Chapter 295

Adrian Blackwood instinctively retreated a step. He still lacked the courage to challenge Nathan Blackwood directly.

Yet he gathered his resolve and stammered, "She—she said it herself! Uncle Nathan, you can't just tear apart—"

"—lovebirds."

The words had barely left his lips when Adrian found himself slammed against the wall.

His scalp prickled with adrenaline. White-hot pain shot through his spine. Though an experienced explorer with superior physical conditioning, Adrian might as well have been a helpless child against Nathan's ruthless strength.

His pride lay shattered beneath Nathan's polished Oxfords.

Nathan's glacial stare held no trace of familial warmth. His movements were precise, calculated.

"Adrian Blackwood," he enunciated each syllable like a death sentence, "if you're courting death, I'll happily oblige."

Harrison rushed forward. "Mr. Blackwood, surely we can discuss this reasonably!"

"Young Master Adrian was merely joking! As if Ms. Sinclair would ever be interested in him!" The assistant's intervention cut deeper than Nathan's physical assault.

Yet defiance flickered through Adrian's fear.

The thought of Evelyn reignited his bravado. "Why wouldn't she be? Evie clearly prefers younger men after her divorce."

All those tabloid rumors about Evelyn's supposed lovers shared one common trait—they were nothing like corporate titans like Nathan Blackwood. This knowledge fueled Adrian's confidence.

Nathan's laugh carried Arctic winds. His gaze could have frozen molten steel.

"Final warning," he said, adjusting his cufflinks with lethal calm. "Stay away from her. Or I'll arrange a marriage alliance for you myself." The threat landed with the weight of an executioner's axe.

This wasn't a warning. It was a decree.

Adrian's expression cycled through shock, anger, and resignation. For lesser heirs like him—those who hadn't seized control of their family empires—destiny remained a puppet in stronger hands.

Nathan released him with disdain, turning away without another glance. Harrison followed, carefully retrieving the nine-figure painting while casting Adrian a pitying look.

Of all women in the world, why choose Nathan Blackwood's? That wasn't bravery—it was suicide.

Meanwhile, Evelyn enjoyed her meal undisturbed.

Throughout dinner, a steady stream of socialites approached her table, requesting connections on social media. Recognizing several faces from charity galas, Evelyn accepted their friend requests with polite smiles.

The crowd buzzed with excitement over this rare opportunity. Nearby, Nathan overheard a cluster of young aristocrats comparing phones.

"Can't believe Evelyn Sinclair accepted my request!" one gushed.

"Me too! She's so approachable for someone so stunning—"

"Wait, why hasn't she accepted mine yet?" another voice whined in disappointment.

Nathan's clenched jaw relaxed marginally as he strode away.

Evelyn finally escaped the social onslaught just as Adrian emerged, looking like a man returning from war.

"Evie, let's go," he muttered.

Nodding, Evelyn checked movie times on her phone while following him to the car. Adrian's hands trembled slightly on the wheel, still shaken by his encounter.

As they descended the hill, blinding headlights suddenly filled the windshield.

The collision sent Adrian's luxury car lurching forward.

"Bloody hell!" He slammed the steering wheel before recognizing the other vehicle—and its occupant.

Nathan stood silhouetted against the headlights, inspecting the damage with clinical detachment before turning that arctic gaze on them.

Adrian froze like a rabbit spotting a wolf.

Evelyn arched an eyebrow. "You're terrified of him, aren't you?"

Adrian's knuckles whitened on the wheel. "It's not fear," he ground out. "It's called respect."