Chapter 1
Evelyn Hawthorne knew this time she had to escape Mabel’s watchful eye. She decided to go swimming in the backyard pool around five in the afternoon. Mabel Wright, the maid tasked with keeping an eye on her, barely noticed her as she leisurely swam in her bikini. Alone in her second-floor chamber, Evelyn had rigged a simple delay incendiary device. She wrapped a lighter in tape, dampened a section of a curtain, and placed the lighter next to the wet fabric. It wouldn't ignite immediately, but it would eventually set the curtains ablaze. Around twenty minutes past five, the maid noticed the smoke wafting from the room and rushed upstairs to extinguish the flames. Evelyn's heart raced; she quickly emerged from the pool, wrapped herself in a robe, and sprinted toward the mansion's front door. She managed to escape Hawthorne Manor and slipped into the dense greenery outside, the towering trees of Lydia Forest providing her a pathway to freedom. Evelyn ran frantically, determined to put as much distance between herself and the house as possible. This was her second attempt at freedom. The first time, she had worked with Edmund Berrow, who promised to help her escape. But their plan was thwarted by Arthur Lynton—he was a madman. Arthur had turned Edmund into leverage, coercing her into marriage. He didn’t stop there; he made sure to drive Edmund away, exiling him from the community. Edmund, already an unacknowledged son of Berrow Hall, found himself utterly abandoned as the complicated web pull him from being recognized. The aftermath for Evelyn had been a descent into a hell of endless confinement, degradation, and torment. Arthur physically abused her, binding and whipping her as part of his twisted pleasure. He drugged her, forcing her to consume against her will, even go so far as to humiliate her in the most degrading ways possible. He insisted that she would never attempt to leave him again, insisting that she would remain by his side. After being worn down, she made a hollow promise. He wouldn’t trust her, of course, and continued to torment her repeatedly. It was during a particularly cold winter evening that she had nearly drowned in the pool when her leg cramped and she sank below the surface. Arthur thought she was trying to take her own life that night, and when he pulled her to safety, he held her tightly, whispering promises that he would stop hurting her. He claimed to love her then, his eyes wild with desperation. In that moment, she realized that he truly believed he loved her. However, that love was profoundly sick, and she couldn’t bear it. After that night, he did treat her more gently. He showed her kindness in their everyday lives, but deep down, her fear of him never faded. She knew she had to feign compliance, to pretend to accept him, all while waiting for a chance to escape again. It had been over three months since she last attempted to flee, and now he had let his guard down. Today was particularly crucial; Arthur had an important business gala to attend, and Clara Fairchild, his mother, was visiting her own mother. The outcome of the gala meant everything; failure could mean returning to life under his brutal rule. Just thinking about what he might do to her made her shiver with dread. Evelyn pressed deeper into the Forest, moving further and further away. She had lost track of where she was headed, knowing only that she needed to keep going straight and not retrace her steps.
Chapter 2
Evelyn Hawthorne trudged through the forest, barefoot, wincing with every step as branches and stones cut at her feet and legs. The night air was growing cooler, but she could endure it, wrapped in a thin white bathrobe that billowed around her like a wild creature. As dawn broke, she finally stumbled into a small town named Little Brook. A kind-hearted woman tending to her morning chores took her in, offering a set of clothes and some food. The woman offered to help call the police, suspecting Evelyn had escaped from human traffickers, but Evelyn quickly declined. “I just had a little accident and got separated from my family. I know the way back.” The last thing she needed was to draw the attention of the Hawthorne Estate’s enforcers; reporting it would be like walking into a trap. Desperate for cash, she slipped her diamond ring off and handed it to the woman in exchange for some money. After asking where to catch a ride, she set off once more. As soon as she stepped onto the street, a commotion caught her attention. She ducked into a nearby corner, peeking out carefully. A group of about ten people was holding up photos, searching for someone—hers. Panic surged through her veins. They had found her too quickly. In a town as small as Little Brook, it wouldn’t take long for them to locate her. Her fists tightened, her body tensed, and her breath quickened. She had to find a way out—she couldn’t let them take her back. “Come with me,” a voice broke through her thoughts. She turned to see a young man standing behind her, a strikingly handsome country boy with a worn-out hat, his shy, clear eyes glimmering with mischief. “I’m the one who gave you the clothes and food. My mom set you up. Let me help you.” Evelyn felt a wave of relief wash over her. Today must truly be her lucky day; the universe had sent her an ally. She followed the boy as he led her down the back roads, away from Little Brook. They walked for a while until they reached a junction. “This is where we can catch a cab to the next town. We’ll wait here,” he said. “Thank you so much,” Evelyn said, her heart swelling with gratitude as she offered him a warm smile. They waited together, and soon enough, a car approached. But as it drew closer, Evelyn's heart sank—the car was a black Bentley, unmistakably familiar. Her pulse raced as the door swung open, and a man stepped out in a tailored suit that screamed wealth and power. His chiseled features made everyone around him pale in comparison, and despite his naturally gentle demeanor, Evelyn felt ice crawl down her spine. “Vivi,” he called, his voice soft and soothing, but it sent shivers through her. Evelyn's breath hitched, her eyes widening in fear. She longed to run, but her legs refused to move, paralyzing her with terror. She couldn’t let him catch her, not this time… The young man was not just any country boy after all. He pulled off his hat, revealing a meticulously styled haircut, most certainly not the son of a local innkeeper. He had tricked her into walking right back into Arthur Lynton’s grasp to avoid them using violence to retrieve her. His acting was exceptional. With a sly smile, he nodded at Arthur. “Brother Arthur.” Arthur approached Evelyn, his grip firm as he took hold of her wrist, inspecting her injuries from her reckless escape through the woods. “Vivi, why don’t you listen?” He crouched down before her, removing the cheap flats she had received from the innkeeper, revealing multitudes of cuts on her feet. His expression hardened as he scowled, “You’re not supposed to run off like that.” Scooping her up into his arms, he let out a soft sigh, “I’m sorry, Vivi. I could have played with you longer in this game of hide and seek, but I couldn’t bear to see you suffer like this.” Held against him, Evelyn gripped his suit sleeve tightly. Tremors wracked her body, her face pale as tears streamed down her cheeks. She knew the depths of danger she faced and the pain that awaited if she returned. Yet, in that moment, caught between fear and the unexpected warmth of his embrace, all she could do was hold on, her heart racing with uncertainty over what lay ahead.
Chapter 3
“I never thought you’d go this far,” the man stood at the edge of the bed, looking down at her with a sigh. “You're more stubborn than I imagined.” With what he knew of her, Mabel Wright from the House of Hawthorne was spoiled and never faced any hardship. He had always believed she wouldn’t dare run away again, especially knowing how insane he'd become over her previous attempt, but here they were— She was his wife now. Where could she run? The impassive expression on Arthur Lynton’s face sent shivers down Evelyn Hawthorne’s spine. Oh, she had forgotten to mention her current state. She lay there, completely exposed, her arms and legs bound to the corners of the bed, her body held taut as if she were being pulled apart in a cruel execution. She could barely move. “Please, don’t do this to me,” she sobbed, tears spilling as she pleaded, “Just let me go. Please…” Arthur toyed with a glass bottle containing essential oil, though it was far from soothing. The substance within, when applied, would drive her to madness. He sat at the edge of the bed, his large hand stroking her smooth thigh as he offered a false sense of comfort, “What are you afraid of? This will only make you feel good…” “No, no…” Evelyn’s face drained of color, fear coursing through her, causing her body to tremble. “Don’t, please! Arthur, I swear I won’t run away again. I promise!” “Last time,” he lowered his gaze, long, thick eyelashes casting shadows under his eyes while he opened the bottle, “you said the same thing.” Wearing blue medical gloves, he poured a bit of the liquid into his palm, dipped his finger and middle finger into it, then bent down, his fingers inching toward her defenseless body. “I like it when you call me Old Man.” “Please, just relax and let me in.” The chilling liquid, still on his gloved fingers, was pushed against her entrance and penetrated her without a moment's delay, delivering the substance deep inside her, even reaching the entrance of her womb. The sensation was uncomfortable, causing her whole face to scrunch up. She wanted to squirm away, but he held her tightly at the waist, as if he were ready to crush her very being. It hurt. Pain, discomfort, the fear and hunger from fleeing all night, and the hopelessness of her situation mixed with the impending violation, drove her to the edge. Throwing her head back, she shouted, “Arthur Lynton, you pervert! Let me go! You’re insane! I have to escape from you! How dare you treat me like this? I hate you! You bastard! Psychopath!” Her struggles were futile; her curses fell on deaf ears. He continued to apply the medication methodically, his expression unchanging, letting out a soft sigh, “You’re just too disobedient, V. A lesson is necessary for you to learn…” Evelyn’s eyes widened at his words; she suspected he wanted more than just to violate her today—there could be other punishments in store. Arthur glanced at her and chuckled lightly, “Don’t worry; I’m just giving you a little something special from Mabel.” He pulled his fingers out of her, blocking her entrance with his palm, slightly raising her hips as he kneaded her. The medication soaked in fully, spreading its effects. Within moments, she felt it—the potion sank within her, igniting sensations that swarmed through her like a thousand ants biting with fervor.
Chapter 4
The itching was unbearable. It crept over her skin like a thousand tiny needles, and her body felt like it had been set on fire. Evelyn Hawthorne lay on the bed, her eyes wide open and filled with desperation, trembling uncontrollably as tears streamed down her face. The severe sensations grew stronger, and she bit down hard on her lip to stifle a scream she knew she couldn't hold back for long. Arthur Lynton sat at the edge of the bed, a slight smirk on his lips as he looked down at her. "You know what you need to do," he murmured. Pleading with him was her only option. The overwhelming itching broke her willpower with ease. Her porcelain skin flushed a deep red, and her every breath was a desperate gasp for relief. "Please… it itches… I can't take it anymore… Please…” she whimpered. Her legs were spread so wide she couldn't even press them together for solace. The emptiness in her core made her want to die. Her cries grew louder. "Please, Arthur… take me… I need you inside me…" "Not yet," he replied with a chuckle, removing his gloves. His long, slender fingers began to caress her inner thighs with excruciating teasing strokes that only heightened her distress. She trembled more violently, more tears streaming down her face. "Please… I need you… I need you deep inside... Stop the itching... Please... " Arthur began to undress himself slowly, methodically, folding each piece of clothing and placing them neatly on the nightstand. Finally, he climbed onto the bed, kneeling between her legs. He wasn't in a rush to enter her; instead, he watched her with a kind of amusement. The need in her was evident, the way her body seemed to reach out, pleading. The sheets beneath her were soaked. In a husky, desperate voice, she begged once more, "Please…" Her entire body was flushed red with desire, her skin feverish and glistening with sweat. It was as if she were on the verge of dehydration. Reaching out, Arthur’s hand traced the silky curve of her waist before moving to her breasts. He pinched a nipple, eliciting a mixture of a moan and a sob from Evelyn, "Ahhh…" He massaged her, fingers trailing down her belly towards that most intimate part of her. He avoided the most sensitive spot, driving her insane with anticipation. "Touch me there…" she pleaded, her voice cracking. "Where?" His fingers traced lazy circles on her inner thigh, his expression bored. "Tell me exactly where." "The… the clit… the little nub above my opening…" Shame and dignity were pointless now. All she cared about was his fingers relieving her. Evelyn would say anything, do anything. Arthur grinned and finally touched her most sensitive spot, her clit. It was already swollen with need. When his thumb pressed down, she screamed, body convulsing. Her climax was long and intense, leaving the sheets beneath her soaked. It was not enough, though. After the orgasm, the itch deep inside her only grew stronger, more desperate. She struggled violently, although she knew it was futile. Her mind was consumed with one desire: him. Arthur's eyes gleamed with a mocking coldness. He turned to untie her ankles first. He turned to unbind her wrists but Evelyn couldn’t wait anymore. Wrapping her legs around his waist, she sobbed, "Take me now… please…" Tears streaked her face as she begged.
Chapter 5
Arthur Lynton had a presence that matched his formidable attributes, but one would never guess it from his sophisticated and handsome face. His twenty-centimeter manhood, thick as a baby's arm, stood out against his otherwise fair skin. Before Evelyn Hawthorne, he had known no other woman. With Evelyn's entrance slick with anticipation, Arthur gripped her waist and pushed forward. He slid in easily, her inner walls almost pulling him deeper. Yet, he couldn’t fully bury himself within her. Although she was hungry for him, she wasn’t completely relaxed inside. He needed to open her up more before he could fully enter. Pressing her down, Arthur moved in a rhythm, starting slow and gradually picking up pace. Evelyn, crying out from both pleasure and the effects of the drug, felt a mix of euphoria, desperation, and pain. She was still haunted by her past with Edmund Berrow. They had met at sixteen, unaware that Edmund was an illegitimate son of Berrow Hall. Their love grew through their college years. But during a party, Reginald Berrow exposed Edmund’s secret, fearing he might gain favor by marrying Evelyn. Feeling unworthy, Edmund tried to break up with her, but she was resolute, saying, “I love you, your status doesn't matter.” Naive to the harsh realities of life, Evelyn couldn’t foresee how her family’s downfall would unfold. When House of Hawthorne went bankrupt, Edmund couldn't help. She had lived in comfort, unprepared for the business world's storms and was helplessly watching her family crumble. If not for Arthur Lynton’s intervention, her father would have been ruined by overwhelming debt, and both she and her father would have been homeless. After settling the debt, her father was diagnosed with late-stage liver cancer. The doctors deemed chemo pointless since multiple organ failures had begun. A month later, after just one month, he passed away. Arthur then helped her settle her father’s affairs, sold the Hawthornes' mansion to clear the remaining debts, and brought the now lone Evelyn to Hawthorne Estate. Reflecting on it now, their relationship had a vast cognitive gap. She was deeply grateful to him, immensely so, but she didn’t love him. Her heart still belonged to Edmund. She accepted Arthur’s help because he claimed it was out of respect for her late father, Henry Hawthorne. She saw him as a kind and caring older brother. To Arthur, as he later told her during his tormenting moments, it was a business deal. “I’m a businessman. If there’s nothing to gain, why would I invest so much in you?” His profit was her. Regardless of her feelings, Arthur wanted to possess her. She never understood his obsession. Though she was attractive, Greymoor had many more beautiful women. Why force her? He never explained. One week after moving to Hawthorne Estate, she told Arthur she wanted to leave. She felt she had troubled him enough and couldn’t continue living off him shamelessly. Arthur’s face darkened, urging her to stay. “Thanks for everything, Arthur. I have my own hands and feet, I won’t starve. Besides, I have Edmund. If I go to him, he’ll take care of me,” she smiled at him. Arthur said nothing at the time, neither agreeing nor disagreeing.
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