Chapter 95 Intoxicated

Chapter 95 Intoxicated
Evelyn didn’t try to sleep again.
She stared at the ceiling for almost an hour before she accepted it.
Her body was tired.
Her mind wasn’t.

The estate was silent, but her thoughts weren’t. Every conversation from earlier replayed in fragments, Valeria’s steady voice, Damien’s restraint, the quiet shift in the room when everything clicked.

She turned onto her side.
Then her back.
Then she swore under her breath and threw the blanket off.

“Fine.”

If she couldn’t sleep, she wouldn’t pretend to.
She left her room barefoot, the marble floor cool against her skin. The house lights were dimmed to night mode. Shadows stretched long across the hallway.

The kitchen was empty.
Of course it was.
She opened the cabinet slowly and stared at the bottles.

She wasn’t someone who drank when stressed. She liked control too much.
But tonight felt… loud.

She grabbed a glass anyway.
The first sip burned.
She made a face.
“Disgusting.”
She took another.

By the second glass, the noise in her head had softened.
By the third, her shoulders had dropped.
She leaned back against the counter, glass hanging loosely between her fingers, staring at nothing.

It wasn’t fear that had kept her awake.
It was awareness.

Once you see structure, you can’t unsee it.
She tipped the glass back again.

“Stop thinking,” she muttered to herself.

“Evelyn.”

She didn’t jump.
She just closed her eyes slowly.
Of course.
She turned her head.

Damien stood at the entrance of the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, expression unreadable.

“How long have you been standing there?” she asked.

“Long enough."

He stepped closer. His gaze dropped to the glass in her hand.

“How many?”

She considered the question very seriously.
“…Don’t interrogate me.”

“That’s not an answer.”

She took another sip just to annoy him.
He moved before she expected it.
The glass was gone.

“Hey.”

She frowned at him like he had committed a personal offense.

“I was using that."

“You’re done.”

She pushed off the counter slightly, wobbling just enough for him to notice.

“I am not done.”

“You are.”

“You’re very bossy tonight.”

He placed the glass out of reach. She followed it with her eyes like it had betrayed her.

“I needed it,” she said more quietly.

“For what?”

“To shut my brain up.”

Something in his expression shifted, just slightly.

“You don’t need alcohol for that.”

“Oh?” She tilted her head. “And what do you suggest?”

“Sleep.”

She laughed softly.

“That’s adorable.”

He didn’t smile.
She stepped closer to him instead.

Close enough to feel the warmth from his body.

Close enough that she had to tilt her chin slightly to keep eye contact.

The alcohol made her bold. Or maybe it just removed the filter.

He didn’t move back.
He just watched her.

“You think I don’t see it?”
His expression didn’t change.
“See what?”

A lazy smile curved her mouth.
“The way you look at me when you think I’m not watching.”

There it was.
A pause.

His jaw shifted once.
“Evelyn.”

“No, don’t ‘Evelyn’ me,” she said, wagging a finger at him and immediately losing balance for half a second.

His hand came to her waist automatically.
Steady.
Firm.

She looked down at his hand.
Then back up at him slowly.

“Oh,” she said softly. “See? That.”

He removed his hand immediately.

“You’re drunk.”
“Go to bed,” he said quietly.

"No"

Her energy dipped suddenly.
The alcohol catching up.
Her forehead almost bumped his shoulder as she leaned forward.
He steadied her again.

“That’s it,” he said. “You’re going to bed.”

“No.”

He looked down at her.

“No,” she repeated, folding her arms like that settled it. “I’m not going.”

“You can barely walk.”

“I can absolutely walk.”

To prove it, she took one confident step forward.

And immediately tilted sideways.

His hand shot out again.

She looked offended.

“That was the floor’s fault.”

“The floor is not moving.”

“It feels judgmental.”

He stared at her.

“Room. Now.”

She shook her head stubbornly.

“I don’t want to.”

“Why.”

“Because.”

“That’s not a reason.”

“It is when I say it.”

He exhaled slowly.

She stepped back from him and leaned against the wall dramatically.

“I’m not sleepy,” she declared.

“You’re arguing with gravity.”

“I’m winning.”

“You’re losing.”

She squinted at him.

“You’re enjoying this.”

She pushed off the wall again.

“I’m not going” she repeated.

“And why is that.”

She hesitated.

Then looked at him suspiciously.

“You’ll leave.”

“Yes.”

“I don’t want that.”

The honesty slipped out before she could filter it.

He went still.

She lifted her chin slightly.

“I don’t like when you go far.”

“Evelyn.”

“Don’t ‘Evelyn’ me,” she muttered again.

He stepped closer.

“Go to your room.”

She crossed her arms again.

“No.”

His eyes narrowed slightly.

“You’re testing me.”

“You said that earlier.”

“And you didn’t listen.”

She looked almost pleased.

“Maybe I want to.”

That did it.

Without another word, he bent down and scooped her up.

The movement was swift and controlled.

She gasped.

“Damien Cross!”

“Yes.”

“You cannot just...”

“You said you weren’t walking.”

“I didn’t say carry me!”

“You implied it.”

She stared at him, half offended, half impressed.

“I hate that you’re strong.”

“Liar.”

She tried to wiggle out of his hold.

He adjusted his grip effortlessly.

“Put me down.”

“No.”

“I demand it.”

“I don’t take orders from intoxicated dictators.”

She glared at him.

“You’re insufferable.”

He carried her down the rest of the hallway like she weighed nothing.

Her arms instinctively went around his shoulders to steady herself.

She realized it.

Paused.

Didn’t remove them.

Instead she leaned closer.

“You smell good,” she informed him.

“That’s enough.”

“It’s true.”

“Stop talking.”

“You don’t like compliments?”

“Not from you in this state.”

“That’s very specific.”

He pushed her bedroom door open with his foot.

“Unfair,” she muttered. “You always get the last word.”

He stepped inside and set her down gently on the edge of the bed.

She immediately grabbed his wrist before he could step back.

“I wasn’t finished.”

“Yes, you were.”

“No.”

She tugged slightly, stubborn even seated.

He didn’t pull away this time.

“What,” he said quietly.

She looked up at him.

Clearer now.

Less teasing.

Sleep was finally pulling at her.

But she fought it one last time.

“You do look at me like that,” she murmured.

“Like what.”

“Like I matter.”

The words were soft.

Unfiltered.

He didn’t answer immediately.

Then...

“You do.”

Her eyes fluttered.

Satisfied.

“Good,” she whispered.

Her hand slid from his wrist.

She fell back onto the pillows.

Out.

Just like that.

Damien stood there, watching her breathe evenly now.

Peaceful.

Stubborn even in sleep.

He ran a hand over his jaw slowly.

She wasn’t wrong.

He did look at her differently.

And if she could see it while drunk...

It meant he wasn’t hiding it as well as he thought.

That was dangerous.

Because Damien Cross did not let anyone become a weakness.

But tonight...

Carrying her felt less like a mistake…

And more like a decision.