Chapter 88: Intimate Tension
“What happened? Where is the backup power?” Ayla frowned, asking the butler.
Before the butler could answer, footsteps sounded from the doorway. They were unhurried, echoing on the wooden floor. A tall silhouette appeared at the studio entrance. The darkness obscured his face, but his broad-shouldered, narrow-waisted outline was clear.
“Apologies for the interruption,” the man’s voice was deep, laced with amusement. “I was passing by and heard Ayla had distinguished guests. I stopped by to pay my respects. And to… bring some light.” As he spoke, Kevin lit a kerosene lantern behind him.
The warm, yellow light illuminated the man’s handsome face. It was Ryan K. Lawrence.
He was wearing a black trench coat, his collar slightly open, his gaze sweeping over everyone to settle on Evelyn.
“You certainly know how to make an entrance,” Ayla Vance said, looking at Ryan with the lantern, then at Evelyn standing in the shadow. Evelyn looked flustered. Ayla smiled.
She turned to Charles, the butler. “The estate’s wiring is old. Go and fix it.”
“Yes, Ms. Vance,” the butler bowed.
Ayla then affectionately took Sophie’s hand. “Miss Sophie, why don’t we take advantage of the dim light and look at my collection room? Some pieces look completely different in faint light.” Sophie hesitated, understood Ayla’s intent, and despite her concern for Evelyn, nodded. “That would be my honor, Ms. Vance.”
They left the studio with the butler. The vast room was now empty save for Evelyn and Ryan. The smell of turpentine seemed to have faded. Evelyn caught the scent of pine and cedar from Ryan, mingled with the wet air from the rain outside, making her feel completely enveloped by his presence.
“Come with me.” Ryan didn’t give Evelyn a chance to refuse. He carried the lantern with one hand and placed the other gently on her lower back, guiding her toward the glass alcove off the studio. It was a secluded space with only one floor-to-ceiling window looking out onto the dark, rainy estate grounds.
Once inside the alcove, Ryan placed the lantern on a nearby high table. The dim light projected their shadows onto the wall, long and overlapping.
“My dear, you look different today.” Ryan turned. His tall body blocked the light, putting Evelyn in shadow. His gaze swept over her. He reached out to touch her cheek. “You look so proper and yet so tempting in this suit. What a shame it's being worn for that useless Damian's business.”
Evelyn flinched as if burned. She swiftly turned her head, dodging his hand. “What do you think you’re doing?” Her voice was tense. She stepped back, her back hitting the cold glass window. “Ryan, this is Ayla’s estate. Anyone could walk in.”
“What are you afraid of?” Ryan chuckled. He took a step forward, bracing his hands on the glass on either side of her, trapping her between himself and the window. “That your so-called husband will find out? Or that… you won’t be able to control yourself?”
“I’m afraid you won’t be able to control yourself,” Evelyn said, pushing against his chest. The muscle beneath her palm was hard and hot. His strength was nothing like Damian’s.
They struggled briefly in the small space. In the scuffle, Evelyn’s trousers rode up, exposing her ankle. The light caught her slender ankle, revealing a clear bruise. It was from where Damian had shoved her days ago at the amusement park, still not faded. The bruise was prominent against her skin.
Ryan’s gaze froze on it. His expression changed. He grabbed her wrist. “Where did this come from? Did that bastard Damian do this?”
Evelyn instinctively tried to pull her foot back, but Ryan crouched down, gently cupping her ankle. His fingers were warm, and his touch on the bruise was surprisingly tender, as if handling fragile glass.
“Let go…” She wasn't fearful; the feeling of being cherished made her throat tighten. Her injury had only earned her Damian's mockery and indifference. Yet with Ryan, a simple bruise brought out visible concern and anger.
“Does it still hurt?” Ryan looked up at her. “Evelyn, this is the marriage you're trying to save? He can’t even keep you safe—he’s the one who hurt you.”
Evelyn bit her lip, turning her face away to avoid his eyes. She forced herself to say, “This doesn’t concern you. Ryan, we are nothing more than an investor and an investee.”
Ryan looked at her stubborn profile and finally sighed. He stood up, no longer pressuring her. He reached out and smoothed her collar, his finger brushing her collarbone, a soothing gesture.
“Fine. I’ll wait for you to accept me,” he whispered. “Whatever you plan to do, I will help you.”
The door to the alcove hadn't been fully closed, leaving a small gap. Outside, a figure pressed against the wall, holding her breath. It was Sienna.
She hadn't truly left. Outraged after being kicked out by Ayla, she had pretended to use the restroom and sneaked back upstairs, hoping to cause trouble. Instead, she witnessed this scene.
Through the crack, she couldn't see the man's face. Ryan stood with his back to the door, his tall figure blocking her view. But she saw clearly that the man had Evelyn pressed against the window in an intimate pose. He had even crouched down to touch her leg.
“Bitch…” A malicious smile spread across Sienna’s face. This was leverage. Evelyn, you act so pure, but you’re cheating on your husband. Sienna's hand shook with excitement. She pulled out her phone and turned off the flash.
She aimed at the two overlapping figures in the door crack and pressed the shutter. The resulting photo was dark, showing Evelyn's slightly disheveled clothes and flushed face. A man was bending over her, the two of them so close they looked about to kiss. Anyone who saw the picture would believe they were lovers engaged in an illicit affair.
Sienna suppressed a laugh, tapped the screen, and sent the photo to Damian.