Chapter 229

The car window was half-open, letting in the cool night breeze.

Alexander Kingsley rested his forehead against his palm, fingers massaging his temple. At the sound of the car door opening, he lifted his gaze to Evelyn Sinclair.

The moment she frowned, he rolled down the window.

Fresh air rushed in, dispersing the heavy scent of alcohol.

"Business dinner," he explained tersely. "The client was a heavy drinker."

Evelyn remained silent, her eyes flickering to his slightly wrinkled collar—stained with liquor and the faintest trace of perfume.

The car started moving, city lights streaming past the window.

"Ethan Miller took most of the drinks for me," Alexander added, exhaustion lacing his voice.

His mind flashed to the flirtatious men and women at the dinner, their suggestive glances. What rumors had Winston Strauss and Lance Yeager spread to make people think he swung both ways?

"When did you stop hating me?" he asked abruptly.

Evelyn blinked.

"Never hated you," she answered plainly. "When I loved you, there was no room for hate. And when I stopped loving you, hate wasn’t worth the effort."

Alexander’s throat moved, pain flickering in his eyes.

When they arrived home, Evelyn paused at her bedroom door.

"You don’t have to sleep on the couch," she said softly.

Alexander stepped closer, his breath hot against her neck. "Don’t soften now. I’ll get the wrong idea."

He seized her wrist, pinning her against the door.

"Alexander!" She struggled. "One more move like this, and the contract is void."

The door suddenly swung open.

Evelyn fell backward, Alexander tumbling after her. In that split second, her mind conjured the worst possible outcome—

But the expected pain never came.

She opened her eyes to Alexander’s pale face. His arm braced her back firmly, his other hand planted on the floor, holding her suspended inches above the ground.

"Thank you," she whispered, voice trembling.

Alexander slowly lowered her. When he stood, he swayed slightly.

"Can you get up?" His tone was icy.

Evelyn nodded.

"Your stomach?"

"Fine."

He turned and left, the front door slamming shut behind him.

Downstairs, a bodyguard stubbed out his cigarette. "Lord Alex?"

Alexander yanked the car door open with his left hand. "Hospital."

As the car moved, he tested his right wrist. To catch her, he’d taken the full force of their fall with one arm.

He prayed it wasn’t broken.