Chapter 92
Zachary and Evelyn locked eyes, and the entire lobby fell into an eerie silence. It was as if time itself had stopped for that fleeting moment.
“That’s Mr. Blackwood! It’s really him!” someone gasped in recognition.
“Z-Zachary!” Cassandra stammered, her face paling. She hadn’t expected to see him here, and the sight of him sent a jolt of fear through her.
Deep down, she still trembled at the mere mention of his name. No matter how much Isabella dismissed him as the illegitimate heir of the Blackwood family, he still held the reins of Blackwood Enterprises with an iron grip.
“Nathaniel, get Cassandra out of here. Now,” Zachary commanded, his voice like ice.
Around them, phones were discreetly recording the scene. If this dragged on any longer, Blackwood Enterprises’ reputation would be tarnished—all thanks to Cassandra’s reckless behavior.
Nathaniel wasted no time, swiftly ushering Cassandra out of the lobby.
Evelyn smirked inwardly before turning her frosty gaze away.
This was the real Zachary—cold, calculating, and utterly devoid of emotion.
He didn’t care about the victim or the perpetrator in this mess. All that mattered was protecting the Blackwood name and safeguarding his empire.
“Damn it! She’s going to bite her tongue!” Tristan exclaimed in alarm.
Panic surged through Evelyn. Without hesitation, she shoved her wrist into the housekeeper’s mouth.
A sharp, searing pain shot through her arm as the woman clamped down hard. But Evelyn didn’t flinch. She gritted her teeth, enduring the agony.
“What the hell—” Zachary’s eyes widened in shock, but it was too late to stop her.
He could only watch as Evelyn sacrificed herself to save the housekeeper. Fragile as she appeared, her spirit was unbreakable.
The sight struck him like a physical blow.
Suddenly, a memory flashed before his eyes—his savior, Seraphina.
Years ago, on the battlefield, Zachary had been gravely injured. Seraphina had carried him on her back, tying a rope around him before dragging him for miles through the war-torn land.
“Don’t give up! We will survive!”
Later, chaos erupted in the refugee camp. Zachary searched desperately for her, but all he found was the blood-soaked rope. He often wondered if her hands had ever healed.
His fists clenched at the memory, tension coiling in his chest.
The ambulance arrived shortly after, whisking the housekeeper away. Still worried, Evelyn ordered Tristan to follow them to the hospital.
“You acted quickly, miss. That saved her life,” one of the paramedics praised.
Evelyn offered a small, tired smile. “I’m just glad she’s stable now.”
By the time she returned to the lobby, the manager had restored order, and the crowd had dispersed.
Glancing at the deep bite marks on her wrist, Evelyn winced. Blood welled from the wounds, and she headed straight for the hotel infirmary, her pulse throbbing with pain.
“Evelyn.”
Her heart skipped a beat. Turning, she found Zachary standing inches behind her, his expression stormy.
They were so close she could feel the heat of his breath against her skin. One more step, and their bodies would collide.
For a second, she froze—then instinct kicked in, and she tried to step back.
But Zachary was faster. His hand shot out, gripping her arm and yanking her toward him.
Evelyn stumbled forward, crashing into his chest. His body was hard, warm—unexpectedly so.
Her heart hammered wildly at the contact, and she cursed internally at how solid he felt.
“We’re in public, Zachary. Control yourself,” she hissed, breathless. She tried to wrench free, but his grip was unyielding.
“Where the hell have you been these past few days? Why did you disappear?” His voice was low, dangerous, his fingers tightening around her wrist.
She scoffed. “None of your business. You’re nothing to me.”
His jaw clenched. The audacity of this woman—his ex-wife—daring to dismiss him like this. Had she forgotten how she used to bend over backward to please him?
A possessive fury surged through him. He would win this battle. And beneath it all, something unfamiliar stirred in his chest.
