When they reached the dining room, he had no intention of putting Evelyn Grant down.
He placed her gently on his lap, one arm wrapping around her slender, soft waist.
With his other hand, he picked up a pair of chopsticks, lowered his gaze, and asked, “What would you like to eat?”
Tonight, the chef had prepared Solara cuisine.
But Evelyn Grant had no appetite.
The man’s aggressive presence was too overwhelming.
She struggled to get off, but Preston Keaton easily held her in his embrace, his tone tinged with a slight rebuke.
“Be a good girl and sit in my lap.”
He could restrain Evelyn Grant effortlessly with just one hand.
The more she struggled, the tighter his grip on her waist became.
His handsome eyes were cast down, observing her with a cold indifference.
Though he wore no particular expression, the sheer pressure he exuded made Evelyn Grant dare not move.
Her body stiff, she hung her head.
A small figure completely enveloped in his arms, long lashes lowered, looking helpless and pitiful.
“I can do it myself.”
Preston Keaton ignored her, stating flatly, “I’ll let you down once you’ve had enough to eat.”
It was the first time he had ever served someone, yet he was surprisingly adept and patient.
Evelyn Grant had a small mouth and ate slowly, her cheeks puffing out slightly.
She ate whatever Preston Keaton fed her, likely just wanting to get off his lap as soon as possible.
After chewing and swallowing each bite, she would stare at Preston Keaton’s hand so intensely it seemed she could burn a hole through it.
The dining room was silent.
Preston Keaton picked up a small piece of fish, placed it on a saucer, and checked it for bones before feeding it to Evelyn Grant.
She opened her mouth and ate it, looking docile and obedient.
Her rosy lips, glistening faintly, looked as if they had just been ravaged.
The man’s gaze darkened, becoming obscure and unreadable.
He lifted a nearby glass and took a sip of wine, his sharp Adam’s apple bobbing with restrained sexiness.
In that moment, Evelyn Grant felt like his little pet.
When she was a little girl, her family had a dog.
The dog was adored; her parents had gotten it right after they married and treated it like their own child.
Sometimes, when the dog didn’t feel like eating, her mother would take a small spoon and feed it, one bite at a time.
It was exactly the same as her situation now.
‘Then again, it made sense.’
‘The head of the Keaton Family, the powerful and influential Mr.
Keaton…
his future wife could only be someone of equally noble birth.’
‘As for her, she was just a pet he found interesting—something to amuse him in his spare time.’
She was lost in thought until something cold pressed against her lips, the rich aroma of wine wafting toward her.
Preston Keaton said nonchalantly, “Have a taste.”
He remembered that she liked to drink.
At Clearwater Bay, she’d been greedy for more, like a kitten that got the cream, a satisfied smile on her face after she’d finished.
A man and a woman, all alone, and she was forced to sit on his lap.
The situation was already dangerous enough; there was no way Evelyn Grant was going to drink.
She shook her head, lifting it to meet his gaze, and frowned.
“I’m not drinking.”
Preston Keaton hummed faintly.
He amiably brought the glass to his own lips and took a small sip.
Evelyn Grant was still patiently waiting for him to continue feeding her.
The next second, however, a hand shot up and seized her chin, and his thin lips were suddenly pressed against hers.
Evelyn Grant’s eyes flew wide in an instant.
The strong, warm, and sharp liquor passed between their lips and into her mouth.
Caught completely off guard, she swallowed all of it.
The hand on her waist tightened.
Once all the wine was gone, however, Preston Keaton showed no intention of pulling away.
Instead, his kiss grew more aggressive, deepening with oppressive force.
The taste was simply too good.
So soft, so pliant, sweet as nectar.
It was utterly addictive.
Preston Keaton gave Evelyn Grant no chance to recover, overpowering her with fierce dominance.
A long time passed before he finally released her.
The young woman was completely drained of strength.
Where she had once been rigid, trying desperately to keep her distance, she now clung to his chest, clutching his shirt collar and taking ragged, teary-eyed breaths.
She couldn’t form a complete sentence, her words coming out in broken gasps.
Her lips, now thoroughly ravaged, were a swollen and alluring red.
Preston Keaton’s expression was one of pure pleasure.
He savored the young woman’s momentary dependence, leaning back lazily in his chair while patting her back in a slow, unhurried rhythm to help her catch her breath.
Evelyn Grant looked like she wanted to say something, but she just pressed her lips together, looking as if she was about to cry but forcing it back.
“I’m full.
I want to go back to my room to sleep!”
She didn’t throw a tantrum, though.
Perhaps she knew it would be useless.
Preston Keaton lifted her by her armpits, repositioning her to straddle his lap face-to-face.
The incredibly precarious position made Evelyn Grant’s body go rigid once more.
“Bored at home alone?”
He patted her head indulgently.
“Tomorrow, I’ll have Wyatt Walsh keep you company.
He can take you out to have some fun.”
The moment Evelyn Grant was let go, she fled to her room and locked the door.
In his presence, she was nothing more than a helpless chick on a chopping block.
The only way to be safe was to stay far away from him.
So, when Wyatt Walsh arrived the next day to take her to an art exhibit, she gladly went along.
On the way, she spotted a helicopter in the sky, zipping freely above the bustling, crowded city of Veridia.
She pointed.
“Is that a city tour thing for Veridia, or is it a private helicopter?”
She had heard that the wealthy, finding road traffic to be a congested waste of time, simply commuted to work by helicopter.
The young woman’s thoughts were easy enough to guess.
One look at her sparkling eyes was enough to know she was intrigued.
Wyatt Walsh smiled.
“Would you like to ride in one?
Mr.
Keaton has a few.
You could ask him.”
As soon as she heard that, Evelyn Grant’s excitement deflated.
She pursed her lips resentfully.
“Then I’d rather not.”
It was a weekday, so the art exhibit wasn’t too crowded.
Wyatt Walsh waited outside while Evelyn Grant wandered through it alone.
She enjoyed looking at such things in her spare time.
It was a way to relax, and it also provided inspiration for her innovative makeup designs.
She was so absorbed that she spent a rather long time inside.
She only snapped back to reality when Wyatt Walsh came in to find her, his expression tense and serious.
As she followed him out and got into the car, her face was full of apology.
“Have you been waiting long?
I’m sorry, I lose all track of time in places like that.”
Wyatt Walsh shook his head, but he seemed to be holding something back.
“My apologies, Miss Grant,” he said as he started the car.
“I thought you had left and I’d missed it.”
Evelyn Grant’s mouth fell slightly open.
She was speechless.
‘So that was it.
He was worried I had run away.’
Wyatt Walsh glanced at her in the rearview mirror, his tone carrying a word of advice.
“For the time being, the fact that Mr.
Keaton is concerned with your whereabouts means he is also worried you’ll run away.
His anger is not something an ordinary person can withstand, so it would be best if you don’t provoke him.”
‘Was he warning me not to even think about running?’
Evelyn Grant knew he was reminding her out of kindness, so she said nothing, merely offering a smile as his words went in one ear and out the other.
She wanted to try some of Veridia’s local snacks, so Wyatt Walsh took her to Brimley.
The roads were lined with old residences and shops, bustling with crowds and filled with the lively energy of daily life.
She was happily munching on an egg waffle when Preston Keaton called.
Because she was happy, her tone was noticeably more lively and cheerful.
“In Brimley.”