Chapter 9

The private booth door slammed open.

Evelyn Sullivan was mid-toast with Sophia Reynolds, her glass raised.

Ethan Sullivan stood in the doorway, radiating icy fury. His gaze locked onto Evelyn, eyes burning with rage.

Her fingers stilled around the stem of her glass.

She hadn’t expected to see him here.

Without sparing him a glance, she took a slow sip of wine.

"Evelyn Sullivan!"

He strode forward, seized her wrist, and yanked her toward the exit.

"What do you think you're doing?" Sophia stepped in front of them, her expression cold.

"Move." His voice was glacial.

Sophia didn’t budge. "She’s my friend. If you’re taking her, you’d better explain yourself."

Evelyn gave Sophia’s hand a reassuring pat. "It’s fine. I’ll be back soon."

He dragged her down the hallway, his grip brutal. By the time they reached the end, her wrist was already red.

"Do you remember you’re a married woman?" Ethan bit out. "First Daniel Sterling yesterday, and now male models at a bar?"

She rubbed her sore wrist. "If you don’t sign the divorce papers, things will get even more interesting."

"You wouldn’t dare."

"Try me." Her lips curved into a mocking smile. "Planning to threaten me with the Jacksons? Don’t forget—your precious Isabella is one of them."

His face darkened.

A realization struck him—he had no leverage over her.

The thought sent an unfamiliar pang through his chest.

"There’s nothing between Isabella and me," he said tightly.

"Not my concern." Her voice was indifferent. "All I care about is when you’ll sign the divorce papers."

His chest heaved.

In one swift motion, he gripped her chin and crushed his lips against hers.

Slap!

The sharp crack of her palm against his cheek echoed in the hallway.

She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, disgust twisting her features.

"Evelyn!" A vein pulsed at his temple.

"If a dog bites you, wouldn’t you want to wash it off?" she said coldly.

This wasn’t the Evelyn he knew.

She was sharp, ruthless—a stranger.

"I have work tomorrow. No time for your tantrums." She checked her watch.

"You got a job?" His eyes narrowed.

"None of your business."

"We’re married."

"Not for long."

His fingers tightened around her wrist. "I’m losing patience."

"Then divorce me."

"Never."

"Then suffer."

A calm voice interrupted their standoff.

"Ethan? Evelyn?"

Ryan Paisley stood a few feet away, watching them with concern.

Evelyn’s icy demeanor softened slightly. She nodded at him. "Enjoy your night. I’m leaving."

This time, Ethan didn’t stop her.

"Trouble in paradise?" Ryan offered him a cigarette.

Ethan ignored it. "I’m heading out."

As Ethan walked away, Ryan’s gaze lingered thoughtfully on Evelyn’s retreating figure.

Outside, Evelyn waited by the curb for a cab.

A Maybach pulled up silently beside her.

She slid into the backseat—only to find Ethan already there.

"Ethan!"

She grabbed for the door, but the locks clicked into place.

"Grand View," he ordered the driver.

"Let me out!"

"I’ve been drinking," he said coldly. "You’re taking care of me tonight."

She scoffed. "Go find Isabella."

"You’re my wife."

"Not for long." She repeated the words like a mantra.

His knuckles whitened as his fists clenched.

The air in the car thickened, charged with the tension between them.