Chapter 675
No.1
......
Evelyn simply watched him.
Her expression indescribably complex.
How had she endured him?
The cruelty. The barbs. For thirteen years?
When he called her pathetic, she couldn't even argue.
Because he was right.
No.2
She'd been pathetic to her core.
"You're absolutely right." Her sudden smile was razor-sharp. "Pity it took me this long to see it."
For once, Alexander studied her for two full seconds.
"Enough," he said, uncharacteristically placating. "Mrs. Wilson's been dealt with. No one will speak out of turn again."
"You punished her for theft, not for humiliating me," Evelyn countered.
"Silence!" Alexander's temper flared. "How long will you harp on this nonsense?"
His concession wasn't license for her demands.
No.3
He despised her greed, yet she insisted on provoking him.
But what infuriated him more was her rejecting his rare mercy.
Evelyn's smile turned lethal. "So to Lord Alex, this is trivial."
Ignoring his thunderous expression, she continued, "Then don't trouble yourself over trifles. You may ignore it, but I can't."
Her calm demeanor made Alexander's jaw clench.
He seized her wrist again, voice dropping dangerously low. "Was the maid wrong? Aren't you just my—"
He broke off abruptly.
No.4
Someone was still present.
"Why are you still here?" His murderous glare sent Ethan trembling.
"Lord Alex... Madam Kingsley arrived with Miss Isabella and Mr. Julian. They're downstairs..."
Alexander's expression darkened. "Why wasn't I informed?"
Ethan stammered, "Madam forbade me. I only knew when you summoned me..."
Alexander released Evelyn and strode toward the stairs, pausing halfway to fix her with a warning glare.
"Watch your tongue. Understood?"
No.5
As he rounded the staircase, Eleanor Kingsley's gentle voice floated up.
"Violence is unacceptable. I'll make certain she apologizes properly."
Hearing footsteps, she turned sharply. "Look what you've done! Have you no—"
Eleanor Kingsley's words trailed off abruptly.
Footsteps echoed from the staircase as Alexander Kingsley descended with a stormy expression. A purple bruise marred his temple, his cheekbone bore a sickly yellow hue, and dried blood crusted his split lip. Deep scratches ran along his jawline.
He looked even worse than Julian Ashford lounging on the sofa with an ice pack.
Eleanor's temper flared.
No.6
"How dare you show your face?" Her phoenix eyes flashed. "Starting a fight was idiotic enough, but getting your ass handed to you? You've humiliated the Kingsley name! Why didn't Mr. Ashford finish the job?"
Julian: "..."
That insult seemed to target both men.
Alexander stalked toward his mother, though his glare remained fixed on Julian. "Get out."
The air turned glacial.
Eleanor suddenly exhaled, diffusing the tension.
"Thank goodness." She pressed a hand to her chest, her gaze softening toward Evelyn Sinclair on the stairs. "At least Evelyn's unharmed..."
No.7
Seeing Isabella Winslow's swollen face had made her fear the worst. But Evelyn stood composed, her clothes pristine—a sight that eased Eleanor's panic.
Isabella bristled.
"Aunt Eleanor," she whimpered behind her hands, "you just said violence is wrong—"
"I meant those two." Eleanor's tone stayed pleasant. "Girls roughhousing isn't fighting, it's bonding."
She continued before Isabella could protest, "If she hit you, why didn't you hit back?"
"Losing means you're weak, dear. Fragile flowers are outdated—sometimes you need claws to get what you want."
Isabella: "..."