Chapter 988

Ever since they started dating, Preston had been texting Evelyn nonstop.

"Don't skip meals."

"Take breaks."

"Cut back on the coffee."

Sometimes, Evelyn replied when she saw the messages. Other times, when work consumed her, she left them unanswered.

Preston never got upset. His texts came like clockwork—every five minutes, without fail.

Eventually, she grew accustomed to them. But now, staring at her silent phone, Evelyn frowned.

She scrolled through their chat history. Every conversation began with him.

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard. Are you busy?

She deleted it. Better to call.

The line connected after a few rings.

"Pretty Lady! I missed you!" Oliver's sweet voice chirped through the speaker.

Evelyn smiled. "I missed you too, sweetheart. Where's your dad?"

Oliver hesitated, then mumbled, "Daddy got hurt. He has a fever now. He might die!"

Evelyn froze. "He was hurt?"

"Yeah," Oliver confirmed solemnly. "He got beaten up really bad. He almost stopped breathing!"

Her heart lurched. That’s why he hasn’t texted all day. Guilt twisted inside her. She should’ve checked on him sooner.

"Are you at home? I’m coming over right now."

"Okay, Pretty Lady! Hurry! If Daddy dies, can I live with you?" Oliver pondered this seriously. I’ll be sad if Daddy dies, but living with Pretty Lady sounds nice...

On the bed, Preston—supposedly weak—heard every word.

A vein pulsed at his temple. He forced himself to stay still.

Preston had always believed in modern parenting—treating Oliver like a friend.

Right now, he was reconsidering that philosophy. Maybe a good old-fashioned spanking wasn’t such a bad idea.

Evelyn’s breath hitched at the word die. Panic clawed at her chest.

She didn’t think—just grabbed her phone and bolted. Bennett saw her frantic state and stopped her. "You shouldn’t drive like this." He called her driver instead.

Her mind was blank the entire ride. At Preston’s penthouse, she keyed in the passcode and rushed inside.

In the bedroom, Oliver sat beside Preston, trying—and failing—to shove a pill into his mouth.

Evelyn hurried forward, her worry unconcealed.

Preston lay motionless, his face alarmingly pale. His lips were bloodless.

Worst of all—his right cheek was swollen, mottled with dark bruises. A punch mark. Dried blood lingered at the corner of his mouth.

The sight was jarring.

Preston was always composed, effortlessly elegant. Now, he looked fragile.

Her heart twisted. She gently stopped Oliver’s persistent pill-pushing. His lips were already abused enough.

Oliver blinked up at her in surprise.

Evelyn placed a finger to her lips. "Go wait outside, sweetheart. Let me take care of Daddy."

Oliver hesitated, then nodded and scampered off.