Chapter 423
Hole! 1
Evelyn and Dominic were still lost in their passionate embrace.
Meanwhile, Lillian Prescott was having the worst day of her life.
In a luxury hotel suite.
Lillian stood naked beside the king-sized bed, staring at the equally naked man sleeping soundly. Her eyes burned with pure hatred.
Wesley Thornton!
This man had ruined everything. He'd blackmailed her with compromising photos, forcing her to endure unspeakable acts.
She couldn't refuse.
If those photos got out, she'd become the laughingstock of high society. Her acting career would be over instantly.
Even with her adoptive father being Governor Jonathan Prescott, Lillian couldn't risk her future.
She slipped out of bed silently, wincing at the sharp pain between her legs.
"Bastard," she muttered, hating Wesley even more. The brute had no concept of gentleness, taking her roughly until she passed out - only to start again when she came to.
After a quick shower, Lillian wrapped herself in a plush towel. As she reached for her clothes, something caught her eye.
A fruit knife on the coffee table.
Her pulse quickened. A dangerous idea took root.
She concealed the knife in her towel and padded silently across the thick carpet toward the sleeping man. Her gaze fixed on his exposed throat.
Blind rage clouded her judgment.
Lillian slid the knife under the pillow before letting her towel drop. For the first time, she initiated contact, pressing herself against Wesley's half-asleep form.
Her lips trailed down his collarbone with false passion.
Wesley was already awake.
He'd sensed her movement immediately but kept his eyes closed, still exhausted from their earlier activities.
Her sudden enthusiasm surprised him. Though suspicious, desire quickly overtook reason.
But Lillian's eyes remained cold as ice. There wasn't an ounce of real desire in them.
As Wesley thrust into her, Lillian's fingers closed around the hidden knife. With all her strength, she stabbed downward!
She expected to see blood spray across the sheets...
Bright red liquid did flow - but not from him.
Wesley's furious gaze locked onto hers. He could snap her neck with minimal effort. His voice came out in a dangerous growl. "I stopped believing in God or trusting women the day I was born. When you hid that knife, I prayed you wouldn't use it. Guess prayers don't work."
Years of combat training had honed his instincts. Even in passion, part of him remained alert.
When Lillian struck, Wesley twisted her wrist effortlessly. The blade plunged into her own left hand instead.
He laughed darkly, his movements turning punishing. "Ms. Prescott, trained assassins have tried to kill me. Did you really think you could? Behave, or I'll ruin you publicly. Not even your precious Governor father could save you then."
Agony radiated from her hand and lower body. Lillian squeezed her eyes shut, hiding her simmering hatred.
If she couldn't kill him today, she'd make him pay eventually.
Later, wrapped in layers to conceal the bruises, Lillian wandered the streets like a ghost, tears soaking her scarf repeatedly.
The world felt vast yet offered no refuge.
Would her adoptive parents defend her if they knew?
Perhaps her father would confront the Thornton family. But with their equal political influence, the best outcome would be a forced marriage - destroying her pristine reputation.
And she despised Wesley.
The brute was everything she hated - crude, vulgar, unbearably macho. The polar opposite of Dominic's refined elegance.
As the Norman heiress, she deserved only the best. Not some lecherous thug.
Lost in misery, a grimy hand suddenly grabbed her coat. "Found you at last, Lillian! Been searching everywhere!"
She recoiled in disgust at the homeless-looking man. "You're mistaken. I don't know you!"
His stench made her gag. Had he not bathed in years? And he'd dared touch her designer coat!
As she stormed toward the parking lot, his shout froze her: "Your childhood nickname was Coco because you were darker! Your birth mother Susanna named you! And you've got an apple-shaped birthmark under your left arm!"
Lillian whirled around, blood running cold.
Who was this man? How did he know such intimate details?