"Don't touch me," Alexander warned, his voice a low, dangerous growl. His fingers closed around Evelyn's collar, yanking her backward into a different chair.

Her arm flailed out, striking the wine glass in front of him.

The crystal tipped. Dark red liquid cascaded across the immaculate white of his shirt, the stain blooming like a grotesque flower.

Evelyn slumped into the chair, blinking slowly, her mind still clouded.

Alexander drew a sharp breath. His jaw clenched tight, a battle raging beneath his calm exterior. He turned his head away stiffly. "Stay seated. Do not come any closer."

The cold wine seeped through the fabric, a chill against his skin that did nothing to douse the fire within.

Evelyn's lips formed a petulant pout. "What is that supposed to mean? I can't get near my own husband? Is this how you treat your wife?"

Her audacious claim left him momentarily speechless.

"We are married," she insisted, her eyelids growing heavy. "Your shirt is ruined. You can't change it alone. Let me help you bathe."

Oblivious to their public location, her fingers reached for the damp fabric of his shirt, attempting to undo the buttons.

"Stop!" he snapped, his hand closing like a vise around her wrist.

He was ready to unleash his fury when he saw the faint crease form on her brow. A flicker of pain crossed her features.

"Alexander... you're hurting me," she whispered, her voice soft and plaintive.

His grip instinctively loosened.

The moment he released her, she twisted free. With surprising force, her hands shot out and grabbed his collar.

"Evelyn!" Alexander gritted his teeth, frustration sharpening his tone. He could tolerate no more.

His hand came down in a swift, precise chop against the back of her neck.

Drunk and defenseless, she offered no resistance.

Her body went limp immediately, slumping toward the floor.

His expression cold and unreadable, Alexander pushed himself up from the wheelchair. He caught her effortlessly before she could fall. Without a second glance, he lifted her and carried her from the room, his steps firm and steady.

He carried her to the bedroom she had occupied for nearly a month. As he entered, a subtle, feminine fragrance enveloped him.

He paused, looking down at the woman in his arms. Evelyn was deeply unconscious, her breathing even and slow.

Intoxication painted a delicate pink across her cheeks. Her clothes were slightly disheveled.

Alexander let out a quiet breath. He laid her gently upon the bed.

As he tried to withdraw his arms from beneath her, she murmured incoherently in her sleep.

Her arms snaked around him, clinging with a sluggish weight.

He froze. The warmth of her body pressed against him. The soft curves beneath her thin shirt were unmistakable.

Oblivious, Evelyn nuzzled her heated face into the cool, damp fabric of his chest, seeking relief.

His shirt was crafted from the finest material, tailored to perfection. Yet in that moment, he knew no fabric could rival the softness of her skin.

Alexander remained motionless, forced into a stiff sitting position on the edge of the bed.

His gaze drifted to her face. Against his will, it lingered.

He had to admit it—she was stunning. Her features were finely carved and vivid, effortlessly beautiful even without artifice.

Evelyn continued to hold him, her lips slightly parted. The tip of her tongue was just visible.

As she shifted in her sleep, the distance between them vanished. He caught the faint, intoxicating scent of her breath—a mixture of sweetness and wine.

His eyes darkened. She was right. They were married.

There was no logical reason to push her away.

In fact, they could be much, much closer.

His Adam's apple bobbed. He leaned in, his gaze fixed on her lips, hovering just above them.