Chapter 576

Evelyn spent considerable time soothing Claire's distress.

"I refuse to go to him," Claire declared, her tone unyielding. "Let's see how long his pride lasts!"

Evelyn nodded in agreement. "Focus on healing your legs. Rest is crucial. Alexander just informed me he heard Bella crying loudly—she's perfectly healthy. No need for concern."

For now, whoever broke first would lose the upper hand. Lucas had taken the baby solely to pressure Claire into submission.

Before returning to her orchestra, Evelyn left Julian with strict instructions to care for Claire.

But as she reached the entrance, Nathaniel intercepted her.

His eyes were bloodshot, his voice trembling. "Ms. Carter, please! You must help Mr. Powell! He's barely clinging to life!"

Evelyn froze. "Dominic? What's happened to him now?"

The memory of that disastrous night resurfaced—Dominic manipulating events to sabotage her relationship with Alexander, using Isabella as his pawn. The heated confrontation outside the hotel remained vivid in her mind.

That night, he'd even drawn a dagger and dared her to stab him.

Evelyn couldn't fathom what could reduce Nathaniel, a composed man, to such desperation.

Acting on instinct—or perhaps lingering guilt—she followed him through a discreet entrance into Powell Manor.

They moved silently, avoiding detection.

But the moment Evelyn stepped into the room, her breath caught.

The metallic tang of blood hung thick in the air. Dominic lay motionless on the bed, eyes shut tight.

His lips were parched, his body trembling violently beneath a thick blanket. He looked worse than when he'd been shot in the shoulder. Evelyn's frown deepened. "Why isn't he at a hospital?"

Nathaniel shook his head. "Mr. Powell forbade it!"

"What irrational vendetta does this man have against medical care?" she wondered.

Medical supplies were already arranged nearby. Evelyn approached and lifted the blanket.

The fabric beneath was saturated with blood.

Peeling back Dominic's shirt, she gasped.

A clean, deep gash marred his abdomen—two centimeters deep, the length of a finger.

The wound's edges were crusted with dried blood, fresh crimson still seeping through. It was at least a day old.

The sheets beneath him were stained beyond recognition, layer upon layer of rust-colored betrayal.

Evelyn worked swiftly to stem the bleeding, but the wound gaped too widely—she could only slow it.

Dominic burned with fever, unconscious. Without proper care, infection was inevitable.

"Why does he always end up like this?" she thought bitterly.

After assessing the injury, she confirmed it was superficial—no organ damage.

If it was merely surface-level, she could attempt sutures herself.

"Needle and thread?"

"Yes! Here!" Nathaniel rummaged through the kit and handed them over. "Ms. Carter, are you truly stitching him yourself?"

Evelyn exhaled sharply. "He belongs in a hospital, but your stubborn master refuses. If I do this here, he'll have a hideous scar."

Nathaniel hesitated. Dominic was notoriously vain—a permanent mark might devastate him.

A weak cough startled them both.

Dominic's eyes fluttered open.