Chapter 277

"Since you're my stepmother, I'll give you one day," Evelyn said icily before striding out of the café.

Back at the gala, both Dominic and Wesley appeared unsteady after only a few drinks.

"Mr. Ashford," Dominic began casually as he refilled Wesley's glass, "I heard Professor Whitmore had a secret protégé."

Wesley's cheeks flushed as he met Dominic's gaze. "Where did you hear that, Mr. Blackwood?"

Dominic lifted his glass, clinking it against Wesley's. "Just answer yes or no."

Wesley took a slow sip, his expression troubled. "I'm afraid I can't discuss Professor Whitmore's private affairs."

"The man is dead. It's not like it's some shameful secret."

"What if that person doesn't want to be found?"

A slow smirk curved Dominic's lips. "So, there is a secret student."

Wesley's slip confirmed it—the elusive protégé was real.

He drained his glass, avoiding Dominic's piercing stare.

"Mr. Ashford," Dominic leaned in, voice dropping, "you are that student, aren't you?"

Wesley choked on his wine, spraying the table. Dominic handed him a napkin without missing a beat.

"Thanks," Wesley muttered, dabbing his mouth. "Mr. Blackwood, I was just Professor Whitmore's assistant. I studied medicine, but I was never worthy of being his student. That's why I worked for him."

Dominic's eyes narrowed. "Really?"

"Of course! Besides, haven't you already found Zoe? She's brilliant."

"She is," Dominic admitted, swirling his drink. "But I want more options. Rumor says the secret student is a middle-aged man. My men have searched for months—nothing."

That was why he'd cornered Wesley tonight.

Wesley groaned. "So I look middle-aged to you?"

"Desperate times," Dominic said dryly.

The alcohol loosened Wesley's tongue. "Your intel's wrong. Even if there was a secret student, it wouldn't be some middle-aged man."

Dominic's gaze sharpened. "A woman, then?"

Wesley pressed his lips together.

"Name your price," Dominic urged. "I'll pay anything."

Overwhelmed, Wesley dropped his head onto the table, feigning drunkenness.

When Evelyn stormed into the hall and saw Wesley slumped over, her blood boiled.

"That bastard Dominic! How dare he get Wesley drunk?"

She marched toward him. Dominic turned, sensing her approach, his usually sharp eyes glazed.

"What the hell is this, Dominic Blackwood?" she snapped.

Flushed, he held up the half-empty bottle innocently. Clearly, Wesley was faking.

"Wesley doesn't drink!" She slammed the bottle down and reached for Wesley.

Dominic yanked her back.

Evelyn stumbled, crashing into his chest.

"Evelyn, I—" His voice roughened as he stared at her, his breath warm against her skin. "I think I'm drunk."