The two of them sat in the corner, nursing low-alcohol fruit cocktails and trying their best to stay invisible.

On the dance floor, the crowd swayed with wild abandon, the air thick with the clinking of glasses and high-pitched laughter. Before long, Evangeline and Remi were swept up in the neon-soaked energy. Their spirits rose, and they found themselves knocking back a few more rounds than they’d intended.

Remi was leaning toward inebriation. She pointed a shaky finger at a guy with a chiseled torso gyrating in the center of the room. "Evangeline, look at that hottie. I could totally go for him."

Evangeline quickly clamped a hand over her friend's mouth. "Will you shut up!"

The model in question caught the movement. Grinning, he grabbed a bottle and swaggered over to their booth.

"Oh my god! Evangeline, he’s coming over!" Remi squealed in delight.

"Good evening, beautiful ladies. Mind if I join you for a drink?" the model asked with a practiced, flirtatious smile.

"Yes! I mean—yes, please!"

Evangeline watched Remi nod so hard her head looked like a bobblehead. She propped her chin on her hand, utterly mortified. She couldn't even look.

The model slid into the booth beside Remi, striking up a casual, charm-laced conversation. The bottles on the table upgraded from simple fruit cocktails to a bottle of Louis XIII. Seeing that the ladies were loaded and generous, the model signaled for his friend to join them.

A man in a black sheer shirt slunk over, sliding into the seat next to Evangeline. "It’s a party, gorgeous. You don’t mind if I join in, do you?"

Evangeline’s head was spinning, the room tilting at the edges. Through her haze, she noticed the man’s sharp features and pale, smooth skin, the muscles beneath his sheer shirt teasingly visible. She arched a brow, her voice dropping into a sultry, tipsy purr. "Sure. Having a handsome man nearby just makes the drink taste that much sweeter..."

Waylen, who had been watching from the shadows, couldn't sit still anymore. *This Ms. Montgomery is playing with fire!* He needed to notify Preston immediately.

Preston, after some internal deliberation, finally gathered the courage to whisper the news into Marcellus’s ear. The man’s face went charcoal-black. He stood up abruptly and strode toward the exit.

Preston offered a silent prayer: *Please, Ms. Montgomery, don't do anything stupid. If the boss loses his temper, we’re all going to be collateral damage.*

Damian Spencer, fueled by pure curiosity, rose to follow them and see what all the fuss was about.

When Marcellus reached the floor, he saw his wife laughing and chatting with the models. A dark, visceral urge flared in his chest—the desire to lock her inside the Elysian Estate and never let her out again. He gritted his teeth, clamping down on his explosive fury.

Damian caught up to him and followed his line of sight. "Whoa. So, the lady is hiring models now? Not bad taste, though. That guy’s physique is impressive. Say, Marcellus, have you been slacking on your gym routine lately?"

Marcellus’s face darkened further. He shot Damian a lethal glare.

He stalked over to the table. He didn't say a word; he just stood there, burning a hole through Evangeline with his gaze.

The two models felt the sudden shift in atmospheric pressure and, possessing enough survival instinct to know when to bolt, they took their leave. Remi, oblivious, blinked. "Hey? Where are they going?"

Evangeline squinted through her drunken haze. When she finally realized who was standing over her, she straightened up so fast her chair almost tipped.

Remi looked up at the three men looming over them. They were smoking hot, sure, but they radiated a dangerous, predatory energy. She opted to play the turtle, keeping her head low and her mouth shut.

"Evangeline."

Marcellus’s voice was low, laced with dangerous impatience.

"Oh! I’m here!" Evangeline straightened her spine, acting as if she were stone-cold sober.

Marcellus actually let out a short, dry laugh, clearly amused by her primary-school-student posture. "You drink like a fish, go to a club, and then hire models? Let’s see how you handle the consequences." With that, he scooped her up into his arms.

"Remi, save me!" Evangeline flailed, trying to wiggle out of his iron grip.

"Evangeline, I'm coming!" Remi lunged forward, but a large hand intercepted her mid-air. She looked up, ready to start a fight, but the sight of Damian’s chiseled, jade-like face stopped her dead. She swallowed, her mouth going dry.

Damian was famous for his looks and his family’s influence. He was used to women fawning over him, but this was the first time someone had eyed him with such blatant, drunken greed.

"Damian, take Ms. Crawford home," Marcellus commanded.

"On it."

They were hauled into separate cars. Once inside, Evangeline curled into a ball like a frightened quail, refusing to make eye contact or say a word.

"Huh. Suddenly realized you’re in trouble?"

Silence.

Marcellus gripped her chin, forcing her to look at him. "Lady Montgomery is quite bold, isn't she? Getting married and hitting the club to pick up a gigolo on the same day?"

"I didn't! I didn't! They just came over by themselves!" Evangeline gestured wildly with her hands, desperate to clear her name.

"I saw you checking out his abs."

"I... I wasn't trying to look! My eyes just... they just wanted to look!" She pouted, still unable to meet his eyes.

"Does my body not satisfy you, then?"

Preston and Wylder, sitting in the front seats, held their breath and hurriedly slid the privacy partition up. They didn’t want to be fired—or worse—because they heard too much.

Evangeline looked at him, shocked. *What kind of filthy talk is this crazy man spouting?!*

Marcellus silenced her with a kiss, the sharp, sweet tang of alcohol dancing between their lips. Evangeline, already tipsy, felt like she was floating.

When he finally pulled away, Marcellus nuzzled into the crook of her neck. "Are you getting tired of me, Evangeline?"

He waited for an answer, but she remained silent. He pulled back to look at her, only to find she’d fallen sound asleep. *You little heartless thing.*

Meanwhile, in the other car, Remi’s "drunk talk" was hitting its peak. She was jabbering away, giving Damian a migraine.

"Seriously, Ms. Crawford, don't your parents find you exhausting?"

Remi went silent instantly.

Damian chuckled. "Good. At least you can still understand human speech."

"You know, you handsome guy, your mouth is so toxic—you’re going to end up dying alone!"

"Oh? Not only can you understand speech, but you can talk back, too?"

Remi’s expression turned devious. "I can do more than talk back—I can kiss, too! Handsome, do you want to try it?"

Damian pressed a hand to his forehead, defeated. Her train of thought was all over the place.

When he stayed silent, she pushed on. "I’ll pay you! It won’t be a freebie!"

"Do you even know who I am?"

"Aren't you a male model?"

The driver in the front seat choked on his own spit, letting out a spray of laughter. Damian shot a murderous look at the rearview mirror before turning his attention back to the woman.

"Shut up. One more word and I’m dumping you on the side of the road."

Remi obediently zipped her lips.

By the time he got her home, Damian let out a long, weary sigh. He felt like he’d just finished a marathon.

Back at the Elysian Estate, Marcellus carried the sleeping Evangeline inside. Helen, the head housekeeper, hovered nearby. "Is the young mistress alright?"

"She's drunk. Make her some hangover soup."

"Right away, sir."

Marcellus gently tucked her into bed. No sooner had he settled her in than Evangeline bolted upright. "I can't... I have to shower before I sleep."

She stumbled toward the bathroom, struggling to peel off her clothes. Marcellus followed close behind to catch the items she dropped. Just as he reached for the bathroom door, she slammed it shut. He narrowly missed having his nose broken.

Marcellus shook his head with a wry smile and headed to the guest room to wash up.