Chapter 229

**Evelyn’s POV**

I glanced toward Ethan, who looked far too pleased with himself. Riley sat silently, concern etched across her features.

"He asked me for help," I explained, gesturing toward Ethan. "He claims the Thompson family is causing him trouble. He wanted me to hand over Ella. We couldn't reach an agreement, that's all."

Ethan's face contorted with anger. "That's a lie!" he exclaimed, jabbing his finger in my direction. "We weren't even discussing that—"

In one swift motion, Dorian caught Ethan's wrist, shoving his hand down with enough force to make Ethan wince. The temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees as Dorian's voice turned glacial.

"Did I give you permission to point at my wife?"

The word "wife" still produced a conflicted ache in my chest. I watched as Ethan visibly shrank under Dorian's gaze, becoming the obedient lapdog I knew him to be. Part of me felt relieved at Dorian's protectiveness, while another part remained wary. I'd seen him switch from defender to accuser too many times to trust this momentary alliance.

"Let's go," Dorian said to me, placing his hand at the small of my back.

As we walked toward the exit, I allowed myself to breathe a little easier. We'd made it halfway to the door when Dorian suddenly stopped, his attention caught by the staircase leading to the second floor. Without warning, he changed direction.

My heart nearly stopped. Hunter. Oh God, Hunter was still upstairs.

I lunged forward, grabbing the back of Dorian's suit jacket. "Where are you going?"

"I need to make sure he keeps his mouth shut," Dorian replied coolly, continuing toward the stairs.

I tightened my grip, desperation making me bolder. "So this is what it's come to? You think the only reason I leave the house is to meet other men?" My voice cracked slightly, genuine hurt mixing with my calculated distress.

Dorian paused, turning to face me. "Evelyn—"

"No," I cut him off. "Someone makes an accusation and that's all you need? After everything we've been through, that's all it takes?"

Dorian's expression softened. He reached out, pulling me against his chest. "I'm not doing this to hurt you," he murmured against my ear. "But if he's lying, I need to make sure he doesn't spread these lies elsewhere. Trust me, if there's nothing going on, I'll make him regret opening his mouth."

Before I could respond, Ethan's voice echoed down the hallway. "In here!" he called out, pushing open one of the private room doors.

My blood ran cold. I frantically searched Dorian's face, hoping he would ignore Ethan, but the determination in his eyes told me everything I needed to know. He was going to check.

Dorian took my hand, leading me up the stairs. Each step felt like walking toward execution. I scanned the hallway desperately, praying Hunter had somehow escaped.

When we entered the room, my frantic gaze darted around, searching for any sign of Hunter. Instead, I found myself staring at Marcus Blackwood, Dorian's cousin, lounging casually in an armchair with a cup of coffee.

"Dorian," Marcus acknowledged, setting down his cup. "What an unexpected pleasure."

Dorian's grip on my hand tightened. "What are you doing here?"

Marcus raised an eyebrow. "Having coffee. Is that a crime now?" His gaze shifted to me. "Hello again, Evelyn."

"Again?" Dorian turned to me, suspicion darkening his features. "You've seen my cousin today?"

I fought to keep my expression neutral. "Yes, briefly. We ran into each other earlier."

"And you didn't think to mention this?" Dorian's voice had taken on that dangerous edge I knew too well.

Anger flared within me, providing a convenient cover for my relief. I yanked my hand from his grasp. "You didn't ask! And why would I need to report every person I speak to? You're supposed to be my husband, not my warden."

I backed away, my patience finally exhausted. "You know what? I'm done with this."

"Evelyn—" Dorian started.

"No," I cut him off. "You could have just told me who was in the room instead of dragging me up here like a criminal."

I turned and walked toward the door, my heart still hammering. Before I could exit, Marcus called after me.

"When did you return to Blackwood Estate, sister-in-law? I've been meaning to visit."

I didn't bother turning around, my focus solely on escaping before my composure cracked completely.

In the hallway, Dorian caught up to me, reaching for my arm. "Evelyn, wait—"

I jerked away violently, causing his hand to slam against the wall. The sharp sound echoed in the narrow space, but I kept walking, not even turning to see if he was hurt.

"Evelyn!" he called after me, his voice a mixture of frustration and something else—perhaps genuine concern.

I pushed through the café door into the bright afternoon sunlight, moving quickly down the sidewalk. My only thought was to put distance between myself and that room, between myself and the questions I couldn't answer.

Footsteps pounded behind me. "Stop running away," Dorian demanded, catching up effortlessly with his longer stride.

"Leave me alone," I responded, continuing to walk.

He moved in front of me, blocking my path. "It's not safe for you to be wandering alone. You know that."

I looked up at him, letting all my anger and disappointment rise to the surface. "Nothing could be more dangerous than staying with you, Dorian."

His jaw tightened. "I was only trying to silence him. You know how rumors spread."

"And that's supposed to make me feel better?" I asked, resuming my walk toward the parking lot. "That you care more about what people say than what I tell you?"

"If you had just told me Marcus was up there—"

I whirled around. "Why should I have to? Why is the burden always on me to prove my innocence? To justify every conversation, every movement?"

We reached his car, and he moved to open the passenger door, but I remained standing, unwilling to enter.

"Get in," he said, his patience clearly wearing thin.

"No."

"Evelyn, you're being childish."

That was the final straw. Three years of bottled emotions—grief, rage, betrayal—erupted all at once.

"Don't you dare call me childish," I hissed, my voice low and dangerous. "Don't pretend you have any moral high ground here, Dorian. Don't tell me how much you love me or how devastated you were these past three years. That glass house you built? It's better that it burned down. What was the point of it anyway? A shrine to your supposed grief while you partied and slept around? At least have the decency to be consistent. Don't pretend to be the heartbroken widower when you were living it up at Starlight Lounge with your endless parade of women. Don't create this facade of devotion—you haven't earned it."

Dorian's face paled. "What did Marcus tell you? Whatever he said—"

"This isn't about Marcus," I cut him off. "Who should I believe, Dorian? You?" I laughed bitterly. "The man who questions my every move but expects blind faith in return?"