Chapter 541

Evelyn Sinclair stood by her doorway, phone pressed to her ear, her expression darkening with every word.

Nathan Blackwood stepped out just in time to catch the tension in her posture. He didn’t approach immediately, giving her space—six feet of it—like the gentleman he pretended to be.

The distance was close enough to hear her clipped tone.

"Yes," Evelyn said, her voice sharp. "Pull all business ties with Ashford Group immediately. I don’t care about the financial loss."

Nathan’s jaw tightened. If Evelyn was this furious, Victoria Ashford and Vincent Moretti had done more than just pressure her into drinking.

Forcing alcohol was one thing. Humiliation was another.

When she ended the call, her gaze flicked to him, cold and unreadable.

"Bad night?" he asked, stepping closer.

He reached out to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear, but she tilted her head away before his fingers could graze her skin.

His lips curved into a humorless smile. "Don’t worry. I won’t let anyone get away with disrespecting you."

"Save your concern, Mr. Blackwood."

Evelyn’s heels clicked against the marble as she turned, dismissing him with a glance before striding back into the room. She bid a curt farewell to the remaining guests and left the venue without another word.

The evening had been a disaster.

Nathan followed silently, frustration simmering beneath his calm exterior. He’d hoped for a chance encounter, something meaningful—not this mess.

But those who crossed Evelyn would regret it.

Outside, she waited by the curb, arms wrapped around herself as the wind bit through her dress. Her car had broken down earlier, and her backup driver hadn’t arrived yet.

Nathan approached, the faint scent of her perfume—something floral and expensive—lingering in the air between them.

"Need a ride?" he offered.

She didn’t look at him. "I’m fine."

"Still owe me that one condition," he reminded her, voice low.

Evelyn finally turned, lips quirking in amusement. "Is driving me home your grand demand?"

If it was, he’d severely undersold himself.

His jaw ticked. "Of course not."

He’d brought it up to keep her compliant, but he’d forgotten—Evelyn hadn’t obeyed him in years.

Her smile was all sharp edges. "Let me know when you think of something worthwhile."

Nathan gestured to the Rolls-Royce idling nearby, sleek and black, a perfect match for his status.

"You’ll freeze out here," he said. "Unless you’re afraid I’ll kidnap you?"

Evelyn arched a brow, then offered him a deliberately insincere smile. "Fine. I’ll take your offer."

Relief flickered through him.

The driver wasn’t his usual chauffeur, though—it was Theodore Winslow, his ever-meddling butler.

Theodore beamed at Evelyn from the front seat. "Ms. Sinclair, this car was specially chosen to match your standards. I hope it meets your approval."

Evelyn’s lips curved—just slightly—but it was enough. "Good job, Theo."

Nathan’s mood darkened. She’d smiled at Theodore?

He leaned back, shooting his butler a warning glare through the rearview mirror. Theodore stiffened, gripping the wheel tighter as he pulled onto the road.

Silence stretched for half the ride before the car lurched to a stop.

Both passengers turned to Theodore.

He scratched his head. "Ah. Seems we’ve got engine trouble. Might take a while to fix."

Nathan frowned. This car was brand new.

Evelyn rolled her eyes. "Did our cars conspire to die on the same night?"

Theodore coughed. "We’re closer to Highland Estates. Mr. Blackwood, perhaps you and Ms. Sinclair could walk the rest of the way?"

The man was obvious.

A long night. Empty streets. Starlight and streetlamps. No interruptions.

The perfect setup for a heart-to-heart.

Theodore’s hopeful grin in the mirror said it all.