Michael sat on the edge of the hospital bed, his long legs crossed with effortless elegance. He watched her with the predatory focus of a man who had already won, even if the opponent didn't know it yet.
"Tell me,"
He commanded, his voice a low, smooth velvet.
Evelyn swallowed hard, clutching the hospital blanket. "If I sign this, if I become your wife, there are rules. Three of them."
"I'm listening." The man replied.
"One," she said, her voice trembling but gaining strength. "You cannot touch me without my permission. No exceptions." After the haze of the hotel, she wasn't about to let herself be a pawn in his bed again.
Michael's gaze dropped to her lips for a fraction of a second before returning to her eyes. "That's a minor thing," he muttered. "I'll wait until you're begging for it.
Evelyn flushed but pushed on. "Two, I won't tolerate a messy life. You must stay away from other women. If we are married, your 'business' stays strictly in the office." In response to that, he just smirked and nodded.
"And three," she finished, "Outside this house, we don't know each other. I'm not ready to be 'Mrs. Thorn' in the eyes of the media, especially not with everything happening to my father."
Michael considered this. He didn't mention that there was no expiration date on those rules, and he was a master of finding loopholes. "Fine. My only condition is this: My life is private. I don't tolerate scandals, and I don't tolerate people who bring chaos into my home. Deal?"
"Deal." Evelyn muttered.
Three hours later, Evelyn was discharged and Michael took her back to his mansion. As they entered, the scent of food drifted through the air. The housekeeper welcomed them at the door, took Michael's and Evelyn's coats and led them inside.
Michael led the way upstairs without a word. He pushed open the door to a sprawling suite decorated in soft creams and light browns. It was a luxury at first sight. A massive bed with silk sheets, a private balcony, and a bathroom that looked more like a spa.
"This is temporary," Michael said, leaning against the door frame as she explored the room. "The estate at Riverdale is being finished. That will be our permanent residence. We will move there soon."
Evelyn froze, Riverdale? She had heard rumors of that place, a multi-billion dollar development so exclusive it was practically a fortress. Her family had been wealthy, but, The Thorns were in a very different league.
"This is more than enough," she whispered, sitting on the edge of the bed.
"You should get comfortable with the environment. And call the housekeeper, if you need anything," he announced, and turned away from the door.
The dining room was quiet, save for the rhythmic click of silverware and Evelyn focused on her food. For the first time in days, she felt a genuine spark of hunger. Between the funeral, the betrayal, and the hospital, her body was running on fumes. She watched Michael out of the corner of her eye, his every movement was a masterclass in controlled power. Maybe in a few days, she thought, he wouldn't feel like such a dangerous stranger.
As soon as she finished her porridge, she instinctively reached to clear the table.
"Do you usually play the maid at home?" Michael asked, his voice flat but observant.
Evelyn froze, her fingers gripping an empty plate. "No, I don't," she whispered, her eyes stinging. At the Meyers Mansion, she was a princess. Now, she was just trying to find a way to be useful, to prove she wasn't just a burden he'd picked up off the street.
Before she could spiral, Michael's hand closed over hers. He took the plate and set it back down. "Evelyn, look at me. This is your home now. You don't need to be 'sensible' or careful. You just need to be mine."
He didn't wait for a response. He led her upstairs and into his private study, a room that smelled of fresh documents, books, and expensive leather. From a drawer, he pulled out two cards and slid them across the desk.
One was a standard high limit card. The other was a VIP Card, a limited edition piece of titanium that only few people in the world possessed. It was a key to a world of unlimited spending and absolute priority.
"I don't keep cash," he said. "Take these. Buy whatever you need to feel like yourself again."
Evelyn stared at the card. She had seen one before, held by a global titan at a gala. She looked up at his unreadable face. "Why are you doing this? We're strangers. You don't have feelings for me, and I... my heart is still a mess."
"I don't need your heart right now," he replied, his gaze dropping to the pulse fluttering in her neck. "I need your presence. Rest early. We're getting the marriage license tomorrow."
He didn't give her a chance to argue. He practically ushered her out and closed the door.
Back in her room, the silence was deafening. Alone with her thoughts, the walls she had built during the day finally crumbled. Her father's imprisonment, her grandmother's death, The Watson's cruelty, it hit her all at once. She curled into a ball on the sofa, watching the lights of the City blur through a thick veil of tears.
She didn't hear the door open. She didn't realize Michael had come to find her until a pair of strong arms scooped her off the sofa and pulled her into a broad, warm chest.
"You're back?" she sobbed, burying her face in his shirt. "I didn't want you to see me like this, it's so disgraceful..."
The man did not say a word, he simply held her while she cried, her tears soaking through his expensive white shirt. He stood there for thirty minutes, a silent anchor in her storm.
"That's enough," he finally said, his voice a low rumble. He pulled back, his thumb brushing a tear from her cheek. "This is the only time. From tomorrow on, you don't cry for those people anymore."
"You think it's that easy?" she hiccuped, wiping her nose. "I'm sad! I'm angry! Do you have any wine?"
He raised an eyebrow. "You want to drink?"
"I want to drown the past in a bottle," she snapped, her grief turning into a spark of defiance. "I'm starting a new life tomorrow. I want to toast to the end of Evelyn the Heiress."
The man hesitated, then went to his wine rack. He returned with a bottle of deep red vintage and two glasses.
"Not that," she said, pointing to a bottle of clear, high-proof liquor. "I want something that burns."
He ignored her, pouring two glasses of the red wine instead. Evelyn pouted but grabbed the glass, draining it in four large gulps. The warmth hit her stomach, reminding her of the drugged wine Tail had given her, and she let out a jagged, sarcastic laugh.
When she reached for the bottle to pour another, the man's hand clamped around her wrist, restricting it.
"That's enough," he said, his eyes darkening.
"Oh, come on! One more glass of your precious wine won't kill you. Are you really that stingy?" She rolled her eyes, her head starting to spin from the alcohol and the emotion.
The man's patience snapped. He stood up, hauled her out of the chair, and marched her into the bathroom.
He didn't say a word as he turned on the shower. Before she could process what was happening, he pulled her under the spray. The blast of cold water hit her like a physical shock.
"Stop!" She screamed. "Are you crazy?" She shivered under the water. He didn't answer. He just stood there, his own shirt getting soaked as he held her under the cold stream. His eyes were like flint, raking over the curves of her body highlighted by the wet fabric. He had intended to give her space tonight, but her constant provocations, the drinking, the defiance, the way she looked at him, had pushed his restraint to the breaking point.
"You wanted to drown the past?" he growled, pinning her against the tiled wall, the water cascading over both of them. "Consider this your baptism. From now on, you only answer to me.