Chapter 407

"Just focus on recovering. If he doesn't let you go within a week, I'm calling the police again," Michael growled through clenched teeth. "I already know everything."

Evelyn's voice was barely above a whisper. "How did you find out?"

"Nathan told me. He couldn't believe his boss would act like such a monster, so he investigated."

A bitter smile twisted Evelyn's lips.

Michael's tone turned sharp. "Is this because his mother discovered the children's true parentage?"

"Yes."

"I knew it!" His fist pounded against something hard. "You never told him, so he snapped."

Evelyn remained silent.

"You foolish woman! If I were in your shoes, I wouldn't have let fear control me! What's the worst he could do? Kill Lily and Henry? I refuse to believe even Dominic Blackwood would murder his own flesh and blood! Those children owe him nothing!"

"The current situation is manageable," Evelyn countered. "I won't gamble with their lives."

"Fine. But you'll call me daily. If I don't hear from you, consider the police notified." His words carried finality.

"I understand." The call ended, leaving Evelyn marginally calmer.

The past two days had been an unending nightmare. Just as one horror faded, another began.

An hour later, the housekeeper arrived with fresh clothes. "Miss Thorne, Mr. Blackwood purchased these for you." She held up designer labels. "He insisted you be properly dressed."

Evelyn initially resisted, then slowly attempted rising.

"Miss Thorne, Mr. Blackwood instructed me to bathe you. Please remain in bed—"

"No. I'll wash myself." Evelyn's brow furrowed. "Fetch me a cane."

The housekeeper hesitated before leaving, returning not with a cane but with Dominic himself.

"Miss Thorne," the housekeeper fretted, "the doctor said movement could worsen your injury—"

She clearly didn't realize Evelyn was a physician who understood her own prognosis.

Under Dominic's piercing gaze, Evelyn swallowed hard and lay back down.

The housekeeper brought warm water and towels, carefully cleansing Evelyn's skin.

"Miss Thorne, I've prepared clam chowder. Shall I bring some?"

"Secretly," Evelyn whispered. "Don't let him see." The memory of Dominic feeding her made her stomach churn—not from his technique, but from his presence.

"Of course. With tonight's guests, he won't notice."

"Guests again?" Evelyn's voice tightened.

"The same group as last night," the housekeeper admitted after hesitation. "Several ladies too."

Evelyn dismissed the topic. As long as Dominic stayed away from her children, his debauchery meant nothing.

After eating, she fell into fitful sleep.

She hadn't anticipated the nightly parties—music, laughter, clinking glasses.

Each night, the revelry woke her. Each night, she wondered: Hadn't his mother just died?

Was this celebration or self-destruction?

By the third day, her leg pain subsided.

That night, noise startled her awake again. She blinked in the darkness until her door creaked open.

A towering silhouette filled the doorway—familiar, dangerous, reeking of alcohol that permeated the room.