Desire of love เพียงรักที่ปรารถนา

"Sister, would you give me Damien?"

Clara Hart smiled sweetly, as if she were asking for a spare hair ribbon.

Evelyn's fingers curled into fists. "Damien is my fiancé."

"I know. But I want him." Clara tilted her head. "And he wants me."

Then she dropped the bomb.

"I'm pregnant with his child. Here's the report."

A thin white sheet slid across the table and stopped in front of Evelyn.

She stared at it, her knuckles bleaching white.

Disgust twisted in her stomach.

A year together. Less than three months engaged. And the man had crawled into her own sister's bed.

"Why?" she asked quietly.

"Because I hold more shares than you, obviously. Grandmother said I'll inherit the company." Clara's smile widened, proud as a peacock. "You're no use to Damien anymore."

Evelyn's heart went numb.

She had drunk until she spat blood at their dinners. She had worked until three in the morning, night after night. She had dragged the company's numbers upward just to earn one approving look from her family.

And this was her reward.

How ironic.

"You win," she said, and closed her eyes.

Let them have the company. Let them have the man. A man who could be stolen wasn't worth keeping.

She was done caring.

But Clara wasn't finished.

"Since Damien is mine now, the alliance between the Harts and the Ashfords falls to you, Sister."

She said it lightly, as if handing over a coat.

"You're so pretty. Young Lord Ashford will adore you."

Everyone in Silverhaven knew who the Ashfords' eldest son was.

Powerful. Fabulously rich. And unhinged.

Cruel. Unpredictable. A devil that grown men crossed the street to avoid.

Worst of all, he was said to be a curse on any woman who got close. Three fiancées had already died.

Clara had no intention of becoming the fourth. So she had risked insulting the Ashfords, slipped into Damien's arms, and left Evelyn to take the fall.

What a clever little plan.

Evelyn laughed coldly. "And the Ashfords will accept a substitute?"

"Of course they will. Father sent them your birth chart, and their fortune reader declared you a perfect match." Clara smiled, but glee flickered in her eyes. "I wish you a long marriage and lots of children, Sister."

That was it. Evelyn snapped.

She grabbed the coffee on the table and flung it straight into Clara's face.

The flawless makeup dissolved into a mess.

Clara didn't scream or fight back. She simply drew out a tissue and dabbed at tears that weren't there.

Right on cue, a richly dressed woman swept toward them.

One glance, and her face darkened. "How can you be so thoughtless? Bullying your sister again!"

Her words came sharp as needles.

"Yes, we raised you in the countryside, and yes, we owe you for that. But you can't stay willful forever. With that temper, how will you ever help the Hart family once you marry into the Ashfords?"

Every syllable pierced Evelyn's chest.

I never had a place in this house.

She stood without a word and walked away.

She'd made it two steps when the woman called after her. "Hand over the white jade bracelet Damien gave you. It's worth five million, and it belongs to Clara now."

The bracelet was still on Evelyn's wrist.

She glanced at Clara and smiled mockingly. "You want it?"

Clara pressed her lips together and said nothing, wearing a perfectly wounded look.

A magnificent white lotus, blooming in a modern age.

Evelyn lifted her chin and said, one word at a time, "Then kneel and beg me."

Clara's face went rigid.

"You ungrateful brat! How dare you speak like that!"

The woman raised her hand to strike.

Evelyn stepped back and slipped out of reach.

She had seen through every one of them. Never again would she be their puppet.

She turned and walked out without looking back.

The woman stood frozen. Her obedient, easy-to-handle "daughter" had defied her?

Had she found out the truth?

Panic flashed across her face, but she still shouted, "Come back this instant! You're engaged to the Ashfords, and Young Lord Ashford is arriving soon. I forbid you to leave!"

Brat, brat, brat. Her heart was tilted so far toward Clara it might as well have sailed across the ocean.

Evelyn drew a deep breath.

Ignore the shouting. Just get out.

Vroom!

A red sports car tore down the road outside the city.

Evelyn pressed the pedal to the floor.

Wind poured through the window and whipped her hair around her face.

Betrayed by her family and her fiancé, she had lost everything in a single night.

What rotten luck.

And in the next second, it got worse.

At a bend in the road, a black Porsche came swerving wildly toward her.

She wrenched the wheel aside.

The cars still scraped past each other.

Her paint was gouged deep. The Porsche smashed into the roadside barrier with a deafening crash.

"Damn it! Which blind idiot was that?!" Evelyn snapped.

She had nowhere left to put her anger, and now it had a target.

She parked, stormed out, and marched toward the wreck, ready to yell.

Up close, she saw smoke curling from the hood and oil dripping beneath the chassis.

It could go up in flames at any moment.

Her instincts screamed step back.

Then she saw the man inside.

She froze.

He was breathtakingly handsome. Every feature looked carved by a god, from his jaw to his brow.

He was unconscious from the impact, eyes lightly shut, and still the sight of him stole her breath.

Something about him even felt faintly familiar.

But she had no time to wonder. Only one thought remained.

Help him!

She yanked the door open, dragged the man out, and hauled him into her own car.

The instant she finished, the Porsche burst into flames.

Too close!

Beside her, the man stirred and slowly opened his eyes.

His gaze flicked to the burning wreck, then to her. "Who are you?" he asked warily.

"Your savior," Evelyn answered crisply.

Lucian Ashford went still.

Years ago, a girl had said those exact words to him, in that exact tone.

He studied her for a moment. Something like disappointment crossed his dark green eyes, then hardened into cold detachment.

It isn't her.

He pulled himself back and said slowly, "Thank you."

"Thirteen thousand, eight hundred."

"...What?"

"Repair f*e. You scratched my car," Evelyn said calmly.

The man was gorgeous, exactly her type.

But a face was a face, and money was money.

Lucian hadn't expected such directness. She was far more interesting than the heiresses who fell over themselves to please him.

He was about to agree.

But just as the words reached his tongue, a strange sensation surged through his body.