Chapter 224

**Evelyn's POV**

I let him fuss over me, his hands warm against my rain-chilled skin. Behind him, the lights of Los Angeles sparkled in the distance, while far behind us, a thin column of smoke still rose from the direction of Blackwood Estate, barely visible through the storm-washed night.

Ella stood a few feet away, her arms wrapped around herself. She kept glancing between me and the driver still seated in the wrecked car, her eyes narrowed with suspicion. I knew that look—she was piecing things together, wondering if I'd known these men, if I'd planned to leave with them willingly. I pretended not to notice, but my heart pounded against my ribs.

Two of Dorian's security men dragged the driver from the vehicle, forcing him to his knees on the wet pavement. Dorian stalked over, towering above the man, his face a mask of cold fury. The rain plastered his dark hair to his forehead, making him look even more dangerous.

"Who sent you?" Dorian's voice was low, almost a growl.

The driver's lips curled into a smirk. "Mr. Blackwood, I think you can guess who."

In one swift movement, Dorian grabbed the man's collar, nearly lifting him off the ground. "I'll ask once more: who sent you? If you want your head to remain attached to your shoulders."

The smirk vanished from the driver's face, replaced by naked fear. "It—it was Mr. Thompson. Christopher Thompson ordered us to bring them back."

Dorian's eyes narrowed to slits. "Is this his idea of not giving me trouble? Burning down my home?"

"The old man just wanted to talk to them face to face, clear some things up," the driver stammered. "It wasn't supposed to go this far."

I watched the exchange with a blank expression, even as my mind raced. 

Ella turned away as Dorian continued his interrogation, unable to watch the mounting violence in his posture. But I couldn't tear my eyes away. The rain streamed down my face like silent tears, washing away the soot and smoke from the fire.

Dorian caught Ella's movement and turned toward her, beckoning with one hand. She shrank back, and before I could think, I stepped between them.

"She's just a kid," I said firmly, meeting Dorian's gaze. "She's never been through anything like this. You'll terrify her."

Dorian studied my face for a moment, then nodded slightly. He turned to his security team and ordered, "Take him away."

He reached for my hand, his fingers entwining with mine. "We're going home."

I didn't resist, though I felt how his hand trembled slightly against mine. I couldn't tell if it was from rage or fear—perhaps both. The thought that Dorian Blackwood might actually fear losing me was as unsettling as it was surprising.

\---

When we returned to Blackwood Estate, the full extent of the damage became clear. Dorian's glass conservatory—his sanctuary—had been completely destroyed. Firefighters were still dealing with the last hotspots, and the entire yard reeked of smoke and wet ash. The mansion itself had been spared the worst, though smoke damage was evident along one side.

Dorian's expression darkened further as he stared at the ruins of his beloved space. Without a word, he strode toward the blackened skeleton of the conservatory, his security team falling in behind him. With their help, he began sifting through the debris, searching for something.

I stood a short distance away, the drizzle still falling gently around us. My clothes clung to me, soaked through despite the jacket Dorian had draped over my shoulders in the car. Ella huddled close to me, her eyes wide as she took in the destruction.

"What is he looking for?" she whispered.

Before I could answer, Dorian straightened, holding something in his hands. It was a picture frame, half-consumed by fire. Even from where I stood, I could see it was a photograph of me—or at least it had been. The fire had eaten away the face portion, leaving only the outline of my silhouette.

A chill ran through me that had nothing to do with my wet clothes.

\---

On the other side of the yard, two men knelt on the ground, Dorian's security personnel standing guard over them. Their clothes were soaked and muddy, their faces streaked with soot. The arsonists, caught in the act.

Dorian approached them slowly, the half-burned photo still in his hand. His eyes were terrifying—flat and cold like a shark's. Without warning, he kicked one of the men in the face. The man toppled backwards, spitting blood onto the wet grass.

Dorian shoved the charred photograph into the man's mouth. "Who sent you?" he demanded. "Tell me!"

When the man only gurgled in response, Dorian turned to his companion. The second arsonist, witnessing his partner's treatment, broke immediately.

"Thompson family!" he blurted. "The Thompson family paid us to do it!"

Dorian let out a cold laugh. He grabbed the man's hair, slamming his face into the muddy ground. "Blake Thompson wouldn't do this," he said, his voice lethally calm. "One more chance. Who really sent you?"

The man's muffled cries grew more desperate as Dorian pushed his face deeper into the mud. He was suffocating him.

"Dorian, stop!" I called out, stepping forward.

He ignored me, continuing to press the man's face down.

"Dorian!" My voice rose sharply. "Are you planning to kill him right here?"

Finally, Dorian looked up at me, his eyes still cold. "If he doesn't start telling the truth, I might."

I met his gaze unflinchingly. "If you actually kill someone," I said deliberately, measuring each word, "I will never look at you again."

The air between us seemed to solidify. We stared at each other for several heartbeats, neither willing to break first. Then, with obvious reluctance, Dorian released his grip. The man immediately gasped for air, coughing and sputtering in the mud.

\---

Dorian stood up, brushing the dirt from his hands. "They can't be from the Thompson family," he said, his composure partially restored.

My heart tightened. I fought to keep my expression neutral. "Why do you say that?"

"Because Blake and I grew up together," Dorian replied, studying my reaction. "He knows what this conservatory means to me. And," he looked directly into my eyes, "if he really wanted to hurt me, he wouldn't have done it while you were here."

Panic fluttered in my chest. If Dorian kept pulling this thread, if he discovered the truth... If he learned these men might be connected to Hunter...

"Maybe it's a business rival?" I suggested, desperate to redirect his thoughts. "Or someone else you've angered?"

Dorian gazed at me thoughtfully, not immediately responding. His eyes seemed to pierce right through me, searching for secrets. I held my breath.

The rain began to fall more heavily again. Dorian turned to his security team. "Take them somewhere private. Question them thoroughly. I want to know who sent them, whatever it takes."

Then he turned back to me, adjusting his jacket around my shoulders. "Let's get inside. You'll catch cold."

I nodded, putting my arm around Ella's shoulders to guide her toward the house. I could feel Dorian's eyes following us—filled with concern, yes, but also with something else. Doubt. Suspicion.