Chapter 90

Dominic had lost a considerable amount of weight, his once-sharp features now even more striking, carved with an almost ethereal elegance.

What was he doing here? Was he the mysterious guest?

Lillian departed after completing her task.

Watching the AI assistant leave, Evelyn realized the truth—Dominic was indeed the one who had requested her presence.

Hadn’t he been bedridden?

Was he already well enough to be out like this?

She stood frozen, refusing to speak or move toward him.

"Mr. Blackwood, is this the person you were looking for?" the event coordinator asked.

Dominic gave a slight nod. "Thank you."

"Of course," the coordinator replied before stepping away.

Dominic closed the distance between them, his piercing gaze devoid of warmth. "We need to talk."

"Talk?" Evelyn kept her eyes lowered, her tone icy. "About what?"

Unfazed, he reached out, his large hand wrapping around her wrist as he pulled her away.

Backstage was crowded, and whispers would spread like wildfire if they stayed.

Once they left the chaos behind, Dominic guided her through the grand lobby and into the secluded VIP lounge, shutting the door firmly behind them.

His voice was rough but commanding. "Evelyn, stay away from Tristan. Whatever his reasons for getting close to you, he isn’t someone who will bring you anything good."

She met his gaze defiantly. "You just don’t want me working with him because you’re still trying to buy my company, aren’t you?"

His Adam’s apple bobbed, but before he could respond, she pressed on.

"Honestly, you’re being ridiculous. No wonder you’re too ashamed to admit you only offered a hundred and fifty-five million. If I were you, I’d never show my face again after such a pathetic bid."

A faint flush crept over Dominic’s pale skin at her taunt. She always knew exactly how to provoke him.

"Name your price," he rasped, his breathing uneven.

She let out a bitter laugh. "You came all the way here just to negotiate? Fine. But I’m busy today. Let’s discuss it tomorrow—if you’re still interested."

As she turned to leave, his grip tightened around her arm.

"Evelyn," he said, coughing slightly, his voice strained. "I’ll say this one last time. You’re no match for Tristan. If a hundred and fifty-five million isn’t enough, then tell me what you want."

Facing the door, her forced indifference wavered.

He was clearly still unwell. Why had he come here in this state? Couldn’t this have waited until he recovered?

She exhaled slowly before finally speaking. "Three hundred million. And I want an investment, not a buyout."

She didn’t truly expect him to agree—she just wanted to see his reaction. He was the one who had pushed her into this.

"Fine," he said without hesitation. "Now go and cut ties with Tristan."

Evelyn whirled around, her chest rising sharply. "Are you insane? You’re sick—this isn’t the time for business! You need to go home and rest!"

"I’m feeling better," he murmured, though his bloodshot eyes betrayed him.

Suspicious, she pressed a hand to his forehead.

He was burning up.

She pulled back, her voice tight. "Are you leaving on your own, or do I need to call your security?"

"End things with Tristan," he insisted, ignoring her concern.

"I won’t!" Her eyes burned with frustration. "The more you push, the more I refuse! Dominic, I’m not your puppet anymore!"

A flicker of hurt crossed his exhausted face before she tore her gaze away, flung open the door, and stormed out.

The moment she stepped into the hallway, a cold gust of wind sent a shiver down her spine.