Chapter 218

After a brief silence, he declared, "The person holding the five of hearts must princess-carry the one with the eight of hearts and perform twenty squats."

"That's... unexpectedly sweet!" someone squealed.

"Alright, who's got the five?" another asked.

"I do," Alexander Prescott replied smoothly, tossing his card onto the table with a lazy flick of his wrist.

The moment he spoke, Evelyn Hartley's voice cut through the chatter. "And I have the eight." She placed her card down with a faint, knowing smile.

Nathan Black, who had been lounging in detached silence, suddenly turned his head toward Evelyn. His gaze sharpened, a shadow flickering in his dark eyes for just a second.

"Damn," someone muttered under their breath.

The air thickened with tension. Everyone's eyes darted between Evelyn and Nathan, trying to decipher their reactions. It was just a game—a ridiculous, flirty dare. It wasn’t supposed to matter.

But then again, when had anything between those two ever been simple?

The awkwardness dissolved into laughter and playful taunts.

"Let’s see what you’ve got, Alex!"

"Twenty squats? You sure you can handle that?"

Alexander and Evelyn exchanged a brief, loaded glance before he smirked.

"You think I can’t?" He pushed to his feet, rolling his sleeves up his forearms. "Watch me."

Evelyn rose as well, her movements elegant but deliberate.

Nathan’s jaw tightened when he saw her compliance. Alexander not refusing was one thing, but Evelyn—why was she going along with this?

"Come here, Evie," Alexander teased, spreading his arms dramatically, earning a round of laughter.

Without hesitation, Evelyn stepped into his embrace, letting him scoop her up effortlessly. Alexander held her with practiced ease, his arms secure around her as he adjusted his grip. The sight of them together—her draped in his arms, his confident smirk—drew whistles and cheers.

"Start counting!" Alexander called.

"One!" the crowd chanted.

Nathan’s fingers curled into a fist.

This was unbearable.

Just as Alexander bent his knees for the first squat, Nathan’s rough voice sliced through the noise.

"I’ll drink for Evelyn. They don’t have to do this."

Silence.

Every head turned toward him. His expression was unreadable, but the tension in his shoulders was unmistakable. Without waiting for a response, Nathan grabbed three glasses of whiskey from the table and downed them one after another, the burn searing his throat. He slammed the last empty glass down with a sharp clink.

The room erupted into murmurs. No one had expected that.

Evelyn’s pulse stuttered. Confusion and something warmer—something dangerous—fluttered in her chest. Was Nathan… jealous?

Across the room, Serena Cole’s face darkened. She stared at Nathan, shock and hurt twisting her features. Did he really care that much about Evelyn?