Chapter 3
975 Words
Evelyn stood in the hallway, nervously clutching the blanket around her. Just then, Lydia—the housekeeper who had brought her into the manor last night—pushed open a door at the end of the corridor. She shot a cold glance at Henry, completely ignoring Evelyn standing behind him.
"Master Henry, breakfast is ready," she said, her tone lacking any semblance of respect and dripping with indifference.
Evelyn couldn't help but feel surprised. Did even Henry lack respect in his own home? She wondered if this wealthy heir was also trapped in a web of family coldness and power struggles, just like she was.
Henry seemed used to such treatment. He nodded slightly. "Got it, Lydia. By the way, please bring up some clothes for Evelyn."
Hearing this, Lydia's face twisted into a look of impatience. She rolled her eyes. "Fine, I'll get them," she muttered before turning and heading downstairs, her movements full of obvious annoyance.
After the housekeeper left, Henry turned back to Evelyn and said gently, "Why don't you wait inside the room? I won't come in; I'll stay out here."
Feeling a bit awkward, Evelyn whispered, "Thank you, Henry."
He gave a small smile and waved his hand dismissively. "Just call me Henry. We need to appear closer now; the family isn't exactly... easy to deal with. We have to act like a married couple; otherwise, things will get tougher for you."
Evelyn blinked in surprise, hesitating. "Act like a couple?"
Henry nodded, giving a wry smile as he gestured toward his legs. "Yeah. I know you didn't choose to marry into this mess, and honestly, I didn't want to get hitched either. Even without you, my mother would just line up another woman to force me into marriage. So why don't we team up and help each other out?"
Evelyn fell into thought. If not for what happened last night, this proposal might have felt like a lifeline. But now, her heart was a tangled mess of conflicting emotions...
As she pondered, a deep voice broke the silence.
"Well, aren't you two cozy."
She looked up sharply to see a tall figure leaning against the doorway—it was the man from last night, Logan Westwood. He stood there casually, a hint of sarcasm and amusement in his eyes. His deep, enigmatic gaze swept coldly over her and Henry, like a predator sizing up its prey.
Evelyn's face went pale, her palms beginning to sweat. Instinctively, she moved closer to Henry, her heart pounding so hard it felt like it might burst out of her chest.
Sensing her anxiety, Henry offered a reassuring smile and whispered, "Don't worry. Go inside and rest."
She hesitated for a moment but eventually nodded, quickly stepping into the room and closing the door behind her. The atmosphere outside grew tense in an instant.
Logan took a few steps forward, his eyes fixed coldly on Henry. His voice was deep and carried an oppressive weight. "You went through all this trouble just to send her to my bed? Cut the crap and tell me the truth."
Henry's expression remained unchanged, his tone calm yet firm. "I have no idea what you're talking about, Uncle Logan. What happened last night was purely an accident."
Logan raised an eyebrow, a skeptical smirk playing on his lips. "An accident? I was smashed last night, and she just so happened to drink something funky too. You really expect me to buy that coincidence?"
Henry's smile faded slightly, but he stayed composed. "Believe what you want, but Evelyn's reputation means a lot to her. I'd appreciate it if you didn't make a big deal out of this. After all, it was just an accident."
Logan's face darkened instantly. He leaned in closer, his sharp gaze like a dagger. "Do you take me for a fool? You shove her into my bed and then play innocent? What's your game here?"
Henry didn't flinch under the aggressive stare. His voice carried a hint of weariness and helplessness. "If you think there's an issue, maybe you should talk to my mother. She was the one who prepared the 'special' drink for Evelyn; I have no clue what was in it."
The air was thick with tension, a palpable sense of hostility hanging between them. Logan said nothing more but stared intently at Henry's legs, as if weighing the truth of every word.
Inside the room, Evelyn leaned against the door, her fingers gripping the handle tightly, heart still racing. The recent conversation echoed in her ears; Logan's icy tone left her unsettled. Images from last night replayed in her mind—she had mistakenly entered Logan's room and crossed a line she could never uncross.
She tried to steady herself, but shame and fear surged like a tidal wave. How was she supposed to face this man? Worse yet, Logan was Henry's uncle! The complexity of the situation made her feel like she was suffocating. How could she coexist with Logan in this house? How could she look him in the eye, let alone address him as "Uncle"? The absurdity of it all drained the color from her face, and her body trembled involuntarily.
Evelyn realized she had no choice. She couldn't escape the Westwood family, especially not from the fate they had orchestrated for her. She had to stay and play the role of Henry's wife—even if it meant getting entangled in the family's internal power struggles, she had to find a way to survive.
Taking a deep breath, she tried to suppress her unease and shame, telling herself she had to be strong. Now wasn't the time to fall apart.
As she clenched her fists and tried to focus, the footsteps outside gradually faded. Evelyn allowed herself a small sigh of relief and walked over to the window.
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