For the next several days, Evangeline Montgomery threw herself into a flurry of intense, focused work. This wedding dress wasn't just another entry for a competition; it was the gown she would wear to her own wedding, and she was determined to hand-stitch every inch herself.

Cutting, embroidering, and layering—she did it all by hand. Every ounce of energy and emotion she poured into the fabric felt like a ritual, elevating the garment into something sacred. She shut herself in her studio with the dress, getting lost in the fantasy of seeing herself reflected in the mirror wearing it. She was almost afraid to touch it too casually, as if the silk itself held the weight of her future and all her hopes for happiness.

Finally, after staring at the masterpiece for three hours, she gingerly encased it in a protective garment bag. She let out a long, luxurious stretch and stepped out of the room.

"Remi?"

Remi Crawford poked her head around the corner, grinning. "Emerging from your cave, are we?"

"Finished! Quick, take me for a massage. My neck is absolutely screaming." Evangeline cracked her neck, the joints popping loudly. She was clearly stiff from hours of hunched-over labor.

Remi winced in sympathy, reaching out to knead Evangeline’s shoulders. "Alright, alright. There’s a new wellness clinic right down the block. Let’s go there."

"Deal!" Evangeline kept her eyes shut, looking completely drained.

They arrived at the clinic to the smell of eucalyptus and soothing aromatherapy oils. The menu was extensive—deep-tissue massages, hot stone treatments, and infrared saunas. Evangeline and Remi opted for a combination of a steam treatment and a full-body massage.

Guided by a staff member to the treatment room, they were greeted by thick, billowing steam and a high temperature that made Evangeline heave a heavy, contented sigh.

"Wow, my pores are practically crying in relief. This is bliss!"

Remi, however, was a bit more sensitive to the heat. She poked her toes into the water, letting out sharp, breathless hisses. It was enough to make Evangeline burst into laughter.

Remi rolled her eyes, throwing a playful glare. "Is this place trying to cook us like a rotisserie chicken?"

"Just adjust to the temperature slowly; it’s heaven once you do," Evangeline murmured, eyes fluttering closed.

After a few more tentative toe-dips, Remi finally submerged herself. "Oh, that’s it. I can feel the heat radiating right out of my skull."

Thirty minutes later, they emerged, their limbs feeling like jelly. As they flopped onto the massage tables, Evangeline called out to the attendant, "Please, send us someone with strong hands."

"Make that two!" Remi quickly added.

"Understood. Please, just a moment."

Across the city, Marcellus Alexander’s phone buzzed.

"What is it?" his voice was clipped.

"Your wife is at my clinic, getting a massage."

Marcellus went still. "And? Are you going to ask me for a tip?"

"She specifically requested a male therapist."

The air in Marcellus’s office turned glacial. He hung up without a word, his expression sharpening into something lethal. "I'm on my way."

Moments later, the treatment room door creaked open. Both women, faces pressed into the cradle of the massage tables, assumed it was the staff and didn't bother looking up. A pair of hands began to work on Evangeline’s back, the pressure firm and expert. She let out a satisfied, weary groan.

The actual male therapist, who had been pushed into the corner, looked like a student caught cheating during an exam. He was white as a sheet, terrified as he watched the billionaire himself take over the session.

Drowsiness began to pull at them, the tension melting away until they were nearly drifting off.

Marcellus looked down at the man who had been touching Evangeline, his eyes burning with a possessiveness so sharp it could cut glass. He made a single, silent gesture for the therapist to get out. The man scrambled for the exit as if his life depended on it. Marcellus took his place, his touch heavy and deliberate.

Damian Spencer, watching from the doorway with a smirk he couldn't quite hide, leaned against the frame.

Evangeline, feeling the shift in rhythm, muttered drowsily, "What's wrong? Tired already?"

The hands on her back dug in with renewed, biting force.

"Miss, is this pressure to your liking?"

The voice was cold, dripping with sarcasm. Evangeline jolted, spinning around on the table. "M-Marcellus?"

Remi sat up at the commotion, her eyes widening as she caught sight of the man standing over her. "Damian? What the hell?"

The two women exchanged a look of pure confusion, both completely lost as to how they’d ended up in this bizarre turn of events.

"Evangeline!"

His voice was a low, dangerous rumble that made her shiver.

"W-what’s the matter?"

"What's the matter? You’re asking for male therapists now?"

Evangeline blinked, genuinely baffled. "I didn't—I just..."

"Oh? You didn't?"

Damian, failing to contain his laughter, chimed in, "Didn't the lady specifically ask for someone with 'strong hands'?"

"Since when does 'strong hands' equate to a male therapist?" she retorted, though she immediately realized how it sounded and turned to look at Marcellus with a sheepish, panicked expression. "I didn't mean it like that! I just... I just wanted a deep tissue massage!"

Remi turned her ire toward Damian. "Damian, did you go so low as to masquerade as a spa therapist?"

Damian shrugged, looking entirely unbothered. "What can I say? I own the place, and we were short-staffed today. I had to step up."

"Unbelievable," Remi muttered.

Evangeline wanted to crawl into a hole and die. Hiring male models, now getting caught with male therapists—she sounded like a complete nymphomaniac. She couldn't explain this away.

She turned to Marcellus, offering a conciliatory, frantic smile. "Marcellus, don’t be like that. Don’t be angry."

When he remained stone-faced, she brought out her secret weapon: she hooked her finger around his, swaying it back and forth, her eyes wide and pleading.

Remi felt like a third wheel of the highest order. "Evangeline, I’m heading out. Good luck with the... persuasion."

"No! Remi, don't leave me!" Evangeline shot her a desperate look, but Remi just gave a helpless shrug and headed for the door.

"Food! Marcellus, let’s go get dinner! I’m starving!" Evangeline blurted out. She couldn't be left alone with him right now; his intensity made her feel like he was ready to devour her whole.

"Fine. Dinner it is," Damian said, stepping in to play the mediator. He owed them that much for the chaos he'd stirred up. "Sorry about that, Evangeline."

The four of them ended up in a private room at L’Avenue, the seating arrangement once again agonizingly awkward. Remi felt like every inch of her skin was prickling under the tension. She had no choice but to sit next to Damian, keeping her eyes glued to her plate.

Evangeline, acting like an ostrich burying its head in the sand, devoured her meal in total silence, her brain racing to find a way to soothe the beast.

The meal felt like it lasted for years. When Evangeline shoveled in three times her usual portion just to avoid speaking, Marcellus finally reached out, his hand stopping her fork. "Enough. Stop eating."

Her mouth was full, making her look like a frantic chipmunk. She wasn't even hungry anymore; she was just buying time.

"Let's go." Marcellus stood, his long legs covering the room in a second as he pulled her up.

Evangeline struggled to keep up, breaking into a light jog. "Marcellus, wait! My stomach hurts!"

He saw the sudden pallor of her skin and realized she wasn't bluffing. Panic replaced his annoyance as he swept her up into his arms, carrying her easily. He looked back at Damian, snarling, "Get over here! Evangeline is in pain!"

Damian walked over, pressed a hand to her abdomen, and stifled a laugh. "It’s just indigestion. She ate too much and moved too fast. A little walk and some time will fix it."

"Evangeline, let’s go to the restroom," Remi said, rushing to support her.

Marcellus let out a frustrated, exhausted breath.

"Marcellus, look, you’re scaring everyone," Damian teased, arms crossed.

Marcellus shot him a glare that could kill. "Don't think I don't know you planned this, you degenerate. You used me and Evangeline for your sick little game. Consider yourself lucky I don't break your ribs."

Damian winced, his grin fading. "Hey, I was just trying to help a brother out."

By the time Remi and Evangeline emerged, Evangeline was looking much better. Marcellus was at her side in an instant, hovering like a hawk. "Are you alright?"

"Are you still angry?" she whispered.

Seeing her vulnerable, anxious expression, his heart melted instantly. He pulled her into his arms, tucking her head against his chest. "Don't be so reckless with yourself next time, you idiot."

With the two of them seemingly back on track, Remi exhaled. "Evangeline, I’m heading out for real this time."

Damian stepped in front of her path. "Remi, can we talk?"

"Are we really on speaking terms now?" Remi’s voice was arctic.

"I think I owe you an apology."

Remi stopped, giving a sharp, bitter laugh. "I’d love to hear how you justify your hooligan behavior, Damian."

"...I'm sorry."

"Ha!"

That was it? One 'sorry' after everything? No explanation, no regret, just a total lack of shame. What a degenerate, Remi thought, storming out of the restaurant.

Damian stood still, watching her walk away, feeling utterly helpless. He’d finally gotten a chance to talk to her, and he’d wasted it on a single, pathetic apology. He felt like slapping his own foolish mouth.