Chapter 39

Evelyn nodded, her forehead creasing as she caught the stunned expression frozen on Claire's face. Claire's jaw had dropped so low it could've caught raindrops.

"What's wrong? Do you recognize him?" Evelyn asked, intrigue threading her voice.

Unsure if she was misunderstanding, Claire demanded, "What's his name? Show me!"

Remembering the name she'd seen on the marriage certificate earlier that day, Evelyn took Claire's hand and traced the letters onto her palm.

As each stroke formed, Claire turned to stone, her face a mask of utter shock.

Seconds stretched like hours before she finally snapped out of it, her voice a fragile whisper. "You… you seriously don’t know who Alexander Whitmore is?"

Evelyn shook her head, wide-eyed.

"All I know is his name and that he owns some company. Oh, and that he drinks like a fish at parties."

The breaking news alert on Evelyn's phone flashed: Hezbollah's attack on northern border... Netanyahu threatens Lebanon...

Before Evelyn could respond to Claire, the police station's doors burst open with a resounding crash.

A commanding presence filled the room as Alexander Whitmore strode in, his mere entrance hushing conversations and drawing every eye.

He moved with the confidence of a man who owned the world, his sharp gaze immediately locking onto Evelyn.

When he noticed the blood staining her sleeve, his jaw tightened. "You're injured?"

Evelyn shook her head quickly. "It's not mine."

The tension in Alexander's shoulders eased slightly, but concern still darkened his expression. The late-night chill clung to the air, and Evelyn—dressed too lightly—shivered, her face pale.

Without a word, Alexander shrugged off his tailored suit jacket and draped it over her shoulders. "Button it up," he ordered, his voice low but firm.

Guilt flickered in Evelyn's chest. "I'm sorry for making you come out so late..."

His fingers lingered near her collar, adjusting the jacket before he stepped back. "Don't apologize," he said, his tone softening just enough to reassure her.

The fluorescent lights overhead cast sharp shadows across his face, emphasizing the protective edge in his stance.

Evelyn pulled the jacket tighter, the residual warmth from his body seeping into her skin.

Across the room, Claire watched them with raised eyebrows, clearly reassessing the dynamics between them.

Alexander's attention, however, never wavered from Evelyn. "Tell me what happened."

She exhaled, steeling herself.

This night was far from over.

Alexander's brow furrowed. "We're husband and wife. There's no need for apologies between us."

Just then, an officer strode toward them. "You're here for their release? Follow me to complete the paperwork."

Alexander gave a curt nod, his piercing gaze suddenly locking onto Claire.

Their eyes met, and Claire's stomach knotted with unease. Should I acknowledge him?

It made sense that Evelyn wouldn't recognize Alexander after three years behind bars, but Claire had encountered him multiple times.

Given that Alexander and Lucas were practically inseparable, avoiding him completely had been impossible.

They'd even shared an awkward business dinner once.

Though their conversations had been brief, Alexander had a razor-sharp memory.

But Evelyn's husband? Alexander Whitmore?

The universe had to be playing some cruel joke.

As the officer shuffled documents at the counter, motioning for Alexander to—

Claire couldn't contain herself any longer.

"Alright, out with it. What's really going on between you and Alexander? How did this marriage even happen? Who proposed?"

Evelyn hesitated, the memory of that startling morning flashing through her mind. "I think... it was him."

Claire's expression shifted, her brows knitting together.

She thought, Evelyn suffered so much because of Ethan. Yet Alexander Whitmore—of all people—wants to marry her? That’s... unexpected.

But then, a slow, satisfied smile curled her lips.

Alexander’s position in the Whitmore family was unassailable. If Evelyn became his wife, she’d effectively become Ethan’s aunt.

The mental image of future family gatherings—Ethan and Vanessa forced to raise their glasses to Evelyn—sent a thrill through Claire.

Looping her arm through Evelyn’s, she grinned.

"Darling, you’ve just struck gold."

"Did you hear about Alexander and Ethan—"

Eleanor's words cut off abruptly as the precinct door burst open again.

The sudden noise made everyone turn. A gust of wind swept in, carrying the faint scent of rain.

Vanessa Hart stiffened beside me, her manicured nails digging into her palms.

I held my breath, waiting.

Then I saw him.

Alexander Whitmore stood framed in the doorway, his tailored suit rumpled, his usually perfect hair disheveled. His stormy gray eyes locked onto mine with terrifying intensity.

"Evelyn."

The way he said my name sent shivers down my spine. There was something different about him—something dangerous.

Simon Graves rushed in behind him, looking harried. "Sir, you shouldn't—"

Alexander ignored him, striding forward with single-minded purpose. The officers exchanged uneasy glances but didn't stop him.

Vanessa made a small, choked sound.

I barely noticed. My entire world had narrowed to the man advancing toward me, his expression unreadable.

Then he was right in front of me, close enough that I could see the faint shadow of stubble along his jaw.

His hand came up—

I flinched.

But he only brushed his knuckles lightly against my cheek. "You're hurt."

His voice was deceptively soft.

That's when I realized—the storm in his eyes wasn't directed at me.

It was for whoever had put that bruise on my face.

And judging by the way Vanessa had gone deathly pale, she knew exactly what that meant.

The room seemed to hold its breath.

Then Alexander turned to the nearest officer, his voice dropping to a lethal calm.

"Now. Let's talk about who dared to lay hands on my wife."