Chapter 303

Alexander's pupils dilated. "You mean last night, we—"

Evelyn nodded before he could finish.

Anguish flickered across Alexander's face.

He couldn't deny his attraction to the woman before him, but he knew it stemmed from his unresolved longing for Evelyn.

He had meant every word when he said he wanted to marry her, but he had sworn never to touch another woman after Evelyn.

He had sought out Vivian out of selfishness—just to gaze at a face identical to hers, to ease the guilt festering inside him.

Yet now…

He felt like a complete bastard.

He claimed to love her, yet he had succumbed to temptation in a drunken haze.

"Look at you," Evelyn said coldly. "So distressed. Is it because I remind you of the wife you despised? You must feel disgusted with yourself."

Her words snapped him back to reality.

Under the morning light, her delicate features glowed, mirroring her so perfectly that he couldn't bring himself to call her "dirty."

Though the details of last night were hazy, Alexander remembered a dream—one filled with warmth, with Evelyn in his arms.

Seeing the turmoil in his eyes, Evelyn's lips curled into a bitter smile before hardening.

"I understand. Don't look for me again, Mr. Blackwood. We're done."

She turned to leave.

Alexander caught her wrist. "Vivian."

She yanked her arm free without looking back.

As she stepped forward, a sharp pain shot through her foot, forcing her to stumble.

"Damn it—"

"What's wrong?" Alexander steadied her, noticing how she balanced on her toes. He knelt, brushing aside the sand to reveal a shard of glass embedded in her sole, its tip stained red.

Without hesitation, he scooped her into his arms. "Let me treat that."

"I don't need your help." She shoved at his chest, but he held firm.

Her stubbornness reminded him of Evelyn—how she'd endured every torment with her head held high.

Ignoring her protests, he carried her down the path toward Pinecrest Heights, his expression unreadable.

Evelyn stopped struggling.

The scenery blurred before her eyes.

Over a decade ago, she had stepped on glass just like this, and a twelve-year-old Alexander had carried her to the clinic.

He had comforted her the whole way, whispering promises to protect her forever.

Yet in the end, he had been the one to hurt her the most.

Her vision swam with unshed tears.

Alexander glanced down, startled by the moisture in her eyes. His chest tightened inexplicably.

For a moment, he couldn’t tell if this ache was for the Evelyn he had once loved too late—or for the woman in his arms now.