Chapter 84

"What about me?" Evelyn's voice trembled as she slammed the teacup onto the marble countertop. The porcelain rattled, threatening to shatter.

She stormed back to her bedroom, her bare feet slapping against the hardwood floors. "Not once has he treated me with basic human decency. Not for a single damn day."

Clara sighed, following her daughter with careful steps. "You come from entirely different worlds, Evelyn. It's natural he'd be... guarded around you." She hesitated, choosing her words like stepping stones across a river. "Forget who he was. Look at the man he's trying to become—"

Evelyn whirled around, eyes flashing. "Since when do you defend him? Do you honestly believe that tyrant will wake up one morning and decide to let me keep my children?"

The silence between them grew heavy.

Clara pressed her lips together before speaking softly. "He must have his reasons for avoiding fatherhood. The fact that he swallowed his pride to come here... that means something."

"Enough!" Evelyn clamped her hands over her ears, nails digging into her scalp. "I'm going to bed. My head is killing me."

Recognizing the finality in her daughter's tone, Clara retreated.

The moment the door clicked shut, Evelyn collapsed onto the bed, releasing a shuddering breath that had been trapped in her lungs for hours.

The pain behind her temples pulsed like a second heartbeat.

Each throb made coherent thought impossible.

Just the memory of Dominic's face—those cold, calculating eyes—sent phantom fingers tightening around her windpipe.

Twenty minutes later, Clara returned to find Evelyn curled into the blankets, her breathing finally steady.

Dominic remained downstairs.

No amount of pleading had moved him.

Clara had half a mind to drag Evelyn out of bed, but the dark circles under her daughter's eyes stayed her hand.

As for Dominic Blackwood?

They could only hope the storm would pass before dawn.

The rain didn't cease.

If anything, it intensified as midnight approached, transforming into a tempest that shook the windowpanes.

Clara jolted awake at 3 AM to the sound of thunder cracking like gunshots.

She nearly went downstairs—nearly—but fear of what she might find kept her rooted to the mattress.

By six o'clock, dawn painted the flooded streets in murky gray light. Clara threw on a cardigan and rushed downstairs.

The historic district always flooded during heavy rains.

Her breath caught when she saw the empty driveway.

Maybe this humiliation would finally convince him to sign the divorce papers.

What terrified her was the alternative—that everything would revert to that suffocating status quo.

At 11:15 AM, Adrian Vaughn burst into Dominic's corner office at Blackwood Group headquarters, his designer shoes leaving wet prints on the Persian rug.

"Nathan. I've been calling all morning." Adrian raked a hand through his damp hair. "Evelyn took her entire executive team to Veritas Capital this morning. After last night? She'll never sell to Dominic now."

Nathan Cross handed him a crystal glass of ice water. "If she chooses Tristan Chamberlain, there's nothing more to be done."

"This is ridiculous!" Adrian slammed the glass onto the mahogany desk. Water sloshed over the rim. "What exactly did Dominic do wrong? He told one harmless lie to protect her pride—"

"You're too young to understand," Nathan interrupted gently. "Mr. Blackwood isn't acquiring Thornfield Industries out of charity. The company has strategic value."

Adrian blinked.

"Evelyn Thorne reacts emotionally—as women do." Nathan adjusted his cufflinks. "Her anger isn't about money. It's about betrayal."

The unspoken words hung between them:

And Dominic Blackwood had betrayed her in the worst possible way.