Save Her Lose Us (Evangeline and Soren) novel Chapter 228

Soren caught the implication in his words.

He hadn’t thought much of it earlier, but now, hearing what the man said, it was obvious: the other man already knew who Soren was—and that he and Evangeline were divorced.

Had he come prepared?

Did Evangeline hire these people to keep him away?

While Soren’s thoughts were spinning, Evangeline used the distraction to wriggle free of his grasp. She had been gasping for air for too long; when her feet finally touched the ground, her vision went black for a moment and she staggered, unsteady.

Instinctively, Soren reached out to steady her, but the second his hand neared, Evangeline shoved him away as though he were something poisonous.

The gesture was unmistakable. Soren froze mid-motion, the realization pressing in on him.

Did she really hate him that much?

Evangeline collapsed onto the ground, still shaken, watching him pause. She hadn’t expected Soren to treat her like this. They’d been married for five years. They’d shared a bed, yes, but outside of that, he barely glanced her way—let alone kissed her or showed any real warmth.

Now, as she sat on the floor, a pair of unfamiliar hands reached down to help her up. Evangeline jolted, but when she turned, she saw two strangers.

“Miss Whitmore, Mr. Carlisle sent us. We’re here in Serenity City to protect you,” one of the men said softly.

The other chimed in, “Sorry, we arrived later than we should have.”

The fear that had been coiled in Evangeline’s chest eased a little when she realized they were Glenn’s men. With their help, she got to her feet.

Soren’s gaze turned cold again, as icy and unreadable as ever. The way the two men treated Evangeline only confirmed what he had suspected.

He gave a bitter, humorless laugh, his chest aching. His fists clenched so tightly that veins stood out across his knuckles.

He struggled to control the urge to lash out, his voice clipped and cold: “Evangeline, I’ll ask you one last time. Are you coming home with me, or—”

“You should go.”

She cut him off before he could finish, her tone level but completely devoid of emotion. “If this gets out, it won’t look good for you—or for Fawkes Enterprises. Your grandmother’s the head of the family. I don’t want to upset her.”

Hearing her clear refusal, Soren let out a self-mocking laugh. “Fine, Evangeline. If that’s how it is, then this is where it ends.”

Lockridge Manor. The welcome banquet was held out on the lawn, brilliantly lit, almost as bright as day. Yet as you approached, the place was utterly silent.

The Lockridge family, dressed in their finest, stood scattered across the grass, every one of them silent as stone. It felt as though an invisible cloud was pressing down from above, so heavy it was hard to breathe.

At the center of it all—

“Please, Mr. Lockridge, I’m sorry! I’ll never do it again, I swear, just let me go—please!”

A man knelt on the lawn, shaking uncontrollably, banging his forehead against the ground over and over in front of Victor.

The rest of the guests stood around, faces white with fear, not daring to move or make a sound.

Victor sat at the table, his suit jacket open, tie loose and slung carelessly around his neck. He looked anything but proper, yet no one dared utter a word or even let their gaze linger on him for a moment too long, for fear of showing the slightest hint of disrespect.

One foot propped on the edge of the table, the other casually dangling, Victor nursed a glass of strong rum. He tipped his head back and downed it in one gulp—as if it were water.

Only when the man’s forehead split and began to bleed did Victor finally rise from the table. His voice was icy cold: “Cut out his tongue.”