(Evelyn's POV)
The moment Damien's words left his mouth, the air inside the Rothwell estate shifted.
"You heard her," he had said, as if the entire room didn't matter, as if my family's approval was irrelevant. "She stays with me."
My chest tightened, my bandaged hand throbbing as though it wanted to protest on its own. The chandelier's golden glow suddenly felt too harsh, every shadow in the room lengthening with suffocating weight.
"Evelyn," my mother's voice cut like a blade, sharp, trembling with anger. "A word. Now."
I flinched but nodded, forcing myself to my feet. Damien's gaze tracked me like a predator's, his dark eyes unreadable. I wanted to say something—to him, to my parents—but no words came. My throat was dust.
My father's hand pressed against my shoulder, steering me out of the room and down the corridor toward his private study. My mother followed close behind, skirts whispering against the polished floor like whispers of accusation.
The door shut behind us with a decisive click.
For a moment, silence reigned. Then—
"Look at you!" My mother's voice cracked like a whip. She gestured furiously toward my hand, wrapped in white gauze. "Bandaged, shaking, barely able to breathe! Is this what he's doing to you?"
Her words made my stomach twist. I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.
"Margaret," my father's tone was quieter, but far more dangerous. His eyes, dark like mine, pinned me in place. "Evelyn, you don't know the kind of man you're binding yourself to." His voice was even, each syllable deliberate. "He doesn't compromise. He doesn't forgive. Do you understand what that means?"
I swallowed hard, my throat burning. I wanted to defend Damien, to deny their words—but could I? His presence was suffocating. His touch was possessive. His voice, cold as steel, left no room for argument.
Yet when I thought of him, when I thought of how alive I felt under his gaze, how every nerve inside me caught fire in his presence—my heart betrayed me.
"I…" My voice broke. "I don't know what I'm doing."
My mother pressed her fingers to her temple, exhaling sharply as if holding back tears of frustration. My father only stared, his silence heavier than her anger.
But before either could say more, the door burst open.
Clara.
Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes gleaming with rage. Her voice lashed out like venom.
"Of course. Of course this is what it's about. You." She jabbed a finger toward me. "You've been throwing yourself at him, haven't you? Just to humiliate me. Just to disgrace me in front of him, in front of everyone!"
My chest constricted, heat crawling up my neck. "Clara, I—"
"Don't you dare!" she snapped, her voice trembling with rage. "Do you have any idea what you've done? Do you have any idea how you've ruined me? You've stolen him from me, Evelyn. And for what? To parade yourself as something you're not?"
Her words pierced deep, each syllable twisting into the insecurities I tried so hard to bury.
"I didn't—" I tried again, but she cut me off.
"You're nothing but a disgrace to this family." Her lip curled. "A shame to the Rothwell name. And I'll make sure society knows it."
My knees weakened. I wanted to scream, to shout, to tell her she was wrong. But her words dug in like claws, feeding the part of me that already doubted if I was strong enough to survive Damien Kane.
And then—
The door opened again.
Silence fell instantly, thick and suffocating.
Damien.
He didn't have to speak. His presence alone filled the room like thunder. His eyes—dark, merciless—swept over the scene. They found Clara, dismissing her in a single glance. They found my parents, who stiffened under his gaze. And finally—they found me.
I couldn't breathe.
Clara, trembling but defiant, tried to speak again. "She's nothing, Damien. She's—"
"You talk too much."
The words were like a blade drawn slow across the room. Cold. Final. Clara froze, her lips parting, but nothing came out.
Damien didn't look at her again. He didn't look at anyone. He only stepped toward me, the distance collapsing with every measured stride.
The door swung open, and the air shifted instantly.
Adrian Vale — Damien — stood there like a storm in human form. His gaze cut through everyone until it landed on me. The room fell into silence, even Clara's fury choking in her throat.
He didn't spare a glance at my parents, nor at Clara trembling with rage. His eyes were fixed only on me.
"Damien—" my mother started, her voice breaking.
But before she could finish, he crossed the room in three deliberate strides. My heart hammered.
And then, without a word, he bent and swept me up into his arms.
I gasped, clutching his shirt instinctively as my feet left the ground. His hold was unyielding, as if daring the entire Rothwell family to challenge him.
"Put her down this instant!" my mother cried.
"This is unacceptable!" my father thundered.
Clara's voice shrieked above them all, trembling with fury: "You think you can just take her like this? She's a disgrace—"
Damien didn't even look at her. His voice cut through the chaos, low and absolute:
"You talk too much."
The silence after was heavier than stone.
He shifted me higher in his arms, and though I wanted to protest, my body betrayed me — clinging to him, heat rushing to my cheeks.
"She answered me already," he said, his eyes never leaving mine. "She's mine. I don't need permission."
The room froze. Clara shook with rage. My parents stood helpless.
And still, he carried me out.