Chapter 22

That evening at Blackwood Estate.

The entire family gathered for dinner, though Dominic Blackwood's seat remained conspicuously empty.

Beatrice Lockwood placed cucumber slices on both Alexander and Isabella's plates. "Growing children need proper nutrition. Even if you dislike it, you must eat some. Unless you want to remain this height forever?"

The rest of the table continued their meal without comment.

Alexander obediently chewed his cucumber before looking up. "Grandmother, why don't you eat onions?"

The stir-fried onions were a family favorite - enjoyed by Great-grandfather Reginald, Uncle Julian, and even Margaret Lockwood. Only Beatrice consistently pushed the dish away, claiming the smell ruined her appetite.

Before Beatrice could respond, Margaret snorted. "Such high maintenance. Typical of her kind."

Reginald's sharp cough silenced further remarks. Though Margaret rolled her eyes, she returned to eating without another word.

Beatrice maintained her composure. "It's hereditary. My father couldn't stand onions either."

"Really?" Alexander fumbled with his chopsticks. "Miss Evelyn doesn't eat onions either!"

Beatrice smiled faintly. Many people avoided onions - just like cilantro. Nothing unusual about that.

After dinner, the twins played outside until dusk, then dutifully prepared for bed.

—

The night stretched endlessly for Evelyn Sinclair.

Tangled in sweat-drenched sheets, she thrashed against haunting dreams.

Water cascaded in her vision. Dominic stood showering when she entered, pressing against his sculpted back. As he turned, his mouth trailed fire down her neck.

She arched toward him, desperate for more.

His rough hands mapped her body while hot breath whispered against her skin. Every touch ignited tremors through her overheated flesh.

Suddenly the scene shifted.

A repulsive middle-aged tycoon leered at her with greasy intent.

Evelyn jolted upright, gasping.

Only a nightmare. Thank God.

Outside her A City apartment, starless darkness mirrored her turmoil. Five years hadn't erased that televised image of her baby's father - his porcine features forever imprinted behind her eyelids.

Therapy had provided temporary relief overseas, but the nightmares always returned. Why couldn't her subconscious release what reality had moved past?

Evelyn turned toward the window, seeking grounding in the present.

Then Dominic's voice echoed from earlier that day: "What are you thinking about? Why are you crying?"

Her fingers clawed the sheets as another memory surfaced - that hoarse command from five years ago: "Spread your legs for me—"

The two voices merged thunderously in her mind.

Lightning flashed, illuminating her tear-streaked face just before rain lashed the windows.

She finally surrendered to sobs.

'Face it. You sold yourself to that disgusting man at eighteen to save your family.'

'You despise him so deeply that you'd rather believe Dominic was—'

—

At dawn, Alexander crept into his sister's room.

"Isabella, why do you think Father was holding Miss Evelyn yesterday?"

"He was?" Isabella blinked sleepily.

"Yes! And she was crying."

"Maybe he hit her."

"Why would he—"

"Because she's picky! She won't eat onions!"

Alexander's brow furrowed. Had Father really punished Miss Evelyn for not eating onions? That didn't seem right.

"I'll talk to him," Alexander decided. "Men should be gentle with ladies."

Isabella sighed dramatically. "Father needs so much guidance."

Dominic returned at sunrise. As he removed his tie, a childish note on his bathroom door caught his eye: "Father - plese be a gentelman."

He set it aside without comment.

Alexander appeared moments later, keeping a safe distance. "Father, may I ask you something?"

To the boy's surprise, Dominic nodded permission.

"Isabella says you hit Miss Evelyn for not eating onions." Alexander gathered courage. "People have rights! You can't force your will on others! Miss Evelyn isn't even your child like we are!"

Dominic arched a brow. "If I provide for someone their entire life, shouldn't they obey me too?"

Alexander scratched his head. "I suppose, but—"

Without further explanation, Dominic stepped into the shower, ending the conversation. Some lessons required more maturity than his son possessed.