Chapter 2

Evelyn's POV

Dorian dragged me into our room, his grip bruising my arm as he practically shoved me through the door. My heart pounded, a toxic mix of rage and dread swirling in my chest.

There she was—some woman sprawled across my bed in pajamas, acting like she owned it, like I was the one crashing her party. He let go, kicking the door shut with that lazy swagger of his. Water stains streaked the floor from my earlier meltdown, and his soaked pant legs clung to him, outlining every damn muscle.

He shoved my shoulder, hard enough to make me stumble. “Didn’t you say you wanted to sleep here?”

I clenched my fists, nails biting into my skin. Fucking asshole, I seethed silently. Always poking, prodding, waiting for me to break. Well, screw him.

The woman sat up, clutching the blanket with a smug little smirk. “Guess your wife’s got some wild tastes. Still, there’s a first-come, first-served rule—tonight’s mine.”

Her words hit like a punch to the gut. Wild tastes? This bitch has the nerve to mock me in my own house? My stomach churned with disgust as I stormed to the bed, ripped the blanket off her, and slid in, skin crawling at her proximity. “Be my guest,” I snapped, voice cold as steel.

Dorian didn’t even blink. He climbed in, and I turned my back, slamming my eyes shut. Go ahead, you bastard, fuck her right here—I’m not playing your game, I cursed inwardly. Piece of shit thinks I’ll crack. But her giggles and the rustle of sheets clawed at me. My jaw locked tight. Goddamn him, she’s already melting under him—what a pathetic slut. I pictured that smug, chiseled face, waiting for me to lose it.

His arm grazed me—on purpose, no doubt—and my heart kicked up despite myself. I scooted to the edge, muttering, You’re a dick, Dorian, always will be. Then a sharp jolt hit my waist, shattering my restraint. I rolled over, glaring into her painted-up face, our pillows inches apart. He dipped his head, nuzzling her neck, and she giggled, swatting his chest. “She’s staring at me. It’s freaking me out.”

Her whine sent fire through my veins, but then it hit me—she looked familiar. Wait a damn minute. I racked my brain, digging through memories. That afternoon, the woman with the sunglasses, all secretive… holy shit, it’s her. “Aren’t you Emily?” I asked, slicing through their bullshit with a razor-edge voice.

A vicious spark lit inside me. “Oh, I forgot to introduce myself,” I said, slow and deliberate, venom dripping. “I’m an OB-GYN. You were my patient last week. I told you that infection was bad—no sex for six months.” I smirked, watching Dorian’s face go rigid. Got you, asshole.

Emily’s eyes widened, her smugness cracking. “You… you’re full of shit!”

I leaned closer, voice icy. “Oh, come on, Emily. You don’t remember me? That little chat about your nasty little problem?”

Her face flushed red, anger flaring. “That’s a lie! You’re making this up to screw with me—I’d never see a bitch like you!”

I tilted my head, grinning wider. “Really? Because I’ve got your chart, sweetheart. Severe infection, oozing mess—ring any bells? I told you to keep your legs shut for half a year.” I glanced at Dorian, savoring the twitch in his jaw. “Guess some people don’t listen.”

She sputtered, voice rising. “You’re a psycho! You can’t prove any of that—I’ll sue your ass for this!”

“Oh, please,” I shot back, propping myself up. “Honey, you feeling any itching down there? Maybe a little burn? That’s what happens when you ignore a doctor.” I flicked my eyes to Dorian, sugar coating my spite. “Better watch out, lover boy—might catch something nasty from your prize here.”

Emily’s mouth flapped, but Dorian had enough. He grabbed her pajama collar, yanking her off the bed. She crashed to the floor with a shriek. “Dorian, she’s lying—she’s jealous, framing me!”

“Out,” he snarled, voice low and guttural, his disgust palpable. She scrambled up, clutching her slipping strap, still babbling. “You can’t believe her—I’m clean, I swear!”

“Now!” he roared, and she bolted, tripping over herself as she grabbed her crap and fled. I smirked, dark satisfaction blooming.

I yawned, sinking into the pillow like I didn’t care. Dorian tugged the blanket, his stare drilling into me. “Relax,” I muttered. “You’re safe—you didn’t catch her cooties.”

His teeth ground loud enough for me to hear. He climbed on, pinning me down before I could react, hands like steel on my shoulders. My breath hitched, but I kept my face stone-cold. His eyes burned into mine, dark and fierce. “Impressive,” he growled. “First the water, now chasing off my date. All this to get in my bed?”

My pulse raced, but I held steady. “Keep your whores out of our house, and I won’t care who you screw.”

“Then why stay? Tell Grandpa you want out.”

Dorian loomed over me, his body sinking lower, his broad chest grazing mine through the thin fabric between us. My breath hitched, a nervous jolt locking my lungs as heat rolled off him, thick and suffocating.

He tilted his head, lips hovering at my ear, and exhaled—a slow, deliberate tease of warm air that prickled my skin. “How many times have you made love?” he murmured, voice a husky rasp, eyes dropping to the pulse hammering in my neck. His mouth dipped, aiming for that tender stretch of skin, close enough I could feel the ghost of his breath.

A flash of panic surged through me, electric and wild. My hands flew up, palms slamming against the hard planes of his chest. “Babe,” I breathed, voice shaky but sharp, “Aren't you worried about what she's got?”

His brows twitched, then furrowed deep, a storm brewing in those dark eyes, knotting tighter by the second.

“I burned through three pairs of gloves on her,” I said, letting my right hand drift up, slow and taunting. The slim line of my arm snagged his stare, and I seized the moment—my fingers grazed his lip, soft against the rough edge of his mouth, lingering there as his guard slipped. “One pair ripped,” I whispered, voice dipping low, “right in the middle of it.”

He jerked upright like I’d slapped him, his face twisting—lust curdling into something sour, revolted. The air between us snapped, that simmering heat doused in an instant.

His jaw clenched, rage simmering beneath the surface, and he forced out a tight, “Fine, wifey. Hit the sack—or you’ll be too wrecked for tomorrow’s bullshit.” He swung off the bed, all coiled muscle and barely-checked fury, and stormed out. The door crashed shut behind him, the bang echoing like a gunshot in the empty room.

It’s the next day—my damn wedding day—and twenty minutes ago, a staffer tore into the dressing room, voice trembling. “Mr. Blackwood’s gone—I was just about to touch up his makeup!” My parents lost their minds when they heard, pacing the tacky carpet like caged lions, phones mashed to their ears, barking for backup. I lean against the vanity, watching them stomp around, a cold smirk tugging at my lips. Of course, I think. Is this his latest slick little scheme kicking off?

Catherine hissed to Richard, “What’s happening? The wedding’s starting—are the Blackwoods ditching us?”

“Mom,” I said, voice shaking, “why force me into this? We’re nobodies next to them. Why’d they even agree?”

Her face went pale, eyes darting away, hands fidgeting unnaturally. “The Blackwoods are a dream match. It’s for your good.”

“What’s good about Dorian?” I spat. He’s a walking red flag—everyone knows it.

Richard rubbed his temple, face tight. A no-show groom would trash his rep with the suits outside. “He’s a catch, minus the women,” he muttered. “Not a big deal for a guy.”

Not a big deal? I wanted to scream. My own parents don’t give a shit—just pawns for their game. Yet, idiot that I was, I hoped he’d show. A knock hit the door. Catherine flung it open, snatching a box from a waiter. “From Mr. Blackwood.”

My phone buzzed—a random number. I grabbed it, heart pounding. “Panicking yet, sweetheart?” that cocky drawl purred.

“Dorian?”

“The one and only.”