My Wife, The Only One

Evelyn’s POV

He’s devastatingly handsome—sharp jawline taut, tailored suit clinging to his broad shoulders, every line of him exuding quiet dominance. The warm, silly man who played with Sophie is gone, replaced by someone cold, untouchable… yet his gray eyes, fixed on me, hold a flicker of something I can’t name.

Yet my heart flutters. Traitorous, stupid heart.

“Sebastian!” Sloane recovers, smiling. “Just bringing Sophie a gift.”

“Were you?” His voice drops—low, velvety, lethal, sharp enough to cut glass but laced with a protectiveness that makes my knees weak. “Sounded like you were attacking my wife.”

My heart stops. My wife. He called me his wife.

Heat floods my chest. I hate how I cling to those two words. How they make me hope.

“I just pointed out her methods of joining the family were… questionable,” Sloane says.

Sebastian’s expression doesn’t shift—cool, composed, but something predatory, something tender, flashes in his gray eyes, a silent warning that makes me shiver… and my heart race.

“Let me be clear, Sloane,” he says, each word precise, his voice steady but brimming with unshakable resolve. “Evelyn is my wife. The only one in this house. The only one there ever will be.” His gaze flicks to me, softening for a split second—so quick, no one else would notice.

His eyes flick to mine—searching. As if checking if I believe him. As if these words mean something.

He steps closer to Sloane, his tall frame towering over her, a silent, imposing presence. She retreats instinctively, and I catch the way his jaw tightens—protective, territorial, every inch the powerful CEO who’d burn the world down for what’s his.

“The day I put a ring on her finger, her past, her methods—none of it matters,” he says, voice low and authoritative, every word heavy with resolve. “Disrespect her, and you’re picking a fight with me.”

A family friend smirks. “Defending her this fiercely? Not just duty, is it?” Another mocks: “Everyone knows it’s not a real marriage.”

Sebastian’s jaw tightens, the muscle in his cheek flexing—a rare crack in his composure. One word, cold, final, and laced with authority: “Leave.” No room for argument, no mercy for anyone who’d hurt me.

Silence. Sloane glares, calculating. Finally, she snaps: “Fine. But don’t cry to me when this blows up.” She storms out, gift left behind.

“Dispose of that,” I tell the housekeeper, steady. “No more letting Sloane in.”

Sebastian watches her storm out, expression unreadable—but I’m stuck on his profile: sharp jaw, hair falling over his forehead, quiet intensity oozing from every inch.

When he turns to me, the cold vanishes, his gray eyes softening into something warm, something tender… dangerous, because it makes me want to believe him.

“I’m sorry about that,” he says, gentle. “Sloane forgets her boundaries.”

He moves closer, steps slow and deliberate, until his cologne—warm, woody, uniquely his—wraps around me like a hug.

I can see silver flecks in his gray eyes, clear and intense, like he’s trying to memorize every detail of my face.

“I came home to give you this,” he says, pulling a box from his jacket. “For Sophie.”

Inside: tiny ballet slippers—exquisite, pearl-adorned.

“She lingered by a pair like this weeks ago,” he explains, his voice low and soft, a stark contrast to the cold authority he’d shown Sloane. “Her eyes lit up. I couldn’t stop thinking about it—couldn’t stop wanting to give her that light.”

His attention to detail—devastating, attractive, the kind of thoughtfulness that makes my heart ache. This man, who commands boardrooms and bends the world to his will, remembers the smallest things about the people he cares for.

“Her birthday’s coming,” he says, eyes locking with mine. “Is there anything you want? This day’s yours too, as much as hers.”

My breath catches. He steps closer, so close our shoulders almost brush. His gray eyes lock on mine.

Then my phone vibrates. A message from an unknown number.

”Mrs. Hawthorne, before you trust him completely, you should know what he’s hiding from you. Check your email.“

I look up. Sebastian is still watching me, unaware.

What does he know? What doesn’t he know?