Chapter 397

The night had been a relentless storm of shock and chaos.

Even for a hardened detective like Aaron, it was overwhelming. He'd planned to send Thaddeus home to rest, but the man refused, stubbornly insisting on aiding the investigation despite his shattered state.

His situation was dire.

Windermere Estate, the place now tainted by unbearable grief and fury, was no longer an option.

Returning to his grandfather’s home? Impossible. He feared losing control, burdening the old man with worry.

So there he stood, dazed at the police station entrance, a bitter smile twisting his lips.

Thaddeus Abernathy—billionaire CEO, a man with everything—now looked like a lost soul, homeless and broken.

Pathetic. Laughable. Tragic.

"You can stay at my place tonight."

Evadne’s soft offer made him freeze. He stared at her, wondering if grief had finally driven him mad.

Even in his wildest dreams, he wouldn’t have dared imagine this.

"I can manage a hotel."

"Don’t overthink it." Her lashes fluttered slightly. "You can’t go back to Windermere, and you won’t go to your grandfather’s. I won’t rest knowing you’re alone in some hotel, possibly doing something reckless."

Her voice hardened. "If something happens to you, revenge becomes harder. The fight drags on. I don’t like fighting alone."

His breath hitched.

Fighting alone.

He knew that feeling—giving everything, receiving nothing.

When she was young, she’d chased him relentlessly, and he’d ignored her.

Three years ago, she married him, and he’d never once returned her love.

He turned away, struggling to compose himself. He’d already broken down once in that interrogation room. He wouldn’t show weakness in front of her again.

"Whether you agree or not, I’m keeping an eye on you tonight. Hotel? I’ll stay with you. Bridge? I’ll sleep there too."

Her stubbornness was a force he couldn’t fight.

His pale cheeks flushed. His pulse raced.

He wasn’t arrogant enough to assume her motives, but her words still sparked something warm in his chest.

"Then... I’ll trouble you for tonight." His voice was rough.

"Enough. You’ve crossed every line with me. No need for formalities."

Her heart skipped. Afraid he’d hear it, she strode ahead.

Thaddeus swallowed, a faint smile tugging at his lips as he followed.

Evadne’s villa was cold, empty since Jason’s injury.

Thaddeus stepped inside, his usual indifference replaced by curiosity. He studied every corner, every trace of her presence.

This was her home.

A place he’d only ever stood outside of, drenched in rain, feeling small.

Now, he was inside.

A childish urge struck him—to snap a photo and send it to Jareth with a taunt: Who said only you could come here?

"Thaddeus."

Evadne’s voice snapped him back. She arched a brow. "You look like you’re plotting something."

"Sorry." He averted his gaze, embarrassed.

"Pick any room except the last one on the left upstairs. Jason left food in the fridge if you’re hungry. No chef here."

She turned toward the stairs.

"Why can’t I go in that room?"

"Because it’s my bedroom."

She paused, glancing back with an unreadable smile. "No dark secrets or ex-lovers hidden there. Feel free to look if you want."

Her tone was teasing, but the words carried an edge.

She still remembered the photos of that woman in his study.

She wasn’t a saint. She was allowed to hurt.

"Evadne." His eyes glistened.

He knew she was still wounded.

But hope flickered in his chest. If she truly didn’t care, why bring it up?

Her mentioning it meant she did care.

About his past. About him.

"Do what you want. I’m going up." Her voice darkened. "Pull yourself together. The fight’s about to start."

"I sold the villa." His chest tightened. "Everything inside is gone—except my mother’s photos."

Her gaze was icy. "That’s your business. Not mine."

"I know their existence hurt you."

"And you kept them because you couldn’t let go." She laughed softly, as if it no longer mattered.

"I forgot about it. I’d asked Gordon to sell it long ago, but he never got around to it."

His throat burned, but he forced the words out. "That night—I was drugged. I don’t remember anything. Jareth couldn’t send me to a hotel or Windermere. He took me there without thinking."

"Thaddeus." She held up a hand. "Enough. I’m tired."

"How can it not matter? Don’t you resent me for it?"

Sweat beaded on his forehead. His breathing turned ragged.

"There’s more than just that to resent you for."

The words pierced his heart. His fists clenched.

"But now? It’s all in the past."

She turned slowly, her tone casual—though she didn’t notice the tears welling in her eyes.

"Let’s look ahead. Even the deepest emotional wounds mean nothing compared to hatred, right? They just slow us down."

She started up the stairs.

Then—

A weight crashed into her back.

Thaddeus wrapped his arms around her, crushing her against him as if trying to fuse their bodies together.

His feverish chest pressed against her slender frame. His heartbeat pounded through her, dizzying, weakening her knees.

"Thaddeus." Her voice was hoarse.

She didn’t struggle.

"How can it mean nothing?" His grip tightened. "Twenty years ago, I lost the most important person in my life. Twenty years later, I found my only one."

His breath scorched her neck. "I won’t lose you again. Without you, every day is purgatory."

Death didn’t scare him. He’d die for her a thousand times.

But losing her? That terrified him.

His chin rested on her hair, his voice breaking.

This proud, untouchable man—now reduced to begging like a wounded animal.

Evadne’s heart ached.

She’d seen him fearless in battle. Ruthless. Unbreakable.

Now? He was shattered.

And she pitied him.

So tonight, she’d let it go.

"Ah—it hurts." She winced.

"Hurt? Where?" Panic spiked his voice.

"Here! Right here!"

At the police station, she’d used her body to calm him—reopening the wound on her arm. She’d ignored it, used to pain.

But this idiot hadn’t noticed. He’d held her too tight, squeezing until—

"Damn it!"

Thaddeus released her, horrified.

Blood stained his sleeve—her blood.

Her dark suit had hidden it.

"Silly girl! Why didn’t you say something?"

"Why are you yelling at me?" She bit her lip, glaring.

He froze.

Yell? He dared?

In front of her, he was nothing. A servant.

"It’s fine. Just a scratch—ah!"

Her vision blurred as he scooped her up, her body instinctively pressing against his chest.

"I’m taking you to your room. Where’s the first aid kit? I’ll bandage it."

"I don’t need help! I’m a surgeon!"

Her small fist thumped his chest—weak, like a kitten’s paw.

"And my arm hurts, not my legs! Why are you carrying me?"

"Because I want to."

The raw honesty stunned her.

Her cheeks burned.

Her bedroom was surprisingly simple—minimalist, despite her wealth.

He remembered her vibrant tastes at the Abernathy mansion. The weekly sheet changes. Fresh flowers.

Now? Bare. Functional.

"You’re so young. Why is your room like this?" He set her down gently. "If you want, I can bring Grandpa’s antiques. Alvae can help redecorate."

"No need. I like it plain."

"Sorry."

"Ugh. Are you a parrot? Say something else."

"I’m sorry."

She groaned. "Just stop talking."

His heart ached.

He found the first aid kit, helped her out of her jacket. When he saw her sweat-drenched shirt, his chest tightened.

"Don’t hold back anymore." His voice shook.

"Never again." Her eyes blazed. "My mercy got innocent people hurt."

Lost in her fury, she didn’t notice his fingers working at her buttons—one by one—until the last one slipped free.

Her lace bra peeked through, her skin like fresh snow.

Thaddeus’ gaze locked on the delicate bow between her breasts. Heat surged. His throat dried.

He was a gentleman.

But with her? Impure thoughts were inevitable.

"Ah!"

A sharp slap echoed through the room.

Her face burned crimson. She’d hit him.