Chapter 317

The silver moon hung heavy in the ink-black sky, its glow swallowing every trace of starlight.

The sleek Maybach rolled to a stop outside Cliffside Manor. Nathan Blackwood stepped out alone, his voice clipped as he dismissed the driver.

"Take Oliver back. I'll walk in myself. No need to follow."

"But, Mr. Blackwood," Oliver Sinclair protested, concern knitting his brow. "The storm's coming. I heard thunder on the drive. It's a long walk from the gates to the main house—"

"I said no."

Nathan's jaw was set, his fingers absently loosening his silk tie. "I need air. Leave."

The car disappeared into the night, tires whispering against wet pavement.

Nathan inhaled sharply, the crisp night air doing nothing to ease the weight in his chest. Three steps in, the heavens split open.

Rain fell in sheets, drenching him before he could react. By the time he staggered through the grand foyer, water streamed from his hair, his clothes clinging to his frame like a second skin.

Agnes Thornton gasped, rushing forward with a towel. "Good heavens! Young Master! Where's the car? Where's Oliver?"

Nathan didn't answer. Droplets slid down his pale face, his usually immaculate black hair plastered to his forehead. His shirt, once crisp and white, was now translucent, revealing the hard lines of his torso beneath.

"Agnes." His voice was raw. "Bring me a bottle. Anything strong."

"You're shivering! I'll make ginger tea—"

"Wine. Now."

She studied him, her sharp eyes missing nothing. "What happened?"

His throat worked. "I saw Evelyn tonight."

Agnes brightened momentarily before Nathan's next words turned her blood cold.

"She wasn't alone."

"Who—?"

"She has a lover." The admission tore from him, each syllable laced with something perilously close to agony.

Agnes inhaled sharply. "Already? Well, I suppose that's no surprise. Lady Evelyn is exquisite—kind, brilliant, from an impeccable family. Even divorced, she'd have suitors lining up for miles."

"Remarry?" The word hit Nathan like a physical blow, his vision swimming crimson at the edges.

"Is that why you're like this?" Agnes pressed, her grip firm on his sodden shoulders. "Drowning yourself in rain and liquor because another man holds what was once yours?"

"I don't—" Nathan raked shaking fingers through his hair.

"Listen to me," Agnes said fiercely. "If you're just possessive, get over it. But if you truly want her—even now, even after everything—then fight. At least you won't die wondering. And she's worth fighting for."

Nathan's chest constricted. With every denial that rose in his throat, the ache behind his ribs grew sharper, more insistent.

Meanwhile, across town, Isabelle Montgomery adjusted the strap of her silk slip dress, surveying her reflection with satisfaction.

After graduating top of her class at Valmont's Royal Conservatory, she'd turned down a coveted position with the Valmont Philharmonic. Crestview might lack Valmont's cultural prestige, but it held something far more valuable.

Nathan Blackwood.

Her brother Julian's recent confirmation that Nathan had permanently severed ties with Victoria Sterling had reignited Isabelle's ambitions. Tonight, she'd invited Cassandra Blackwood over—step one in her carefully orchestrated campaign.

Isabelle smirked, running a manicured finger along the rim of her champagne flute. Arrogance came naturally to her; beauty and talent had ensured she'd never known rejection. The women of Crestview's elite circles? Mere stepping stones.

The game was afoot.