Chapter 369

Elvis's pulse raced, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird.

It wasn't often his composure shattered like this, but the woman in his arms—restless, intoxicating—had thrown him off balance.

Not that he was falling for her.

No, it was the uncanny resemblance to Evadne that unsettled him. Holding a woman who looked like his sister while she flirted shamelessly? Disorienting didn’t even begin to cover it.

"Ugh. I think I'm gonna be sick." Elsie's voice was a fragile whisper, her eyes glistening with unshed tears as she swayed dangerously.

Too much alcohol. Too much dancing. Now her stomach revolted.

"Help me to the bathroom," she gasped, clutching his arm. "Please."

Under normal circumstances, Elvis would’ve walked away without a second thought.

But that face—so eerily familiar—made refusal impossible.

With effortless strength, he scooped her up, her slender frame feather-light in his arms, and strode toward the restrooms.

The dance floor buzzed with whispers.

"Damn, did you see that? He carried her like she weighed nothing!"

"Dream boyfriend material right there."

"Wait—doesn’t she look exactly like Evadne Ashbourne? The socialite who’s always trending?"

"Pfft, as if the Ashbourne heiress would be here without bodyguards. Probably some wannabe who paid for the face."

Elvis couldn’t take her to the women’s room, so he barged into the men’s instead.

Two startled patrons froze mid-zip, gaping as the icy-eyed stranger deposited a stunning woman by the sink.

"Finished?" Elvis kicked the door shut behind them. "Get out."

They scrambled away, not daring to argue.

Elsie hunched over the sink, retching violently.

Elvis leaned against the wall, lighting a cigarette, watching her through the haze of smoke.

The longer he studied her, the more differences he noticed. Evadne was elegance incarnate—untouchable, refined.

This woman? Raw, reckless.

When she finally straightened, her reflection stared back—pale, sickly, like a ghost of the woman she mimicked.

Avery’s careful masterpiece.

A sharp pang twisted her chest. She pressed a hand over her heart, forcing a bitter smile.

"Done?" Elvis’s voice cut through the silence.

Elsie startled, as if noticing him for the first time. "Y-You—"

"Me," he confirmed dryly. "The guy you begged to bring you here while calling me 'hottie.' Now you’re just gonna walk away?"

Her cheeks flushed. "I never—this is the ladies' room. You shouldn’t be here."

Elvis smirked, nodding toward the urinals. "Pretty sure those disagree."

Mortified, Elsie spun to leave—only for his hand to snap around her wrist, yanking her back.

She collided with his chest, the impact sending sparks through her veins.

His gaze burned into her. "No 'thank you'?"

"Th-Thank you," she stammered, pulse erratic.

"Has anyone ever told you," his breath brushed her ear, "you look like someone?"

Her heart lurched. She twisted free, but he held firm.

"No," she lied. "I’m just me."

A lie that tasted like ash.

This face wasn’t hers. It was Evadne’s. Avery’s obsession.

"Then tell me," Elvis challenged, "who are you?"

Before she could answer, her phone rang.

BOSS flashed on the screen.

Her blood turned to ice.

Wrenching free, she bolted like a hunted animal, fleeing through the back exit.

Elvis followed, curiosity piqued.

Outside, blinding headlights pinned her in place.

A bodyguard stepped forward. "Miss Archer. The boss is waiting."

Her stomach dropped.

The sleek black car loomed like a coffin. Inside sat the man she loved—and feared.

The door opened. She slid in, trembling.

Avery’s voice was a blade in the dark.

"Did I not forbid you from returning to Elmsworth?"

Elsie’s throat closed. "I—I’m sorry, Mr. Chambers."

Cold fingers clamped around her neck, cutting off air.

"Sorry?" Avery hissed. "Your face is my investment. My weapon. You don’t get to disobey."

Her vision blurred.

Harvey intervened frantically. "Sir, she’ll pass out!"

Avery released her with a disgusted flick, wiping his hands on a handkerchief before tossing it away.

"Fix your face when we return. If not for it, you’d be dead."

Elsie choked back tears. "Thank you... and thank Ms. Ashbourne."

Avery adjusted his glasses. "Did that man touch you?"

"No!" she lied instantly. "I was drunk. It was nothing."

His gaze turned glacial. "Harvey. Find out who he is."

As the car sped away, Elvis emerged from the shadows, memorizing the license plate.

"Elsie Archer," he murmured.

Meanwhile, across the bar, Arnold’s night took another turn.

A half-conscious Camille struggled against two leering foreigners.

"Let me go!"

"Let her go."

Arnold’s voice cut through the chaos, cold as steel.

Camille’s bleary eyes met his—and for the first time that night, she felt hope.