inch of her.
Of course he’s ecstatic. He has her. All of her.
A bitter taste filled his mouth.
If only I hadn’t been so damn noble back then—
The thought carved into him like a blade.
His throat constricted, veins throbbing at his temples, his vision tinged red.
He didn’t understand why, but even knowing what was happening inside, he couldn’t stop himself from coming here.
Dragging a hand down his face, he suddenly slammed his fists against the door with brutal force, as if he could tear it down with sheer will.
If he didn’t make them stop now, he’d lose his mind. He couldn’t bear another second of it.
The sounds inside cut off abruptly.
Evelyn bit her lip and slid off Alexander, instinctively yanking the sheets up to her chin, leaving only her flushed face exposed.
Alexander’s gaze flicked toward the door, his expression darkening.
At this hour, no one should have been interrupting them. And yet, he already knew exactly who stood on the other side.
A cruel smirk curled his lips as he pulled Evelyn back against him, his grip unyielding.
Her cheeks burned as she pressed into the hard planes of his chest, her body trembling faintly. His voice, rough and low, whispered against her ear, "Ignore it. We're not done."
His heartbeat was steady, powerful—a stark contrast to the erratic rhythm of her own.
The heat of their bare skin pressed together, the intimacy of the moment, made her realize just how reckless this man could be. How utterly shameless.
She hadn't anticipated Alexander to be this relentless, completely disregarding the persistent knocking at the door.
"Not now," Evelyn breathed, her voice barely audible. "Please, someone's there. Go check."
Her cheeks burned with humiliation. Had anyone heard them earlier? The mere possibility made her want to disappear.
Tonight, Alexander was insatiable. Even after their passionate afternoon, his energy only seemed to grow as the night deepened.
Exhaustion weighed heavily on Evelyn, but he showed no signs of stopping.
She thought back to her reckless escape from Ethan’s window earlier. It must have looked suspicious, and perhaps that was why she let Alexander have his way—hoping it would soothe his simmering anger.
Yet, the more she yielded, the more consumed he became. He had guided her through positions that left her muscles trembling, her back aching in protest.
Seeing her distress, Alexander finally relented, lazily pulling on his trousers before striding toward the door.
Evelyn scrambled into her robe and burrowed beneath the sheets, wrapping herself tightly like a fragile cocoon.
The door swung open.
There stood Ethan, his eyes bloodshot, fury radiating from every tense line of his body.
His eyes burned with an intensity that wasn't quite tears—something darker, fiercer. A storm of barely restrained fury.
The door swung open, and Ethan Caldwell's gaze snapped toward the interior.
There she was—Evelyn Carter, curled beneath the blankets, only a single strand of her hair visible.
Then her eyes flickered up, bright and hesitant, meeting his for the briefest moment. A silent exchange, unnoticed by Alexander Whitmore standing between them.