The moment we got back to the Caldwell house, Shen Yili dragged me into his room and shut the door.
The calm fell off his face instantly.
“Who did you go find last night?”
He looked almost hurt.
“You said only I could help you. You said you’d only ever come to me. Chloe, you lied.”
I stared at him for a second.
Then I repeated, very softly, “Who did you go find last night?”
He froze.
“What?”
I didn’t answer. I just kept looking at him.
His expression shifted. Calculation, suspicion, a flicker of alarm.
Then my phone rang.
Evan.
Shen Yili saw the name flash across the screen. I answered anyway.
“What is it?”
On the other end, Evan’s voice was low, careful, and threaded with restraint. “Sis, could you come to the hospital?”
Something was wrong.
I stood immediately.
Shen Yili blocked the door. “Not until you explain.”
I looked at him in disbelief. “Why are you acting like some miserable wife?”
His face hardened. “I’m your uncle. The Prescotts entrusted you to our family. I have the right to manage who you—”
“I heard everything last night.”
His voice died mid-breath.
The color drained from his face.
I smiled without warmth. “Your little canary. Your needs. Your inheritance. Your opinion that I’m too childish to marry. Did I miss anything?”
He recovered faster than I expected. “Chloe, I’m a man. Having needs is normal.”
“I know,” I said. “You just didn’t dare touch me because you were afraid.”
His expression tightened.
“Afraid I’d demand a title,” I continued. “Afraid of ruining your image with your grandfather. Afraid of losing your shot at inheriting the family. Afraid of my parents. Afraid of the Prescotts. Should I go on?”
He said nothing.
I stepped closer.
“You can refuse me. You can dislike me. But you do not get to play both sides and make a fool out of me.”
I moved to leave.
He put an arm out across my path again.
This time, something cold entered my eyes. “Move your hand.”
He didn’t.
“Move it,” I repeated, “or I’ll have it cut off.”
That finally made him look at me properly.
Not as the clingy girl who chased him.
Not as the overindulged foster niece who would eventually come crying back.
As a Prescott.
As someone whose family was not beneath his.
He stood there for a long second, jaw tight.
Then he lowered his arm.
I laughed once under my breath and walked out.
By the time I got back to the hospital, the police were there.
Evan had been hurt.
Badly.
His father and sister were both in the same hospital. When Evan came to check on his sister that morning and settle her bills, his father had woken up, gone into a frenzy at the sight of him, grabbed a surgical blade from a nearby tray, and slashed him across the waist. Evan had fought the knife away to keep the nurses from getting hurt.
Then his father had crashed.
He died during emergency treatment not long after.
So now the police had questions.
I found Evan sitting there in a torn fresh shirt, blood all over him again. Only this time the cut across his side was deep enough to show even beneath the bandages. He had looked clean and almost handsome when he left my house that morning.
A few hours later, he looked like a stray pulled from the gutter again.
The second he saw me, he lowered his head like a dog waiting for punishment.
“I’m sorry, sis.”
I walked up to him and frowned. “What happened?”
His voice turned careful, pleading. “I didn’t know he’d die there.”
The house manager arrived with a team of lawyers and handled the police.
“You can take Mr. York home first, miss,” he said. “We’ll deal with the rest.”
So I took Evan home.
The whole ride, he held himself tense and silent.
The second we got inside, I sat down on the sofa and let the room go cold.
Everyone in the house knew I was angry.
The servants quietly disappeared.
Evan knelt in front of me without being told twice.
Then he edged closer, took my hand, kissed it, and rubbed his cheek against my knee.
“Don’t be mad, sis. I know I was wrong.”
I pulled my hand back.
“So that’s how you planned to kill him?”
His whole body stilled.
He looked up sharply.
“You can tell?”
“Do I look stupid?”
No.
I had seen enough to understand.
His father’s death might have been chaotic, but Evan had not been as helpless in it as he appeared.
I leaned back and said, “Do you know what I’m angry about?”
He hesitated. “I caused you trouble.”
I shook my head.
He swallowed. “I shouldn’t have tested whether I mattered more to you than Shen Yili.”
I shook my head again.
He looked genuinely lost then.
So I lifted one foot and pressed it directly against the fresh bandage at his waist.
His face went white.
“Evan York,” I said softly, “you got hurt.”
Understanding flashed through his eyes.
Then he laughed once—a breathless, almost disbelieving sound.
“So that’s it,” he said. “You’re angry because I got hurt.”
I pressed harder.
His back bowed. Blood began to seep through the bandage.
He caught my ankle but didn’t push me away.
Tears rose in his eyes.
“I understand,” he whispered. “I should have protected what you value. I shouldn’t have used my injuries to make you pity me. I shouldn’t have tried to manipulate you.”
Now he was learning.
I eased off.
Blood had stained the bottom of my slipper, and I frowned in annoyance.
Even then, the first thing Evan did was take out a handkerchief and carefully wipe the blood from my foot before slipping the shoe back into place for me.
My mood improved immediately.
“Last night I indulged you because I hated Shen Yili,” I said. “I know perfectly well you aren’t as harmless as you pretend to be. Use those tricks on anyone else. Not me. This is your first and last warning.”
He nodded, breathing hard.
“Yes, sis.”
The comments went wild again.
This is incredible.
She sees everything.
He really can’t outplay her.
Toxic power couple. I’m obsessed.
For the first time, I laughed with them.
Maybe I really was a little twisted.
But then again, so was he.