Chapter 477

Restrained. Humiliated. Helpless—Mmph!

Nathan Blackwood lost control for the first time in his life. A surge of reckless desire overtook him as he silenced Evelyn's protests with a searing kiss.

Their lips collided, muffling her cries into breathless whimpers.

Evelyn's mind blanked.

Nathan's scorching breath fanned across her trembling mouth. His palms burned where they pinned her wrists, sweat beading on his forehead.

The first time he'd kissed her, alcohol had clouded his judgment.

Now? He had no excuse.

You're divorced, Nathan. This is wrong, his conscience screamed.

Yet his body moved of its own volition. Logic shattered beneath the weight of thirteen years of suppressed longing.

His heartbeat roared in his ears. The iron self-control he prided himself on disintegrated like ash in the wind.

What began as a desperate attempt to quiet her transformed into something raw and hungry. This wasn't restraint—it was surrender.

Evelyn fought weakly, but her traitorous body responded to his touch. His tongue claimed hers in a devastating rhythm that stole her breath and willpower alike.

A single tear traced her cheek.

Thirteen years of unrequited love. Thirteen years of humiliation. Was this her punishment for loving too deeply?

"You bastard, Nathan!"

Theodore Winslow's enraged shout shattered the moment. Seeing red, Evelyn's secretary charged forward, wrenching Nathan away with surprising strength before delivering a vicious right hook.

Nathan dodged with inhuman speed, the punch grazing air.

"Theo!" Evelyn's hoarse cry went unheeded.

Theodore only saw the smeared lipstick on Nathan's mouth—the evidence of his violation. Rage blurred his vision.

"I'll kill you!"

Nathan's expression darkened.

Theodore was a sixth-degree black belt—his spinning kick legendary across Crestview's martial arts circles. He launched a devastating strike aimed at Nathan's ribs.

Yet Nathan moved like shadow. One moment dodging, the next appearing behind Theodore with a pressure-point strike that sent the younger man crumpling.

What kind of sorcery—?

Evelyn recognized the military close-combat technique instantly. Her brother Maxwell could execute it flawlessly.

This wasn't just skill—it was years of brutal training distilled into lethal precision.

"Enough, Nathan!"