Chapter 37

Alexander opened his mouth to speak, then hesitated. He glanced warily at his towering father behind him before turning back to Evelyn with a firm shake of his head.

"No, we're taking you to the department store."

"The department store? Why?"

The question left her lips before she remembered—the fridge was empty. No bottled water. The boy must have noticed and worried she'd have nothing to drink.

"I can just boil water. We don’t need to go."

What she really needed was for them to leave. Now.

But Alexander dug his heels in. "Nope. I’m scared you won’t have food or drinks..."

Helpless, Evelyn shot Dominic a pleading look. Parent your child, please.

Instead, the man ruffled his son’s hair and said mildly, "Lex might insist on staying the night if we don’t get you supplies."

Evelyn had no rebuttal.

If fate had to tether her to a Blackwood, she’d take Alexander’s occasional visits—a fleeting taste of warmth, of motherhood she’d lost. A balm for the ache.

But Dominic? She prayed their paths would never cross again.

Two weeks in his orbit had already painted a target on her back—Penelope Worthington, the heiress who didn’t understand consequences. What worse disasters awaited if she stayed entangled with him?

Clutching her wallet, Evelyn followed the father-son pair out of the hospital in her borrowed off-white dress.

Dominic led, his stride effortless. She hung back—a sparrow trailing a dragon. The mismatch was glaring.

The store stood just outside the hospital gates. No need for the car.

As they walked, Evelyn felt eyes on her. Passersby glanced, then lingered on the man ahead—like he’d stepped off a Forbes cover.

At the entrance, she grabbed a cart.

Dominic kept looking back, ensuring she followed. Noticing the cart, he frowned. "I’ll push it."

"I’ve got it."

"Every other man here is doing it." His tone brooked no argument. Before she could protest, his palm cradled the back of her head while his other hand claimed the cart.

Evelyn scanned the store. True—husbands pushed carts for wives. But she wasn’t his anything.

Yet arguing here? Futile.

With a quiet sigh, she took Alexander’s hand and trailed behind Dominic’s broad frame, hyperaware of every T Corporation employee who might spot them.

The mineral water aisle came first. Dominic loaded a crate before she could blink.

Ahead, chocolate bars glinted under fluorescent lights. Evelyn’s gaze flickered toward them—then away.

Alexander, however, froze mid-step, eyes locked on the snack aisle. "Dad... chips? Just one bag this month?"

Dominic’s attention snagged on Evelyn’s lingering glance at the chocolate.

"Miss Sinclair gets first pick. She’s sick," he said, tousling his son’s hair.

"Okay!" Alexander chirped, logic accepted.

Evelyn’s cheeks warmed. This... indulgence unnerved her.

Three girls passed by. One gasped, whispering, "Holy hell, a man who pampers his woman like a princess? And that face—I’d melt on the spot."

Evelyn’s flush deepened.

The cart now overflowed with chocolates. Her protests were ignored.

Alexander pouted. "Why does Miss Sinclair get all the chocolate and I only get chips?"

Dominic wheeled the cart away without answering.

Evelyn wished the floor would swallow her.

Then—disaster.

Dominic stopped dead in the lingerie section.

Evelyn’s stomach dropped.

He tugged her closer, voice low near her ear. "Saw you needed these."

Her face burned. He knew. About the ruined underwear from the aphrodisiac incident.

"My friend brought me new ones," she mumbled, fleeing with Alexander in tow.

Night air prickled Evelyn’s skin as they walked back. Dominic’s silhouette stretched long under streetlights.

Exhaustion and embarrassment left her shaky.

A sneeze ripped through her. Then another.

Alexander scrambled for tissues.

Dominic set down the bags, shrugged off his coat, and—before she could refuse—draped it over her shoulders from behind, one hand briefly steadying her waist.

"Thank you," she whispered, enveloped in his warmth and scent.

He didn’t reply, just reclaimed the bags and walked on.

Evelyn clutched Alexander’s hand, staring at Dominic’s retreating back.

And hated herself for the treacherous thought:

This feels like safety.