Chapter 4

Evelyn's POV

A warm kiss brushed my cheek. Dorian’s fingers tightened, hooking my chin to turn my face toward him before his lips claimed mine. Cheers erupted below, but my breath caught, chest tight.

So this is my marriage, I thought, staring into the wild, reckless man who’d now be my husband. One step forward, a cliff; one step back, a firepit.

The wedding chaos faded fast. Dorian dragged me table to table, toasting guests. I wasn’t used to heels—my feet screamed, throbbing with every step. In the car back to Blackwood Estate, the tight space trapped our breathing, heavy and silent.

The second we stopped, Dorian shoved the door open and bolted out, not sparing me a glance. He strode to the entrance, unlocked it with his fingerprint, and disappeared inside.

I trailed behind, my own print still unrecorded, hobbling through the pain shooting up my legs. The door slammed shut in my face. That jerk.

He yanked off his tie, shed his jacket, and swapped shoes, strolling into the living room—then froze. David sat on the sofa, glaring, flanked by a stony-faced Victoria and a few others. His stern eyes softened when they landed on me, a kind smile breaking through. Thank God for David, I thought, relief washing over me. At least someone here’s on my side.

“Grandpa, why’re you up so late?” Dorian asked, casual as ever.

Victoria shot him a sharp look, mouthing, Shut up.

David’s voice boomed. “Dorian, did you forget you got married today? Why were you late? And those photos—what the hell’s that about?” His anger crackled, but he turned to me with a gentler nod. “Evelyn, you’ve been on your feet all day. Go rest.”

“Yes, sir,” I said, avoiding Dorian’s gaze as I climbed the stairs. Karma’s coming for you, Dorian. Enjoy.

I scrubbed off my makeup and showered, but he still hadn’t shown. Unease gnawed at me. If I push him too far, he’ll make me pay, I thought. I can’t afford to piss him off—not if I want to survive this house. I changed and headed downstairs to smooth things over.

David’s scolding echoed through the living room, silencing everyone. “You’re kneeling in the study all night—reflect on what you’ve done!”

Victoria jumped in, flustered. “Dad, it’s his wedding day! Even if he screwed up, this is too much—”

The Blackwoods were old money, bound by rigid rules. Dorian might strut like a king outside, but David’s word was law, and he’d always obeyed. I hurried in. “Grandpa, don’t be mad. We both messed up today. If there’s punishment, I’ll take it too.”

“Evelyn, this isn’t your fault,” David said, firm but soft.

“I wore that ridiculous coat at the wedding—thoughtless of me. Dorian’s promised to straighten up, live right with me, no more nonsense.” Total lie, I thought, smirking inside as Dorian’s eyes flicked to me, sharp and unreadable.

David’s tone eased, his anger melting—maybe my doctor cred softened him. Victoria seized the moment, shooing us upstairs.

I led the way, pushing open the bedroom door, my stomach knotting. What’s he planning? I quickened my pace, but his footsteps thumped closer. Before I could shut the door, his arm snaked around my waist, pinning me against him. He hauled me toward the balcony, my heart slamming in my chest.

“What’re you—” I started, but his grip tightened, lifting me off the ground. My body flipped over the waist-high railing, feet dangling. I scrabbled for a hold, toes barely catching the edge. Three stories, I realized, glancing down, legs trembling. One slip, and I’m dead—or crippled.

My voice shook. “Honey, what’re you doing?”

Voices drifted up—Alexander and Victoria trailing David outside.

Dorian leaned close, his breath hot against my ear. “Go ahead, scream. Your savior’ll come running.”

I swallowed hard, pulse racing. I’m screwed either way, I thought. “Babe, I swear I didn’t know about the photos.”

His arm loosened slightly. I bit back a scream, forcing calm. “The show’s over. Play however you want—just don’t make my life hell, and I’ll play along.”

He rested his chin on my shoulder. I’d just showered; his nose grazed my neck, tickling me senseless while terror gripped my spine. “What if I let you fall?” he murmured, that bad-boy grin I couldn’t unsee lighting his voice. “Spine snapped, bedridden forever—I’d hire a nurse. You’d never meddle again. I don’t mind keeping you.”

A chill shot through me. My hands dug into his arm. I clawed my way through med school for this life, I thought, panic rising. I’m not dying here.

“Mr. Blackwood, why waste money on a wreck? Pretend I’m invisible. Besides, if I go down here, it’s Blackwood Estate’s mess—bad PR.”

He studied me. “You didn’t want this marriage either. Changing your tune now?”

“No, marrying you’s a blessing. I’m thrilled.” Bullshit, I thought, smooth as silk. He stared at my profile, his eyes screaming liar. I’m just surviving, I reasoned. What’s wrong with that?

“Prove it,” he whispered, lips brushing my ear, every word a taunt. “Be mine, willingly—I’ll believe you.” My skin prickled, nerves on edge. He wants to sleep with me.

“Sure,” I mumbled, dodging.

“For real?”

I grabbed his fingers lightly. His arms tightened, pulling me back over the railing. Relief flooded me, but dread lingered as he led me inside.

I’m not ready for this, I thought, frozen as he tugged open his shirt. Goddamn, that body—tall, ripped, rich, and that face? No wonder he’s a player. My eyes traced his abs, a flicker of heat stirring before I yanked my gaze away. Focus, Evelyn.

He grabbed my pajama hem, lifting. I panicked, shoving his hands down. “What? Not willing?” he teased, voice rising, that smirk daring me.

He watched, amused, catching the fear in my eyes. He’s testing how long I’ll fake it, I thought, pulse hammering. I slid a hand over his shoulder, soft and steady. “We’re married. Why wouldn’t I…” Liar, my brain screamed.

He pushed me onto the bed, stripping off his shirt completely. Holy hell, that physique, I thought, caught between awe and dread. Too perfect—and too damn dangerous.