Chapter 332

The deafening crash echoed through the private room.

Every crystal glass on the marble tabletop shattered instantly. Razor-sharp fragments sprayed across the room, one slicing across Nathan Blackwood's cheekbone.

A crimson trail of blood snaked down his chiseled face. The VIP lounge plunged into an icy silence so thick you could hear a pin drop. The young aristocrat who'd spoken paled visibly.

His mouth snapped shut. He'd realized too late that he'd crossed an unforgivable line by mentioning her name. Nathan's eyes burned with barely restrained fury.

An arctic chill radiated from his powerful frame as he rose to his full height, looming over the trembling man like a predator.

"Who gave you the right to speak her name?" Nathan's voice was steel wrapped in velvet.

Without warning, his designer shoe connected with the man's ribs.

The aristocrat curled into a fetal position, sweat beading on his forehead despite the room's temperature. Not a single onlooker dared intervene.

Tristan Whitmore sprang into action. "Easy there!" He shot a warning glance at the others. "Nathan's had one too many. Clear out - I'll handle this."

The crowd didn't need telling twice. They practically tripped over themselves exiting, dragging the injured man between them like discarded trash.

The aftermath resembled a war zone. Only Nathan and Tristan remained.

Nathan's fists clenched so tight his knuckles turned white. Veins stood out on his temples like live wires.

Tristan guided him back to the plush leather seating, signaling discreetly for staff to clean up. A fresh round of premium liquor appeared moments later.

"Drink." Tristan filled a crystal tumbler to the brim, taking a healthy swig himself. Nathan downed the amber liquid in one burning gulp.

The alcohol scorched his throat but gradually loosened the vise around his chest.

His broad shoulders shook slightly as he buried his face in his hands.

"She nearly died because of me, and I was oblivious." The revelations kept coming like body blows.

Three years of marriage where he'd treated her like an afterthought. The realization gutted him. And still he'd demanded her forgiveness.

"Evelyn must despise me." The words tasted like ash in his mouth. An invisible hand seemed to squeeze his heart mercilessly.

The memory of learning about her near-drowning shattered something fundamental in him. Self-loathing rose like bile.

Why hadn't he questioned who needed help at the pool that day? Why had he arrived too late? How could he have married her yet failed to cherish her?

Now the bridge was burned beyond repair.

Evelyn Sinclair would never look at him with those adoring eyes again. Tristan frowned, missing crucial context but recognizing the root cause.

He'd never make the mistake of underestimating Evelyn's hold again. Seeing Nathan's disheveled state confirmed what he'd suspected - the man was utterly, irrevocably in love.

Nathan emptied glass after glass until his vision blurred. Only one name passed his lips between drinks.

"Evelyn...Evelyn..."

Tristan exhaled sharply. "You're really hung up on her, huh? What's so special about that woman?"

Even half-conscious, Nathan responded instinctively. "Love her...would give anything...but she's done with me." His voice cracked like dry kindling.

He wanted to love her with the same fierce devotion she'd once shown him.

Tristan stood. "You're wasted. Let's get you home."

"Need to see Evelyn," Nathan slurred.

"Fine."