Chapter 2

As he opened the car door, my heart raced. His scent enveloped me—a warm, woody, heady fragrance. I hadn't noticed it outside, but he was dressed in a navy three-piece suit that fit him too perfectly to be casual.

He caught me staring. Without a word, he slipped off his jacket and tie, rolling his sleeves up. The sight of his veined forearms made me press my knees together instinctively.

The tension in the car was suffocating.

"Here," he said, holding out his jacket. "Put this on until we get to a hotel."

Reluctantly, I took it. The moment it draped over my shoulders, a contented sigh escaped me. His warmth, his scent—it was overwhelming.

"Are you usually this quiet?" he asked, breaking the silence.

I stared straight ahead, refusing to engage.

"I don't know what your father told you, but I don't bite." He smirked. "At least, not people who don't want me to."

He chuckled at his own joke. I remained silent.

"Evelyn Rose," he tried again.

Still nothing.

Without warning, his hand shot out, gently but firmly grabbing my face.

"I don't appreciate being ignored," he said, his voice calm but commanding.

I yanked away from his grasp, my chest tightening. The panic clawed its way up—my worst fear manifesting itself in the worst possible moment.

No, not now. Please not now, I pleaded silently.

My breathing grew rapid, tears spilling as I began to hyperventilate. The second breakdown tonight. My car door opened, and before I could register it, he was crouched beside me.

"Evelyn Rose, look at me," he said softly, his tone devoid of its earlier sharpness.

I looked up, desperate for anything to anchor me. His hand moved in slow, reassuring circles on my back.

"Breathe in, breathe out," he instructed gently. "In… out. In… out. You're safe. You're okay."

His words sank in. He wasn't them. I wasn't there anymore. I was safe.

Slowly, the storm inside me calmed.

"You good?" he asked, watching me carefully.

I nodded, but he didn't budge.

"I need a verbal response, Evelyn," he insisted.

"Don't call me Evelyn," I murmured, pulling his jacket tighter around me.

His brow arched in mild surprise but didn't press further. "Alright. You okay now?"

"I'm fine," I said quietly.

He stood and returned to the driver's side, leaving me to recompose myself as he pulled out of the parking lot.

After a stretch of silence, his voice broke through again. "Does that happen often?"

"Where's your driver?" I deflected.

"That's not an answer," he replied smoothly, his tone firm but not unkind.

"My father never drives," I shot back.

"Evelyn."

"I told you not to call me that," I snapped, my voice firmer now.

"Why?"

I hesitated, staring out at the passing lights. "Because that's my mother's name."

The quiet that followed wasn't oppressive this time. It was… understanding.

The car was silent for the rest of the trip. Without his voice to distract me, the noise in my head grew louder, more vicious.

Why didn't Leo look for me after I was rescued?

Or even after we reached the dock?

His mom must have done something to keep him away from me.

I leaned my head against the cold glass, watching the landscape blur past. The world outside seemed distant, as if I were trapped in my own restless thoughts.

Soon enough, we reached the hotel. I was desperate for a hot bath, to scrub away the fatigue clinging to my skin. After arranging a room for me, he left me alone with one of the female attendants, who guided me upstairs.

Once inside, I stripped out of my clothes and ran a hot bath. Exhaustion tugged at my limbs, and for a moment, I considered taking a quick shower instead. But the warmth of the water promised solace, so I sank into the tub.

I must have dozed off, lulled by the heat, because the sharp knock on the door startled me awake. Wrapped in my robe, I glanced at the clock. 2 a.m.

Who would be looking for me at this hour?

Hesitant, I opened the door. There he stood—Rowland.

His eyes roamed over me, lingering longer than I liked. Self-conscious, I pulled my robe tighter around me.

"Um, hi," I murmured, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Evelyn," he said, his tone steady, almost amused.

I glared at him

"I told you not to call me that". I huffed

He chuckled, low and soft. "Evelyn Rose," he repeated, as if savoring my name. "It just occurred to me—you don't have any clothes. I brought you some."

I barely noticed the folded bundle in his hands, too focused on the way his gaze lingered on my face.

Without waiting for a response, he shoved the clothes into my hands.

"Get some rest, dear. You need it," he said, his voice gentler now.

And just like that, he turned and walked away, leaving me standing there.

Dear? The word echoed in my mind, stirring something I couldn't quite name.