Chapter 45
Evelyn
It's Monday, and Alexander returned to work like nothing had happened. Like he hadn’t taken a bullet meant to end him.
Like he hadn’t driven into the countryside alone, blood-soaked and feral, to tear me back from the dark.
Like he hadn’t held me afterward as if I were the last fragile thread keeping him tethered to this world.
He stepped out of the elevator immaculate—perfectly tailored charcoal suit, hair slicked back, tie straight, shoulders squared. An empire dressed in skin. No hesitation. No visible weakness. Just that sharp, unreadable calm that made people straighten instinctively when he entered a room.
Everyone else saw Alexander Hunt, untouched. Only I saw it.
The faint limp he masked with discipline. The subtle pull of pain at the corner of his mouth. The way his eyes cut across the floor the instant he appeared—searching, anchoring—until they landed on me.
He didn’t smile. He never wasted expressions on an audience. As he passed my desk, his fingers brushed the edge of it—low, quick, deliberate. A private touch no one else noticed. Not accidental. Never accidental.
“Evelyn,” he murmured without slowing. “Coffee. Now.”
My pulse kicked—not from the order, but from the way he said it. Like a man who needed me close immediately, or something inside him might fracture.
I grabbed the tray with shaking fingers. Not from nerves. From nausea. Morning nausea. God. Not now.
I steadied myself and followed him into his office. The moment the door clicked shut, the air changed. Thickened. Charged. My spine reacted before my mind caught up.
He turned. And the way he looked at me—Like he wanted to devour me whole and wrap his coat around my body in the same breath. “You’re pale,” he said, stepping closer. “Are you eating properly?”
“Yes,” I lied. It came out too fast.
His eyes narrowed. “Don’t lie to me. Not you. Not after everything.” He reached out, thumb brushing my cheekbone—slow, deliberate. Possessive without being cruel. “You don’t get to burn yourself out anymore,” he murmured. “You belong to me now, Evelyn. I’ll feed you myself if I must.”
My breath stuttered. God help me—why did that sound like a promise I wanted to collapse into? For one dizzy second, I leaned into his touch. Just slightly. His warmth sank into me, loosening things I’d been gripping too tightly since the doctor’s words echoed through my skull.
You’re pregnant.
I stepped back before the truth could surface on my face. “We said we’d keep this quiet.”
His jaw ticked. “You don’t think they’ve noticed?”
I shook my head. “I don’t care what they suspect. I care what they say. I don’t want whispers behind my back. I don’t want anyone thinking I only got this job because I—” My voice faltered. “Because I opened my legs for the boss.”
He flinched. Not at the vulgarity. At the shame beneath it. I turned away, busying myself with the coffee cups on his desk. My hands trembled—from nerves, from hormones, from the secret blooming under my skin.
“I worked hard to get here,” I whispered. “I want to earn what I have. I don’t want to be seen as your… weakness.”
A second of silence. Then he moved.
He came up behind me, arms sliding around my waist, pulling me flush against his chest. Warm. Solid. Unavoidable. “You are not my weakness,” he breathed into my hair. “You’re the only thing in this world that makes me stronger.”
My throat tightened. For one impossible moment, I almost told him—about the clinic, about Wednesday, about the tiny, stubborn cluster of cells growing inside me.
About the future quietly rewriting itself beneath my skin.
But my voice wouldn’t come. Because I didn’t know if this was a blessing…
or a tragedy waiting to happen. Because I needed certainty before hope could ruin him.
His arms tightened, strong and possessive.
“Evelyn,” he murmured. “Look at me.”
I did. And in his eyes, I saw it. Not lust. Not dominance. Not ownership. Devotion. It almost broke me.
Almost.
But I wasn’t ready to shatter yet—not until I knew the truth growing inside me was strong enough to survive it.