C2 You Have to be Serious!

Pain.

Throbbing, splitting headache.

What was in that wine?

Why such a powerful hangover?

Evelyn massaged her temples, slowly emerging from the fog of her scattered thoughts.

Opening her eyes, she was greeted by a pristine white ceiling.

Where was she?

Glancing around, she realized she was in a hotel room.

Had Marvin brought her here after she got drunk?

With this thought, Evelyn breathed a sigh of relief.

But her relief was short-lived, and her breath caught in her throat.

By the bed, near the floor-to-ceiling window, sat a man in a wheelchair.

His solitary silhouette was as stark as an eagle against the night sky.

"Who... Who are you?" Evelyn's voice pierced the silence, sharp with fear.

Her reputation was at stake; she couldn't keep her composure.

The man paused for a moment before responding, "Leslie."

That name rang a bell.

Where had she heard it before?

Without turning, his commanding presence seemed to overshadow everything.

Yet, Evelyn persisted, "I... How did I end up here?"

She was visibly shaken, genuinely unable to recall the events of the previous night.

She had been drunk.

After that, her memory was a void.

"…"

Leslie turned his head, his expression unreadable, and wheeled closer to the bed.

His physique was lean, his bare upper body clad in a white shirt that accentuated his trim waistline.

Above the collar, his Adam's apple bobbed with each swallow.

Above that, an arrestingly handsome face that could leave one breathless, with features sharply cut and eyes deep-set, his thin lips parted in a dangerously alluring manner.

This man!

He was infuriatingly seductive.

Just one look sent Evelyn's heart racing.

In contrast to Prince Charming's sunny demeanor, Leslie's face bore a few more lines of maturity and steadiness.

"Uncle, why am I here?" Evelyn's voice was tinged with apprehension as she addressed him.

Her instincts told her she hadn't been harmed.

But she needed to know what had happened.

Uncle?

Leslie's eyebrows knitted together, and anger flared within him, "Do I look that old?"

He was barely twenty-eight.

"Big... Big Brother," Evelyn stammered, more out of fear than anything else.

Big Brother?

"An irritating form of address," Leslie remarked coolly.

His voice was raspy and deep, echoing like a voice from the depths.

"Leslie," Evelyn blurted out, urgency lacing her voice as she called him by his full name.

Her outburst made Leslie narrow his eyes.

Was there anyone else in all of Aroonshire who dared to address him so directly?

The answer was a resounding no.

He chose not to make an issue of it, his dark eyes fixating on her with intensity.

His commanding presence enveloped the space. "Why not call me Prince Charming?" he asked, his voice low and laced with a teasing edge.

Prince Charming?

Evelyn's breath hitched.

She was bewildered.

Sensing her confusion, Leslie casually tossed his phone to her.

Upon seeing the message, Evelyn's heart raced.

She had sent the information to him by mistake.

What a twist of fate.

"Uh, sorry, I... I sent it to the wrong person," Evelyn stammered, nervously running her fingers through her hair in an attempt to mask her fluster.

The man before her exuded an innate authority that was impossible to ignore.

She was clearly out of her depth.

Sorry?

Leslie leaned in closer, his calloused hand gently lifting her chin.

In a voice only they could hear, icy and sharp, he confessed, "But I... I took it to heart."

He took it to heart?

No, that couldn't be.

He had to be playing with her.

Evelyn tried to pull away, her efforts feeble against his strength, and she quickly succumbed.

She inhaled sharply, gathering her resolve.

Leslie's slight smile was captivating, his allure devilish, a beauty that demanded loyalty.

He declared, "I'd rather be your husband than just your boyfriend."