Chapter 705

The hospital room was quiet as Evelyn Carter unrolled her acupuncture kit beside Dominic Powell's bed.

Dominic glanced at the clock—just past eight. His voice was casual. "Did you eat breakfast?"

Evelyn's fingers stilled for a fraction of a second before she answered, "Yes."

Dominic's sharp gaze lingered on her face, catching the slight hesitation. "Nathaniel brought soup," he said. "Postpartum recovery blend. Even if you've eaten, have some."

Evelyn blinked, turning as Nathaniel entered with a steaming thermos. "Still hot, Mrs. Whitmore," he said, offering it to her.

The rich aroma filled the room—a traditional remedy for restoring energy, perfect for someone who had just given birth.

Evelyn's thoughts tangled. Dominic Powell, a man with no wife or children—how does he know about this? She studied him, brows furrowed.

Dominic smirked. "Moved to tears?" He shifted slightly, wincing at the pain from his injuries. "If you're that touched, leave Alexander and marry me. Most men wouldn’t raise another man’s child, but I don’t mind."

Evelyn said nothing. She lifted the thermos and drank deeply, the warmth spreading through her, easing the exhaustion she hadn’t realized she was carrying. Could someone really not care?

Dominic watched her drain it in one go and scoffed. "Slow down. It’s not a competition." He reached for it. "Save me a sip."

Too late. The thermos was empty.

Dominic scowled. "Seriously? Not even a drop? Was it that good?"

Evelyn set it aside. "I already drank from it."

Dominic arched a brow. "And? I don’t care."

Something about him had shifted in her eyes. He was reckless, unpredictable—but once he claimed someone as his, he’d burn the world for them. She hesitated, then asked, "That day, when you ran into the fire for me—what were you thinking? Weren’t you afraid?"

Dominic shrugged. "Terrified. Going against instinct isn’t easy."

He wasn’t wrong. Survival instinct demanded retreat, not charging into danger. Yet he had, without hesitation. A second’s delay, and she wouldn’t be here.

His gaze drifted. "You once told me nothing in this world truly belongs to us. Only our feelings, our experiences. Living is about embracing it all—joy, pain, everything in between."

A pause. "I figured you weren’t ready to die yet. If trading my life for yours meant you got to keep living, it was worth it. Honestly? I’ve never found life that meaningful anyway."

The words settled heavily in Evelyn’s chest. He’d been ready to die for her—and they weren’t even close.

"You saved me," she said, pressing the needle into his skin with precision. "But my skills are solid. Now that you’re awake, dying isn’t an option." Another jab.

Dominic grinned, deliberately misreading her. "So you want me around? Miss my company?"

Pale from blood loss, his voice was still teasing, low. "I saved you. Does that mean you’re mine now?"

Evelyn’s ears burned.

"No answer? I’ll take that as a yes." His fingers curled around the back of her neck, pulling her closer.

Evelyn stiffened, turning her face away. "What are you doing?" His breath brushed her skin, warm and unsettling.

Dominic smirked. "What do you think? I’m going to kiss you."

He leaned in—just as the needle hit the pressure point on his forehead.

Dominic went still. His head dropped back onto the pillow, limbs slack, eyes closed—as if he’d fallen asleep.

Evelyn exhaled, studying his face. "Even if I wanted to leave Alexander," she murmured, "we’re still married. I won’t cross that line."

Principles mattered. She wouldn’t start something new before ending the old—not for her sake, but for everyone’s. She wasn’t sure if he heard her. Maybe she just needed to say it aloud.

She packed her kit and left. Outside, she told Nathaniel, "He’ll wake in half an hour."

Nathaniel nodded. But when he re-entered the room, Dominic’s eyes were open.

Nathaniel froze. Didn’t she say thirty minutes?

Dominic’s lips curved. He’d heard every word. She’s actually considering divorce?

A quiet laugh escaped him.

Nathaniel frowned. "Sir... why are you laughing?"

Dominic turned to him, suddenly serious. "How much is in my account?"

Nathaniel blinked. "What?"

Dominic never cared about money. Why now?

"You’ve been in prison ten years," Nathaniel said slowly. "Most of your dividends went to... smoothing things over."

Dominic wasn’t a model inmate. Fights, provocations—the Powell family didn’t cover those expenses.

Dominic’s patience thinned. "Just give me a number."

Nathaniel hesitated. "Between cash and shares—excluding properties—about eight hundred thousand."

Dominic’s expression darkened. "Only eight hundred thousand?"

Nathaniel couldn’t help it. "Why do you need to know?"

Dominic’s answer left him speechless.

"To get married."