Chapter 79

Alexander froze mid-motion.

He had just finished dinner and was reaching for his laptop on the coffee table when Evelyn’s sudden movement startled him.

Her slender arms wound around his neck, pulling him close. The warmth of her body pressed against his, her breath soft against his skin.

His throat tightened as he met her glassy, red-rimmed eyes.

A deep crease formed between his brows. "Evelyn," he said, voice low with concern. "What’s wrong? Who hurt you?"

Instead of answering, she tilted her face up, mimicking the way he had kissed her before. Her lashes fluttered shut as she leaned in.

Alexander turned his head at the last second, avoiding the contact.

Something was very, very wrong.

His pulse hammered unevenly as he gripped her shoulders. "Tell me," he demanded, voice rough. "Did Ethan do something to you? Look at me. I’ll handle it."

Evelyn stiffened when he evaded her kiss.

Her lips trembled.

A single tear slipped free.

Alexander’s chest constricted.

Whatever had happened—it was bad.

A sudden chill ran down Evelyn's spine, as if someone had thrown ice water over her.

Her heart clenched. "It's over," she thought. "The other woman must be extraordinary if Alexander is willing to remain devoted to her."

Defiant, she lifted her chin, wrapped her arms around Alexander's neck, and settled onto his lap.

"Alexander, I'm your wife," she whispered, her voice trembling slightly. "If you have needs, you can come to me."

Her delicate fingers tightened around his collar, pulling him closer until their breaths mingled.

"But if you're being unfaithful, how are you any better than that despicable Ethan Caldwell?" Her voice cracked. "If you don't want me anymore, just say it. I'll step aside so you can be with her."

Evelyn had never been the one to initiate intimacy before.

During her seven years with Ethan, she had always been the one chasing after him.

Ethan had never truly cared for her, and naturally, their relationship had never progressed physically.

It wasn't until she married Alexander that she learned what it meant to kiss a man.

But she was still inexperienced—her lips brushed against his clumsily, retreating and returning without finesse.

That clumsy, inexperienced kiss ignited something primal in Alexander, awakening a dangerous hunger that coiled low in his gut.

Evelyn's pulse spiked in alarm.

After being discarded once and finally tasting stability, the mere thought of someone else laying claim to Alexander sent her spiraling into possessive calculations.

She had grown accustomed to this comfortable rhythm of their lives.

But she never anticipated that a simple business trip could fracture their peace—that Alexander might already have found another woman's company. The possibility clawed at her composure.

Claire had warned her once: men were different. Their needs were more visceral, more urgent.

So Evelyn traced the problem back to that.

She remained utterly unaware of how dangerously close they were, how his body caged hers against the wall.

Alexander's gaze turned molten. In one swift motion, he seized the back of her neck, slanting his mouth over hers in a searing, possessive kiss that left her breathless.

When he finally pulled away, his lips brushed the shell of her ear as he murmured, "Unfaithful, Mrs. Whitmore? Where the hell did you get that idea?"

Evelyn fisted his collar—then tore his shirt open with a single, decisive yank.

Buttons scattered across the floor as his shirt ripped open, revealing sculpted abs and a chest that could make any woman weak in the knees.

From his collarbone down, an intricate map of love bites—some rosy pink, others deep violet—told a story of passion unrestrained.

Evelyn’s brows knitted together. "Then what the hell is this?"

"Mrs. Whitmore," Alexander chuckled, glancing at his ruined shirt, "you have quite the appetite when you're drunk, don’t you?"

Her breath hitched as her gaze traced the evidence of last night’s escapades across his bare skin.

Alexander had assumed she was merely playing coy. After all, waking up to find himself thoroughly ravaged by his wife wasn’t exactly something he could brag about.

So he’d stayed silent, letting her believe he remembered nothing.

But now, seeing the genuine confusion in her eyes, realization struck—she truly didn’t recall a single second of it.

And worse, she thought another woman had marked him.

His lips curved into a devilish smirk. "You really don’t remember?"

Leaning in, his voice dropped to a husky whisper. "These are your handiwork, Evelyn. Every last one of them."

Her eyes widened in horror.

"You had me pinned beneath you, biting, scratching—"

Her face burned crimson.

"—and trust me, Mrs. Whitmore, you were very thorough."

The world tilted beneath her feet.

She had done what?

Alexander's fingers tightened around Evelyn's chin, tilting her face upward until their eyes locked.

The intensity in his gaze sent a shiver down her spine.

"Perhaps I should refresh your memory," he murmured, his voice dangerously low.

The air between them crackled with unspoken tension.

Evelyn's breath hitched as his thumb brushed lightly over her bottom lip.

His expression darkened, promising both punishment and pleasure.

"Unless you'd prefer to remember on your own?"

The challenge in his words made her pulse quicken.

She knew this game—one she wasn't sure she could win.

But the fire in his eyes told her she wouldn't escape unscathed.

Not this time.

Not when he looked at her like that.

A slow, predatory smile curved his lips.

"Let's begin."