Chapter 137

"Alexander Kingsley, we're over!" Evelyn Sinclair wrenched her wrist free, the skin already reddening from his grip. "You have no right to control me."

His eyes darkened instantly. "After all these years living off the Kingsleys—"

"Living off you?" Her bitter laugh cut through his words. "That was paid for with my parents' lives."

The accusation hung between them like a blade.

The air turned to ice.

Evelyn spun away, tears betraying her despite furious swipes at her cheeks. She ducked into an empty alcove, muffled sobs escaping through her fingers.

How had it come to this?

Even basic decency was too much to ask for now.

"My lord..." Ethan Miller ventured cautiously, "Miss Sinclair seems—"

Alexander remained motionless in the shadows, gaze locked on that trembling silhouette. His voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. "Not another word."

Evelyn walked thirteen kilometers.

From dusk till midnight, she finally collapsed onto a garden bench outside her apartment complex. The autumn wind carried away her anger, leaving only exhaustion.

"Lord Alex, she'll catch cold." Ethan rubbed his aching legs, voice hushed.

Alexander said nothing, his overcoat crumpled in white-knuckled fists.

Under the streetlamp, Evelyn hugged herself, the solitary figure dwarfed by the empty plaza.

Then a tall silhouette approached.

"Julian?" She looked up, startled.

Julian Ashford draped his jacket over her shoulders. "I've been searching all night."

The tenderness in his voice made Alexander's hands clench.

"About next week's hearing—I've retained a lawyer for you." Julian settled beside her. "Meet this weekend?"

Evelyn stared at her phone. "Thank you."

No firm in Kingsbury would touch her case. The Kingsley Group's influence reached even the court-appointed attorneys—all fresh graduates.

Julian brushed a stray lock from her forehead. "Let me walk you up."

Their retreating figures burned in Alexander's vision.

"Identify that lawyer." His words could frost glass. "Every firm in this city will know—defying Kingsley means professional suicide."

The courthouse swarmed with reporters on trial day.

"Alexander Kingsley actually showed up!"

"Look—that car!"

A black Rolls-Royce glided to a stop. Bodyguards raised umbrellas, creating an impenetrable shield.

Through the gaps, cameras caught only the gleam of Alexander's Oxfords as he stepped onto the pavement...