Chapter 17
“You insolent wretch! How dare you throw your drink in my face? Do you have any idea who you’re dealing with?” Raphael snarled, wiping the liquid from his face with a furious swipe.
“I couldn’t care less who you are. Drugging a woman and forcing her to drink it? You’re lower than scum.” Evelyn flicked her hair over her shoulder, her gaze dripping with disdain and a dangerous allure.
Raphael’s rage boiled over. No one—no one—spoke to him like that. If not for the crowd watching, he would have already dragged this infuriating woman away and taught her a lesson she’d never forget.
Just then, two Delacroix family bodyguards caught up to them. Raphael jerked his chin toward Evelyn, signaling them to seize her. She needed to be put in her place—preferably beneath him.
The burly men lunged at her. Even tipsy, Evelyn’s reflexes were sharp. She sidestepped effortlessly, sending the two stumbling into each other with a grunt.
“Pathetic,” she drawled, stifling a yawn.
“Grab her!” Raphael barked, his face twisted in fury.
One of the bodyguards scrambled up and reached for Evelyn’s shoulder—only for a tall, imposing figure to materialize in front of her. A strong hand clamped around the bodyguard’s wrist, twisting it sharply before flipping him onto the ground with a bone-jarring thud.
“Impressive,” Evelyn murmured, swaying slightly as her vision blurred.
Before she could topple backward, a firm arm wrapped around her waist, steadying her. The heat of the man’s breath brushed against her cheek, sending an unwelcome shiver down her spine.
“Let go of me!” she snapped, struggling weakly.
“Open your eyes, Evelyn. Look at me.”
That voice—deep, commanding, and laced with a familiar arrogance.
Her pulse stuttered as she lifted her gaze, meeting the cold, piercing eyes of Sebastian Blackwood.
His gaze darkened as he studied her flushed cheeks and parted lips. If not for those wide, doe-like eyes—so at odds with her fiery defiance—he might not have recognized her as the same woman he’d once been married to.
“Evelyn Whitmore,” he said, his voice dangerously soft. “You’ve grown bold. Does Nathan’s backing make you think you can cause trouble wherever you please?”
“Maybe it does,” she shot back, tilting her chin up. “And what of it? Every time I see a Delacroix, I want to punch them. Got a problem with that? Even if you do, you can’t stop me.”
Sebastian’s grip tightened around her waist—a silent warning.
“Ow! Let go!” She squirmed, her voice slurring slightly, the alcohol making her movements clumsy.
His gaze darkened further. No man could resist her like this—cheeks flushed, lips parted, defiance and vulnerability warring in her eyes.
“Sebastian?” Raphael’s voice cut through the tension, his face pale with shock. “What are you—”
“Mr. Blackwood,” Sebastian corrected icily. “And unless you’ve forgotten, Vanessa and I aren’t married yet. You don’t have the privilege of addressing me so casually.”
Raphael stiffened, caught off guard.
Vanessa.
The name alone made Evelyn’s stomach churn. Three years of marriage, and Sebastian had never once called her by anything but her full name. Yet for her, he used that sickeningly sweet nickname.
The pain twisted deeper. With a sharp jerk, she wrenched herself free, stumbling back. She’d rather fall than let him touch her.
“Apologize to her,” Sebastian commanded, his tone leaving no room for argument.
Though the words were directed at Raphael, his gaze never left Evelyn.
“Me?” Raphael scoffed. “This lunatic threw her drink in my face and insulted me! She should be the one apologizing!”
Evelyn smirked, swaying slightly on her feet. “Oh, I’ll apologize—when hell freezes over.”
Sebastian’s jaw tightened.
This wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.
