Chapter 83

Evelyn Sinclair and her entourage arrived at the exclusive lounge, securing a private room directly across from the trio they'd encountered earlier.

But reality quickly set in—barging into strangers' private space to gossip wasn’t exactly proper, was it?

Since they were already there, they might as well enjoy themselves.

When the manager handed over a sleek tablet and asked if they’d like to order some entertainment, Evelyn’s eyes lit up.

This is exactly what I’ve been waiting for!

The Blackwood sisters exchanged confused glances. "What’s happening?"

As they leaned in and saw the manager swiping through profiles of stunning male companions, their cheeks flushed with scandalized delight.

The Blackwoods were old money—refined, dignified, and never indulgent. For Sophia, Genevieve, and Margaret, this was their first time in such an establishment, and the novelty sent a thrill through them.

Yet, within half an hour, the four women—now pleasantly buzzed—had completely forgotten their original mission, lost in the sheer joy of their little rebellion.

Margaret belted out classic rock anthems with a chiseled Adonis at her side, snapping selfies and flooding her group chat with updates.

"Now I get why men love these outings. It’s not just networking—it’s an experience!"

Sophia, usually the picture of restraint, was engrossed in a drinking game flanked by two towering heartthrobs. Every time she lost, she took a sip of champagne. But when they lost? She pinched their biceps, cheeks, or noses with playful glee, barely suppressing her laughter.

She even posted a photo to her elite divorcee group with the caption: "Understanding men. Appreciating men. Becoming the man."

Genevieve, meanwhile, was sprawled across the velvet couch, her porcelain skin flushed a deep rose. She—

Genevieve alternated between covering her eyes and sneaking peeks, occasionally letting out a sharp squeal of delight.

Before her, three sculpted men clad only in low-slung trousers moved with liquid grace, their muscles flexing under the studio lights as they demonstrated anatomical perfection to the art students. One winked at a blushing attendee, eliciting another round of giggles from the group.

Giddy with excitement, Genevieve rapidly fired off ten photos in succession to her private chat with her closest girlfriends. "The talent here is unreal—gorgeous AND eloquent. Best. Night. Ever."

Meanwhile, in the open lounge area, four more entertainers—each sporting playful animal ears and faux tails—circled Evelyn like predators toying with their prey. Blindfolded, she stumbled after them in a tipsy game of tag, her laughter ringing through the room.

"Over here, darling!" one crooned, darting just out of reach.

"Miss Sinclair, catch me if you can~" another teased, his voice dripping with amusement.

Near the entrance, Lillian stood sentry, her sharp eyes scanning the hallway beyond. One of the performers, taking a breather, noticed her rigid posture and sauntered over. "Why so serious, beautiful? Come join the fun."

Lillian didn’t even blink. "Not interested in men."

Shrugging, the entertainer retreated. Lillian remained, ever vigilant—until a flicker of movement at the door caught her attention. "Evelyn," she called over the music, "Isabelle Laurent just arrived. She’s inside."

Too absorbed in her game, Evelyn waved a dismissive hand. "I’ll handle her later." She lunged for the nearest entertainer, missing spectacularly.

Lillian sighed. "The chaos is reaching critical levels."

Just then, Margaret, having an enthusiastic karaoke performance, showered the stage with bills, her cheeks flushed with exhilaration.

The three Blackwood men froze in the doorway, their expressions darkening as they took in the scene: strobe lights, half-dressed men, and their respective women in varying states of intoxication.

The music pulsed on, but the room’s energy shifted instantly. Even drunk, the others sensed the sudden tension, their laughter dying mid-breath. The entertainers stiffened under the weight of the Blackwoods’ glares.

Nathan moved first, his long strides eating up the distance between him and Evelyn just as she blindly grabbed for her target.

Her fingers closed around a firm forearm. "Got you!" she crowed, triumphant. "Now you drink!" Tugging off her blindfold, she blinked up at the figure before her—and froze.

The black dress shirt clung to Nathan’s torso like a second skin, the fabric straining over the defined planes of his abdomen with each breath. Evelyn’s gaze lingered, her alcohol-addled brain supplying one thought: God, that waistline.

A slow, dreamy smile spread across her face.

Nathan’s jaw tightened.

If I weren’t already married—well, technically the wife in this arrangement—I’d climb him like a tree.

His voice was dangerously calm. "Thinking of climbing me, Evelyn?"

Instead of answering, she reached out, index finger poised to poke his stomach.

Nathan caught her wrist before contact, veins prominent along his forearm.

Evelyn pouted. "Spoilsport."

Then, with drunken audacity, she squeezed the muscle under her grip—and giggled. "So firm. Bet it rivals Nathan’s."

His eyebrow twitched.

Her gaze finally lifted to his face. The giggle died. Oh shit. It IS Nathan. Why’s he— Her stomach lurched. I’m gonna be sick.

Nathan’s smile was razor-thin. "My abs thrilled you, but my face makes you nauseous?"

Evelyn barely made it to the restroom.

By the time Nathan found her, she was slumped against the sink, wiping her mouth with a shaky hand. He wordlessly handed her a tissue, his earlier anger tempered by concern.

"Thanks," she mumbled, avoiding his eyes. Maybe he’ll go easy on me. He’s being weirdly gentle.

Nathan watched her, amused. "You think I won’t hold this over you?"

"Can we just… go home?" she ventured, hoping to escape further scrutiny.

It’s not like I did much. Just… touched his abs. Accidentally.

"Just the abs?" Nathan echoed, lips quirking.

Evelyn’s face flamed. But damn, they felt good.

His ears turned pink.

Solid 99/10.

"Why not 100?" he challenged.

She smirked. "Less fabric next time. For accuracy."

Nathan’s ears went scarlet. "You’re impossible."

Just then, rapid footsteps echoed down the hall, followed by a shrill voice: "Stop! Seraphina!"

Evelyn’s head snapped up. Seraphina Delacroix? Here?!

Before Nathan could react, Evelyn—moments ago a wilted mess—suddenly sprang to life, yanking him into a nearby stall with surprising strength.

The door clicked shut just as stiletto heels skidded to a halt outside.