James Grant’s eyes flared with rage as he grabbed Evelyn Clayton’s jaw.
"Evelyn Clayton, have I been too indulgent with you?"
Evelyn’s gaze remained cold, fearlessly meeting James’s eyes, "No, James Grant, you think too highly of yourself. Do you really believe you can keep me captive forever?"
"How will we know without trying?" James laughed furiously, "Who do you think will save you? Yara Reagan, or those siblings from the Ford Family? Or perhaps the Sinclair family? Don’t worry, as soon as I finish my business, I’ll take you to register for marriage. Once you’re my lawful wife, no one can take you away."
As he spoke, James’s gaze gradually softened.
The anger dissipated somewhat, and James seemed to step into a beautiful dream he had woven.
The gloom in his eyes had not fully disappeared, but he released Evelyn, started undoing his shirt cuffs, and went upstairs to change.
Evelyn stood rooted to the spot, the contempt and weariness in her eyes growing stronger.
When James came back down, he was wearing soft and comfortable loungewear, which slightly eased the sharp and ominous aura he had before. The dark gray sweater made him appear inexplicably gentle.
The maid had already set the dinner on the table, and James approached and took Evelyn’s hand, leading her to the dining table.
"Eat." James said casually, picking up a bowl to serve Evelyn some soup.
He placed the soup bowl in front of Evelyn.
Evelyn glanced at it and her eyes narrowed slightly.
The maid had made turtle soup.
She used to love turtle soup, but a pregnant woman shouldn’t drink it.
Her hand on one side tightened slightly, and Evelyn remained still for a long time, attracting James’s attention.
James frowned slightly, watching her for a moment and said casually, "Why aren’t you drinking? Didn’t you like it before?"
"That was before, I don’t like it now." Evelyn’s voice was somewhat sluggish, and her hand reflexively moved to touch her belly, but she forcefully held back.
James’s face darkened, his tone turned colder, "Just this bowl, drink it."
He remembered how Evelyn would easily accumulate warm and humid heat in her body during winter, and drinking turtle soup was the best remedy.
That’s why he specially instructed Quentin Hale to remind the maid to make the soup.
James stared intently at Evelyn, his mind churning over her earlier words.
What did she mean by not liking it now?
Was she referring to the soup, or him?
Once this thought arose, it became uncontrollable.
Seeing Evelyn still unmoving, the chill in James’s eyes intensified.
He suddenly stood up and sat beside Evelyn.
Then he picked up a spoonful of soup and brought it to Evelyn’s lips.
Evelyn instinctively flinched, gritting her teeth, "What are you doing?"
James sneered, "If you won’t drink it yourself, then I’ll have to feed you. Evelyn Clayton, don’t repeatedly provoke me."
The rich aroma of turtle soup invaded Evelyn’s nostrils, and an indescribable nausea welled up from her stomach.
She abruptly pushed James’s hand away.
The soup bowl dropped from James’s hand, and the porcelain shattered, with the soup splattering everywhere.
Yet, before James could react, Evelyn had already dashed into the bathroom.
James’s expression showed signs of confusion and panic. Tʜe sourcᴇ of thɪs content ɪs noᴠelfire.net
He hurriedly stood up and went to the bathroom door.
Inside there was no sound, only the sound of water.
"...Evelyn." James spoke, his voice strained, "What’s wrong?"