Chapter 390
Ethan Caldwell watched Evelyn Carter's retreating figure, his voice unexpectedly soft. "Being cherished should make you feel protected. I've wronged you before, so I'll endure your tantrums without limits."
Water droplets traced paths down his hollowed cheeks.
Days of raging fever had left him gaunt, his complexion ashen. The man who once commanded boardrooms now looked fragile enough to shatter.
The household staff stood frozen. No one in living memory had dared throw water in the master's face.
Yet Ethan showed no trace of anger.
His gaze remained fixed on Evelyn's stiff shoulders. "I'll spend every day proving I mean this fresh start."
The door slammed with finality before he finished speaking. The lock clicked like a gunshot.
Ethan followed anyway, pressing his palm against the carved oak. Inside, Evelyn burrowed deeper into the duvet, its down filling muffling her scream.
Fury prickled along her skin like static.
How could anyone remain calm after weeks of forced isolation? The gilded cage of Whitmore Manor might dazzle outsiders, but she saw only bars.
His knuckles rapped gently against the wood. "Darling—"
"Stop calling me that!" A porcelain vase shattered against the doorframe.
Ethan exhaled slowly, counting the shards glinting on the marble. Twelve pieces. Like the twelve roses he'd sent yesterday now floating in the koi pond.
He leaned his forehead against the cool wood. "I'll be in the kitchen."
Silence.
Downstairs, the head chef gaped as the CEO of Horizon Enterprises tied on an apron. "Sir, perhaps the beef Wellington—"
"I'll handle her meals from now on." Ethan selected a santoku knife, testing its weight. The blade caught the afternoon light as he began julienning carrots with precise strokes.
Upstairs, Evelyn startled at the unfamiliar aroma drifting through the vents. Something earthy and rich with herbs.
Her stomach betrayed her with a growl.
The scent carried memories—midnight snacks during exam weeks, their first anniversary dinner, all the meals he'd burned while learning.
A tear plopped onto the silk sheets. Damn him. Damn this war between her hunger and pride.
The intercom crackled. "Dinner in twenty minutes," came Ethan's voice, rough as aged whiskey. "I remember how you like your steak."
She hurled a pillow at the speaker.
It landed softly, useless as her resolve.
The isolation was suffocating.
Trapped in this gilded cage, Evelyn Carter had been completely cut off from the outside world. No phone. No internet. No way to know what was happening beyond these walls.
What unsettled her most was Alexander Whitmore’s silence.
Yes, they’d had their disagreements before, but he wouldn’t just abandon her like this. Not without a fight.
There was only one explanation—Ethan Caldwell was behind this.
Exhaustion weighed heavily on Evelyn as pregnancy fatigue pulled her into another deep sleep.
When she stirred awake hours later, golden afternoon light spilled across the room.
She turned—and froze.
Ethan sat at her bedside, watching her with those unreadable dark eyes.
"Good afternoon, sleeping beauty."
Evelyn bolted upright, heart hammering. Her gaze darted to her clothes—still intact, exactly as she'd worn them to bed. She exhaled shakily.
Then realization struck.
She'd locked the door.
Her fingers curled into the sheets as icy dread slithered down her spine.
How had he gotten in?
Had Ethan used his own key to unlock the door?
Evelyn's expression darkened immediately.
"Evelyn, don't give me that look." Ethan rose from his seat with a charming smile. "I know you've been bored, so I cleared my schedule just to keep you company."
While you were sleeping, I mastered spaghetti. This batch will definitely taste better than last time. Come downstairs and try it."
Evelyn hadn’t eaten much all day. And Ethan always knew how to tempt her.
She stopped fuming—what was the point?
Better to stay composed and hear him out.
"I'll be waiting in the dining room."
With that, Ethan shut the door softly behind him. Evelyn exhaled in frustration.
She couldn’t figure him out.
Ethan, what game are you playing now?
After a quick freshening up, Evelyn descended the stairs just as Ethan set down two plates of pasta.
The spaghetti looked surprisingly delicious.
She took her seat.
Ethan watched her, silent and expectant.
"Is it to your liking?" Ethan's gaze burned with anticipation as he watched Evelyn take another bite.
Evelyn gave a small nod. "It's decent. The steak is surprisingly tender."
A triumphant grin spread across Ethan's face at her approval. "I'll make it for you whenever you want. You've barely eaten these past few days. You must be starving."
She didn't argue. Hunger gnawed at her, though the nausea from her pregnancy had stolen her appetite.
"Maybe if you let me leave this place, I'd actually enjoy my meals," she murmured, her voice edged with quiet defiance.
Ethan stiffened. His smile vanished, replaced by a cold, unreadable mask. "Evelyn," he said, his tone dangerously low, "are you really that desperate to escape me?"
The air between them thickened with tension.
Evelyn held his gaze, unflinching.
Somewhere in the distance, a clock ticked.
The silence stretched.
Then—
A sharp knock at the door shattered the moment.
Ethan's jaw clenched.
Evelyn exhaled slowly.
Neither moved.
The knock came again, louder this time.
"Ethan," a voice called from the other side—Nathan, his ever-loyal assistant. "We have a situation."
Ethan's eyes darkened.
Evelyn's pulse quickened.
Was this her chance?
Or just another cruel twist of fate?