Chapter 463

The confession hung heavy in the air between them.

"Honestly, I'm terrified," Vanessa admitted, her fingers twisting the fabric of her dress. "No woman wants to share the man she loves, and neither do I." Her gaze locked onto Ethan’s, unwavering despite the storm of emotions inside her.

Her voice softened. "Back then, I was pregnant—fragile. I couldn’t... be with you the way you needed." A bitter smile touched her lips. "I was jealous, yes. But more than that, I hated myself for failing to keep your heart."

Ethan’s expression shifted, surprise flickering in his dark eyes.

He reached out, tilting her chin up with a single finger. "Why?" His voice was low, rough with something unspoken. "Why do you love me like this?"

The space between them vanished, their breaths mingling.

Vanessa didn’t hesitate. "Your mind. Your body. The way you make me feel when we’re together." Her words were bold, deliberate.

A satisfied smirk curved his lips.

Then, unbidden, the memory surfaced—Evelyn pressed against Alexander near the balcony, their lips locked in a heated kiss.

His grip on Vanessa tightened. "Kiss me," he commanded.

For a heartbeat, she froze. Then, swallowing her shock, she obeyed, her mouth meeting his with practiced ease.

The irony wasn’t lost on him. He’d denied himself for Evelyn’s sake, yet she had no such restraint with Alexander.

The realization tasted bitter.

Pathetic.

He deepened the kiss, chasing the thought away.

Vanessa wasn't entirely sure what Ethan meant by his earlier words, but she didn't press further.

Yet, before she could dwell on it, he pulled her into his arms, deepening the kiss with an urgency that left her breathless.

A fire burned in his chest—months of pent-up desire demanding release.

When he gave her that silent permission, her heart leapt with unexpected delight.

But reality crashed in. The doctor had been clear—no intimacy for at least a month after her miscarriage. The risk of infection was too high.

Still, this was Ethan Caldwell. The man she had longed for. How could she let this chance slip away?

Her thoughts tangled in hesitation—until his hands slid beneath her skirt.

His voice turned sharp. "Don’t tell me you’re having second thoughts now."

She shook her head quickly, pressing closer. "I want this. I want you."

Her lips found his again, hungry and reckless, sealing her decision.

Afterward, exhaustion pulled her under, and she drifted into sleep on the hospital bed.

Ethan lit a cigarette, exhaling slowly as satisfaction settled over him.

But as he watched Vanessa’s peaceful expression, his mind betrayed him.

He imagined Evelyn Carter in her place—soft sighs, worshiping hands, the way she would have looked at him with those deep, knowing eyes.

The fantasy was sweeter than reality.

According to Harold, any woman marrying into the Whitmore family was required to reside at Whitmore Manor to receive ancestral blessings.

Vanessa had lived there during her pregnancy years ago, so Evelyn agreed to the arrangement without protest.

But Alexander wouldn’t tolerate outdated traditions. "If you’re uncomfortable, we’ll leave immediately. These rules mean nothing to me."

The Whitmore family was extensive—nearly every member lived at the manor except Alexander.

He refused to let Evelyn get tangled in their suffocating family politics.

"Your father insists on tradition, though. Honestly, I don’t mind staying." Evelyn traced her fingers along Alexander’s jaw, the rough stubble grazing her fingertips.

His chain felt cold against her skin.

"Worried Ethan and Eleanor will make trouble for me? They wouldn’t dare cross me under your roof, would they?"

Alexander had already made them pay.

Though the scandal had been scrubbed from headlines, the damage was done.

Eleanor had locked herself in her rooms since, claiming illness. She refused to even dine with the family.

Eleanor rarely left her room these days.

Every time she stepped out, Sophia would sneer, "Oh, Eleanor, feeling better? Was it your son marrying that useless woman that gave you migraines? Or was it her failure to protect your grandchild?"

Each word was a blade twisting deeper into her chest.

The weight of it suffocated her until she retreated behind locked doors.

To keep Evelyn from growing restless, Alexander sent over the cello he had gifted her before.

For days, she lost herself in its melodies, the notes filling the silence of the manor.

Between practice sessions, she called Claire to catch up.

Claire was due in two months, her voice bright with anticipation.

"And what about you and Lucas...?"

"We're divorced."

Claire's voice was light, almost carefree. "Ditched the toxic ex, now it's just me and my little one."

Evelyn exhaled slowly.

Lucas had misunderstood—he assumed Claire's baby belonged to Julian.

But as an outsider and Claire's closest friend, Evelyn wasn't about to correct him. Not when Claire finally seemed happy.

"Did it hurt when he wasn’t there for the birth?" she asked gently.

Claire shrugged. "What good would he have done? Holding my hand wouldn’t have made the contractions any easier. His absence was irrelevant."

Evelyn nodded. That made perfect sense.

Without hesitation, she declared, "Don’t worry, Claire! I’ll be your ride-or-die from now on!"

Claire burst out laughing. "Deal! And when my son starts talking, I’ll teach him to call you 'Mommy'!"

Evelyn grinned, relieved. Claire wasn’t just coping—she was thriving. The divorce hadn’t broken her. If anything, she was freer than ever.

Claire abruptly shifted the conversation. "Speaking of which, there's been some gossip circulating in Cresthaven about you. Have you caught wind of it?"

"What are you referring to?" Evelyn asked, her brow furrowing slightly.

"Rumors are spreading that you're carrying Ethan's child," Claire revealed, watching her friend's reaction closely.

Evelyn rolled her eyes, exasperated by the sheer pettiness of people.

"Why are they so obsessed with my personal life instead of minding their own damn business?" she snapped, irritation lacing her voice.

Claire bit her lip, concerned about how these whispers might strain Evelyn's relationship with Alexander.

"I'm worried this gossip could hurt you. Speaking of which, has Alexander been acting differently lately?"

Evelyn's lips curved into a small smile. "Yes."

"Nothing... unusual?" Claire pressed, finding his sudden attentiveness suspicious.

At this, Evelyn's cheeks flushed a delicate pink, her gaze dropping to her hands.

Claire's eyes widened in realization. "No way! Is he really that insatiable? He can't even control himself while you're pregnant?"

The past two weeks had felt like a dream to Evelyn.

Every single day, she and Alexander couldn't keep their hands off each other.

The afternoon sunlight streamed through the windows as Evelyn Carter curled up on the sofa, her phone pressed to her ear.

Claire Dawson’s voice crackled through the line. "The doctor said we can resume intimacy after the first trimester. And honestly, Alexander was so gentle—I barely felt a thing."

Evelyn’s fingers tightened around her phone. Something about Claire’s tone felt… off.

A car engine rumbled outside, pulling her attention away. The familiar hum of Alexander Whitmore’s luxury sedan sent a flutter through her chest.

Moments later, the front door swung open.

Alexander strode in, his tailored suit clinging to his broad frame. The crisp scent of his cologne mixed with the faint chill of autumn air still clinging to his coat.

Without a word, he pulled Evelyn into his arms.

"Miss me?" His voice was low, rough with affection.

Evelyn melted against him, her pulse quickening. "Always."

His lips met hers in a slow, possessive kiss.

As she gazed up at him—those sharp cheekbones, the smoldering intensity in his eyes—she traced the perfect slope of his nose.

God, he was breathtaking.

Sometimes, she imagined their future son inheriting those devastating looks.

Breaking the kiss, Evelyn smoothed her hands over his chest. "You must be starving. I’ll have the chef prepare dinner."

Alexander tightened his grip on Evelyn’s wrist, stopping her from walking away.

“Dinner can wait.” His fingers trailed down her spine with deliberate slowness, igniting a familiar heat between them.

His lips found the delicate curve of her collarbone, his breath warm against her skin. The hunger in his touch was undeniable, his restraint unraveling by the second.

“How about we work up an appetite first?” His voice was rough with desire.

Evelyn didn’t protest. Instead, she met his gaze, her silent consent sending a thrill through him.

In one swift motion, he pressed her down, his mouth claiming every inch of exposed skin with reckless abandon.

Her blouse slipped from her shoulders, pooling at her feet in a whisper of fabric.

The air between them crackled with urgency, their bodies moving in perfect sync.

Control was a distant memory.

In that moment, nothing else mattered.

Secret Longing: A Second Chance at Love (Evelyn) novel