Chapter 76
Alexander Kingsley froze mid-motion.
He straightened slowly, the light casting shadows across his sharp features. The obsession and fervor in his eyes receded like the tide, replaced by their usual piercing intensity.
"You're not drunk?" His voice regained its characteristic iciness, sharp as an unsheathed blade.
Evelyn Sinclair's mind cleared gradually. "I told you—I didn't drink."
His tone ignited her anger.
She had repeated the truth multiple times, yet he twisted it into something calculated. This arrogance—condemning her without listening—was all too familiar.
"Then why do you smell like alcohol?" Alexander's gaze darkened. "Playing drunk to seduce someone?"
Evelyn nearly laughed.
This was Alexander Kingsley in a nutshell. Always jumping to conclusions. Always self-righteous.
It suddenly struck her—how had she endured this for thirteen years? The thought now seemed absurd.
"Believe whatever you want," she replied flatly.
Her indifference only provoked him further. He seized her shoulders and shoved her against the headboard.
A sharp pain flared in her stomach.
"So you admit it?" He gripped her chin. "You left the Kingsleys to chase power and wealth? What did the Sullivans promise you?"
Evelyn's pupils contracted.
He knew about her dealings with the Sullivans? Had he been watching her?
"The Kingsleys treated you well. My mother considered you her own daughter." His jaw tightened. "Yet you'd call someone else 'Mom' for a few favors?"
Evelyn suddenly smiled.
"How do you know I never called Eleanor Kingsley 'Mom'?"
Alexander visibly stiffened.
She seized the moment to break free. "Alexander, do you remember how I overcame my mutism?"
The memory surfaced—
The day she regained her sight, he was the first person she saw. In her dazed state, she had blurted out, "Mom," leaving him stunned.
"Alex..." she murmured, echoing the childhood endearment.
His expression shifted abruptly. "You remember?"
Evelyn didn't understand his tension. Between them, there always seemed to be an unbridgeable gap.
She realized then—Alexander was decisive in business, yet with her, he was perpetually overbearing. As if she alone bore the brunt of his darkest emotions.
They say when you love someone, you feel their tenderness. When love fades, all that remains is their true nature.
She had endured Alexander's nature for thirteen years.
Now, she almost thanked him for ending it. Otherwise, this relationship would have consumed her completely.
"Speak!" Alexander grabbed her face again but released her instantly upon seeing her pallor.
Evelyn bit her lip, sweat beading at her temples. The stabbing pain in her stomach stole her voice.
"Where does it hurt?" he demanded coldly.
When she remained silent, he stormed to the kitchen.
Soon, a cacophony erupted—the clicking of the stove igniter, the shattering of porcelain, Alexander's frustrated curses.
"Ethan! Get up here!"
His assistant rushed in, followed by a chorus of exclamations from the kitchen.
"Lord Alex, that's not how you light it—"
"That's an electric kettle! Not for the stove!"
"Miss Sinclair doesn't even have a proper thermos?"
Curled on the bed, Evelyn sighed silently.
Of course she had a thermos—it was just stored in the cabinet.
As the crashing continued, she mourned her kitchen's fate.
This night would be endless.