The manager and his team had been waiting by the entrance, their posture rigid. The moment the two of them stepped out, they bowed in perfect synchronization at a sharp ninety-degree angle.

"Safe travels, President, Madam."

As soon as they settled into the car, Evangeline looked at him, her eyes wide with bewilderment. "You own this hotel, too?"

"Mhm."

That single, airy syllable landed in Evangeline’s heart, rippling outward like a stone dropped into a still lake.

"It’s actually kind of terrifying."

"Oh? Why?"

"Because I feel like I’ll never be able to slip out of your grasp."

"I won’t be your cage," Marcellus said, his voice dropping into a register that was deathly serious. "I won’t make the same mistake twice."

His tone was sincere, but it left Evangeline feeling restless. "I’m not sure I’m happy to hear that."

Marcellus let out a soft, low chuckle and pinched her cheek. "That’s the difference between love and obsession." When there’s no love, holding someone captive is a cage; when there is love, that same confinement is simply called being held close.

"Since you love me so much," she countered, arching an eyebrow, "why did you rush over here with Dr. Spencer to ‘catch me in the act’?"

The question caught him off guard. Marcellus looked away, his jaw tightening in a flash of uncharacteristic embarrassment.

"I trust you," he muttered, "but I don’t trust that Remi woman. The way she looks at you... it’s hungry."

"You’re talking absolute nonsense!"

Evangeline huffed and swiped at his chest, closing her eyes, refusing to indulge him any further.

"She sent me this to provoke me, you know."

Marcellus held out his phone. An intimate, sultry melody drifted from the speakers. Evangeline panicked, lunging for the device and turning the volume down to a whisper. On the screen, a woman—herself—was captured with eyes like liquid silk, a vision of pure seduction. To make matters worse, the video ended with Remi flashing a triumphant, knowing smirk at the camera.

Marcellus stared at the phone, his expression laced with a quiet, lingering ache. "That version of you... it’s a look I’ve never seen."

"Oh, come on," she teased, trying to lighten the air. "I was just messing around with Remi, that’s all."

"Right."

His voice was laced with a cold, sarcastic edge. The atmosphere in the car turned brittle, and a heavy silence descended. Evangeline snuck a glance at him; he was sitting upright, eyes firmly shut, leaving an unusually large gap of space between them.

Is he actually pouting? Does he want to be coaxed? As the realization dawned, Evangeline bit her lip to keep from laughing.

The rest of the drive passed in stony silence. Marcellus was clearly struggling to maintain his composure, his temper still simmering over the way Remi had gloated in that clip.

When they reached Elysian Estate, Evangeline hopped out of the car, acting as if nothing had happened. She knew without looking that the man behind her was radiating enough gloom to darken the entire driveway. She went through her routine—shower, bed, lights out—without granting him so much as a second glance.

By now, Marcellus realized she was playing him. His indignation flickered between frustration and wounded pride.

"Is my Evangeline really just going to ignore me?"

"Remi said it best," she murmured, keeping her back to him. "You can’t give a man too much leeway, or he’ll start taking you for granted."

Marcellus grabbed her, forcing her to roll over. Only then did he see the way she was shaking, her face flushed red from trying to suppress her laughter.

"Oh, you’re playing games, are you? Let’s see how you handle a real penalty."

His eyes swept over her, filled with a hunger so raw it felt as if he wanted to consume her, bone and marrow. Evangeline felt the heat prickling at her skin, and she instinctively braced her arms against his chest.

"Marcellus! Don’t!"

"And why not?"

He buried his face in the crook of her neck, inhaling her scent with the precision of a starved wolf circling his prey. Evangeline’s back went rigid, her palms pressed firmly against his face to keep him at bay.

"You’ll hurt the baby. Get up."

The words acted like a bucket of ice water. He deflated instantly, falling back onto the pillows with a groan of defeat.

"Evangeline... what am I supposed to do?"

His voice was a low, jagged rasp, thick with agonizing restraint. Evangeline’s gaze involuntarily drifted downward, landing on the unmistakable evidence of his discomfort.

Oh.

"I—I don’t know what you want me to say! Do whatever you’ve been doing all this time."

Burning with embarrassment, she rolled over, pulling the covers up until she was a tightly cocooned ball of shame. Finding no other choice, Marcellus let out a defeated sigh, shifting on his side to wrap his arms around her, his body held in a state of rigid tension.

Feeling the radiating heat coming off his back and hearing his labored, ragged breathing, her resolve crumbled. After a long moment of internal debate, she whispered, her voice trembling, "How... how do you want me to help?"

It was as if he had been waiting for that exact permission. The moment the words left her lips, he was there, his touch urgent and desperate, seeking to fill the void. Under his coaxing guidance, they explored an intimacy they had never touched upon before.

That night, Evangeline drifted through a series of wild, hazy dreams. She woke the next morning flushed with heat, tapping her cheeks to force herself into wakefulness, but her mind stubbornly replayed the reckless heat of the night before.

Her bashful expression didn't escape him.

Marcellus propped himself up on one elbow, staring at her with a predatory glint. "Wanting more, are we?"

"Shut up!"

She grabbed a pillow and hurled it at his face, diving back under the duvet to hide her scarlet face.

"Come out. You’ll suffocate in there."

"Go away, you shameless man!"

"Fine, I’m shameless. But come out—you’re going to deprive the baby of oxygen."

The mention of the baby worked like a charm. Evangeline poked her head out from the covers, looking guilty. Marcellus chuckled, reaching out to smooth the hair she’d tangled in her frenzy.

"Stay home and behave yourself today. Don't go running off. The wedding is nearly here; I have no desire to spend my time scouring the city for my runaway bride."

"I know."

He touched her face, satisfied. "Good. Now, get up, eat something, and then you can go back to sleep."

"Okay."

Marcellus’s sympathy pains were still severe. He barely touched his own breakfast, pushing the bowl away after only a few bites.

Evangeline watched him, her brow furrowed in worry. "You should really ask Dr. Spencer for some medication. If you keep this up, your body is going to give out."

"It’s fine," he replied, giving her a lopsided grin. "This whole experience... it’s actually quite interesting."

"Interesting?"

"It makes me feel like I’m finally playing an active role."

Seeing the suggestive smirk on his face, Evangeline felt her blood rush to her cheeks.

"You’ve become absolutely shameless."

He let the banter die there, leaning down to press a tender, lingering kiss to her forehead. "All right. I’m heading to work. Be a good girl at home."

"Mhm."

Their days were falling into a routine that felt like an old, married couple—natural, warm, and domestic. Evangeline felt a quiet, persistent sweetness blooming in her chest, a sense of happiness so profound it felt like the pinnacle of everything she had ever wanted.