Chapter 2: The Ashfords Arrive

The next morning.

A five-star hotel in Silverhaven.

Evelyn was jolted awake by a pounding on her door.

Not a knock. A pounding.

Only someone with serious connections would dare make that kind of noise in a respectable hotel.

She checked the camera feed and saw seven or eight bodyguards crowded in the corridor. Every face was familiar. They were all Hart family men.

Mrs. Hart still hasn't given up.

The door shuddered on its hinges. Evelyn's voice turned icy. "That's enough. I've already called the police."

"Miss Evelyn, this is a family matter. The police can't help you. Come home with us now." The lead bodyguard answered flatly. He had clearly been briefed.

Moments later, the door crashed open.

Hotel security never showed up.

Evelyn stood ringed by broad shoulders, a mocking smile on her lips.

The Harts had gone to enormous lengths to rein her in. They hadn't used a keycard. They'd battered the door down on purpose, just to scare her.

Fine. I'll go back.

After a night of thinking, she had found a way out of the engagement.

And I have a certain stranger to thank for it.

She sent the bodyguards to wait outside, slipped into the bathroom, and changed into a black off-the-shoulder dress, then draped a shawl over her shoulders. She had bought the outfit yesterday for exactly this moment.

The Harts are in for quite a surprise.

Ready at last, she followed the men back to the Hart estate.

It was as lavish as ever, the air thick with the scent of fresh flowers.

Mrs. Hart sat in the place of honor, chatting and laughing with Clara. The scene looked perfectly warm.

Then Evelyn walked in, and Mrs. Hart's face turned to stone. Her eyes were full of disgust.

"So you finally remembered how to come home," she said coldly.

Clara played the sweet one. "Sister, Mother worried about you all night. Come, sit. Our guests will arrive soon."

"What guests?" Evelyn strolled in, picked a seat, and asked as though she didn't already know.

Clara smiled thinly. "Why, the Ashfords, of course."

She had barely finished speaking when a neat line of men filed through the door.

The one at the front was strikingly handsome, in a tailored black suit, with broad shoulders, long legs, and a straight back. He carried himself with a commanding air and a trace of careless arrogance.

Mrs. Hart leapt to her feet, bowing and smiling. "We've long admired Young Lord Ashford's reputation, and now that we see you, it's clear the rumors didn't do you justice. It is our great honor to host you. Please, sit."

Clara's gaze lingered on the "Young Lord Ashford," and her heart fluttered. Her eyes brightened.

She crushed the thought at once.

Handsome and rich, yes. But the madness, the curse on his brides? No. I couldn't survive that.

So she turned to Evelyn with a saccharine smile. "Sister, you two look so perfect together. Congratulations!"

Evelyn didn't bother with Clara's little games.

I'm never marrying this man.

She pulled off her shawl in front of everyone.

Every eye in the room snapped to her.

Evelyn had lovely shoulders, straight and elegant, her skin fair and flawless.

But it wasn't the bare skin that drew their stares.

It was the marks on it.

Dark bluish-purple bruises, deep and unmistakable. Near her neck, a clear set of teeth marks.

It was obvious that the night had been wild.

Evelyn silently thanked the man from yesterday. She didn't have to say a word. The expression on "Young Lord Ashford's" face was already a delight.

Breaking an engagement should take about five minutes now.

But Mrs. Hart couldn't sit still.

This alliance with the Ashfords was her ticket aboard a great ship, and the investment money that came with it was enormous. She would not let it slip away.

Willfully blind, she blurted, "Evie, did mosquitoes bite you like that last night? Cover up, quickly. You'll frighten our guests."

"Ha!" Evelyn couldn't help laughing.

What a hypocrite.

She ignored her entirely, looked at the man across from her, and said straight out, "Young Lord Ashford, as you can see, my private life is a mess. I'm not fit to be mistress of the Ashford house. My gentle, innocent sister suits you far better."

"Sister, what nonsense! I already have a fiancé!" Clara scrambled to distance herself.

On the sofa, Julian Sterling watched the farce unfold in the Hart parlor and nearly burst out laughing.

He wasn't Young Lord Ashford at all. He was only standing in for his closest friend.

I never expected a show this good.

And if he didn't stir the pot, he wouldn't be the Little Devil of Silverhaven.

Julian lifted a cup of coffee, arched one brow, and said lazily between sips, "I never imagined Miss Hart would be so free-spirited. It's exactly my taste."

Mrs. Hart was thrilled. She quietly exhaled in relief.

Evelyn's fist tightened under the table.

This isn't going to plan. The "Young Lord Ashford" was clearly out of his mind.

With no other option, she went all in. "The person I spent last night with was a woman."

Pfft!

Julian sprayed his coffee.

Poor Lucian. His friend's fiancées were always so extraordinary. And this time, the fortune reader had called it a match made in heaven.

A woman? Julian couldn't keep up the act any longer.

He had planned to break off the engagement, just as agreed. But as he opened his mouth, his phone buzzed.

The message was from his friend Lucian Ashford, the real groom.

[Agree to the marriage.]

Three words, no punctuation.

Julian wanted to hurl his phone at the wall.

He's toying with me!

Lucian had refused to show his face before leaving the house, sent Julian to call off the engagement, and now wanted him to accept it? *What is going on?*

He fired back a text demanding answers.

In the CEO's office, Lucian had just finished reading Evelyn's file. He glanced at his phone with a faint smile.

So fate really does exist.

He couldn't be bothered to explain. He sent Julian four words: "The situation has changed."

Julian slumped. Kept in the dark again. This man is impossible.

Across the room, "Young Lord Ashford" still hadn't answered, so Evelyn pressed on. "Young Lord Ashford, I have a problem with my orientation. Forced relationships are never sweet. Please find someone better suited."

Julian's mouth twitched.

He would have loved to find his friend a better match. He just didn't have the nerve.

Lucian wants me to agree. So I'll agree. Besides, I'm not the groom.

He composed himself and spoke plainly. "Miss Hart, the two families have already settled this marriage."

Like it or not, you're marrying him.

"This is a check for one hundred million, a betrothal gift from the Ashford family. Please accept it, Miss Hart."