The patter of the rain was like a drumbeat.
The wind and rain raged outside, bringing a hint of dampness into the dining room.
Perhaps it was a headache, but he pressed a hand to his forehead.
Under the stark white light, Preston Keaton’s eyes were as dark and oppressive as the night outside, fixed on her face.
His every move exuded an overwhelming aura.
Like a predator lying in wait in the dark, aggressively territorial.
A faint air of danger emanated from his stare.
Evelyn Grant’s hands curled slightly, but she sat ramrod straight, her gaze unwavering.
In a gentle voice, she asked, “Should I get Butler Shaw for you?” She sat there obediently, watching the man with wide, clear eyes, completely unaware of what was to come.
She was a kind-hearted young woman.
She would have shown the same concern even if it had been Wyatt Walsh sitting there instead.
But Preston Keaton, for his part, felt a spark of greed.
He slowly picked up his wine glass, his movements deliberate and refined, drawing one’s gaze irresistibly to his long, slender fingers.
“Miss Grant, I am a businessman.”
The abrupt statement left Evelyn Grant baffled, clearly not understanding what he meant.
Preston Keaton continued at a measured pace, his voice a low, magnetic murmur.
“A company under Apex is collaborating with the Grant Group, paying fifty million Veridia Dollars a month to have you, Miss Grant, here in Veridia.
The Mid-Levels is my private estate, yet I’ve let you live here.”
Evelyn Grant stared at him blankly, a horrifying realization dawning on her.
Her pupils constricted, and a chill shot down her spine.
“A businessman never makes a losing deal.”
He set the glass on the table with a sharp CLINK.
Preston Keaton smiled.
“So, Miss Grant, what do you suppose my objective is?”
‘He’s too aggressive.’
Fear jolted Evelyn Grant to her feet, and she suddenly found it hard to breathe.
Her eyelashes trembled and her fingers twitched, a chilling numbness spreading through her limbs.
‘His objective…
is me.’
Preston Keaton lifted his chin slightly, his eyes narrowing in a lazy squint.
The ghost of a smile on his lips did nothing to diminish the suffocating pressure that suddenly flooded the dining room.
‘All traces of his refined, gentle demeanor were gone.
Now, he was the predator, looking down from on high, and I was just his cornered prey with nowhere to run.’
Evelyn Grant clenched her jaw, feigning composure.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mr.
Keaton.”
Her eyes darted to the side, and she suddenly noticed that the maids who had been standing nearby were gone.
‘They were the only two people on the entire floor.’
“You don’t know?” Preston Keaton stood up and advanced on her, one step at a time.
Tall and imposing, he loomed over her like a mountain, giving her absolutely no chance to escape.
His cold, detached aura enveloped Evelyn Grant.
She backed away until she hit a wall, her eyes turning red from the pressure, but nothing could stop his relentless advance.
“Darling,” he said, his tone gentle as he gazed at the woman now inches away.
With unnerving calm, he continued, “Then allow me to spell it out for you.”
His fingers forced her chin up, and he scratched it lightly as if teasing a kitten.
“My objective…”
The pad of his thumb slid upward to press against her lips.
His eyes darkened imperceptibly.
Evelyn Grant sensed the danger immediately and frantically pushed against Preston Keaton’s chest.
Like a trapped animal, with her eyes red and welling with tears, she let out a helpless, low cry.
“I’m in love with someone else!”
Lightning tore across the sky, followed by a deafening clap of thunder.
The air grew instantly cold, the tension so thick it was hard to breathe.
Preston Keaton lowered his gaze.
“I know.
But…”
His broad, hot hand landed on the small of her back, forcefully pulling her against him.
Trapping her in his embrace, he let out a faint, soft chuckle.
He looked down, the very picture of arrogance.
“So what?”
Evelyn Grant froze.
‘Everything I thought I knew about Preston Keaton is shattering.’
She mumbled, “How…
how could you be like this?”
“I’ve been very tolerant of you,” he said with a smile, though his eyes suddenly turned frigid.
“I was already exercising immense restraint yesterday when you were pining for that other man.”
Lying on her bed, Evelyn Grant couldn’t collect her thoughts.
She squeezed her eyes shut, but her mind replayed Preston’s words, his hand clamped on her waist.
Her phone screen lit up.
She picked it up; it was a message from Leo Lawrence.
“I’ll be waiting for you at Seraphall tomorrow night.”
Evelyn Grant’s hand suddenly tightened.
She bit her lower lip, her gaze fixed on the photographs—the ones Preston Keaton had just given her.
“Don’t be so naive.” He had forcibly wrapped an arm around her waist, pushing her down into a chair.
He’d slid an envelope toward her, his face a mask of derision.
“Did you really think he’s such a great guy?”
Inside the envelope were more than ten photographs.
A man and a woman were tangled together, embracing and kissing with abandon before their figures disappeared into a hotel.
Leo Lawrence and Nina.
The photos were timestamped.
It was the day she had run into Preston Keaton at the Aldrin Family’s private banquet in Solara.
She had called Leo Lawrence then, but he didn’t pick up.
He only called back the next day.
‘What was it he’d said again?’
“Sorry, work has been hectic.
I was so tired last night I passed out as soon as I got to the hotel.
I just woke up.”
‘So it wasn’t that he was busy with work.
He was busy with Nina.’
She couldn’t name the feeling, only that it felt as if her heart was being brutally squeezed, sending waves of pain through her.
A bitter ache spread through her chest, and her eyes stung horribly.
“He’s in Veridia right now, planning to confess to you tomorrow night.”
The hand on her shoulder had tightened.
Preston Keaton’s voice was cold.
“But…
you know what outcome I expect.”
And finally, his cold warning, whispered right beside her ear: “Evelyn Grant, you’d better not disappoint me.”
She spent the whole night lost in a surreal nightmare.
When she woke the next morning, she almost believed everything from the previous night had been a dream.
But the photos scattered beside her bed reminded her it was all real.
The storm had subsided late in the night, and today was finally bright and sunny.
She was a little afraid to leave her room.
After washing up, she pursed her lips and went downstairs, her face pale.
In the living room, Sophie Keaton and June Jacobs were chatting, completely oblivious to the events of the previous night.
Sophie Keaton looked worried.
“Are you sick?
Why are you so pale?”
Evelyn Grant shook her head and forced herself to walk over.
Butler Shaw appeared, beaming.
“Miss Grant, the master gave special instructions to prepare a Solara-style breakfast for you.”
…
Sophie Keaton looked utterly shocked.
‘Since when is my big brother so thoughtful?!’
But a rebellious streak flared up in Evelyn Grant.
She smiled at Butler Shaw and said softly, “I’m not hungry.
I don’t want any.”
She quietly sat down beside June Jacobs, showing no intention of moving toward the dining room.
The ever-guileless Sophie Keaton piped up, “Solara-style?
I’ve never had that before!
I have to try it!”
With that, she trotted off to the dining room like a little bird set free.
Evelyn Grant closed her eyes, but before she could find a moment of peace, her phone buzzed with a message.
She opened it, and her body went rigid as she read it.
It was from Preston Keaton: “Either eat by yourself, or I’m coming back to The Mid-Levels to feed you.”