Chapter 608

Nathan Blackwood barely registered the water dripping from his hair as he bolted out the door. Isabella Montgomery's frantic call had sent him rushing to Evelyn Sinclair's suite without a second thought.

He jabbed the doorbell. No answer.

Pounded on the door. Still nothing.

Isabella's voice crackled through the phone. "Are you seriously this dense? If she could open the damn door, would I be calling you? Get a key card!"

Nathan clenched his jaw. He'd tolerate her sharp tongue—just this once—because she was right. Evelyn needed him.

In one fluid motion, he pulled the spare card from his pocket. The lock beeped. The door swung open.

Even Isabella sounded stunned. "That was... fast."

She'd expected panic. A mad dash to the front desk. Maybe an angry call to security.

Instead, Nathan was already inside.

The scent of wine hit him first—rich, heavy, wrong. His gaze snapped to the sofa.

Evelyn lay there, limp, her cheeks flushed.

His pulse spiked.

"Evelyn."

Isabella's voice cut through the iPad screen. "This is your fault! She drank that wine—the one meant for you. One bottle shouldn't have done this. She handles a dozen without blinking!"

Nathan's fingers curled into fists.

Spiked.

Of course it was.

His jaw tightened as he scanned the fallen bottle.

"Half the women at that event were hunting you down," Isabella snapped. "Evelyn intercepted them. You really think they wouldn't drug the wine?"

Nathan's breath turned ragged.

A cold, lethal fury settled in his chest.

"Make her throw it up," Isabella ordered. "Then call a doctor. And deal with those women. But if you lay a finger on her—"

Nathan reached over and ended the call.

Silence.

He exhaled sharply, then moved to Evelyn's side. One arm slid beneath her shoulders, the other under her knees. She was lighter than he expected.

Her breath warmed his neck as she nuzzled closer, murmuring something incoherent.

Nathan froze.

He'd never held her like this.

Not during their marriage. Not after.

Evelyn had always been ice—untouchable, unyielding.

But now?

She was soft. Warm.

Fragile.

His throat tightened.

Her lips brushed his skin, and he nearly lost his grip.

No.

He forced himself to move, carrying her to the bathroom. Gently, he set her on the edge of the tub.

"Evelyn. Wake up."

A drowsy groan. She turned away.

Nathan cupped her face, his thumb brushing her cheek. "Come on. Just throw up. Then you can sleep."

She swatted at his hand, irritated.

Nathan almost smiled.

Even drunk, she was stubborn.

But he wasn't giving up.

Not this time.