Behind Closed Doors of Desire

Chapter 1

Evelyn Chase had calculated that, on average, she spent over three hundred days a year contemplating divorce from Liam Knight. Monthly, she’d entertain no less than thirty fantasies about his demise. And daily? There were at least twelve hours where the urge to slap him awake consumed her.

“Look, I can’t—” she began, exasperation thickening her voice as she faced him, her eyes firing daggers.

Liam leaned against the kitchen counter, arms crossed, that damn smirk plastered across his face. It was the kind of look that made her want to throw something at him—preferably something heavy. Instead, she settled for a slice of the day-old pizza, glaring as she took a bite, the cold cheese doing nothing to temper her simmering annoyance.

“This isn’t about what you can’t do. It’s about the mess you’ve made.” She tried to keep her tone light, a sarcastic jab amidst the seriousness.

But Liam had that knack of turning the table, of flipping her frustration back onto her without lifting a finger. “Mess? Come on, Ev. You know this is just how life plays out. It doesn’t have to be complicated.”

Evelyn rolled her eyes. “Right, because nothing about us has ever been complicated.”

Liam pushed off the counter, closing the distance between them. His teasing glint turned into something more serious. “You know I’m not going anywhere.”

And there it was—the infuriating certainty that underpinned everything that was wrong with their relationship. The way he leaned in too close, the heavy weight of his silence, the promise of stability when all she wanted to do was scream.

“You treat this like a game,” she snapped. “But it’s not that simple for me. You toy with hearts like they’re poker chips. What do you think this is, some twisted casino?”

Liam raised an eyebrow, the smirk fading just enough to show he actually heard her. “Let’s be real for a second, Ev. You’ve got a choice here—keep playing the victim or start showing me what you’re really made of.”

“Victim? You’re unbelievable.” She stepped back, breaking the spell he had cast over her. “Maybe I should just handle this like you handle every relationship: with a clean break.”

He scoffed, but she saw the pulse in his jaw tighten. “You think I’m careless. You think I don’t regret—”

“Regret what? The times you messed with my feelings, or all the times you didn’t bother to consider how it affected me?”

There was a silence, thick as fog, stretching between them. Evelyn could feel her heart racing; the thrill of confrontation swept through her.

“Don’t pretend you don’t know why I’m this way,” he finally said, breaking the standoff. “I didn’t grow up with the luxury of attachment. You ought to know that by now.”

“And that’s your excuse?” she shot back. “I’ve got my own baggage too, Liam. Everyone does. But you don’t see me throwing it around like it’s confetti.”

“Are you still stuck on that? I thought we were past this.”

“Past what? Trying to make sense of this tangled mess we call a marriage? Because if you think I’m just going to let it slide, you’ve lost your mind.”

Evelyn turned away, grabbing her phone to check the time, needing a distraction from the heat rising in her cheeks. She could hear Liam breathe behind her, could feel the tension hanging like a storm cloud ready to burst.

“Maybe a clean break is what we need,” she said finally, her voice softer, yet resolute.

“Maybe,” he echoed, but his eyes held doubt. “You sure you can walk away without looking back?”

“Just watch me,” she replied, her heart racing not just from anger, but from the unshakable certainty that this was the moment everything changed—or ended.

As she stepped out of the kitchen, she felt the weight of the conversation linger, knowing that the line between love and hate had never been so thin. All those years spent with Liam—the good, the bad, and all those tense moments in between—made for an intoxicating mix she still couldn’t shake, no matter how many days she plotted her escape.

And yet, in her heart, she knew one thing was for certain: whatever came next, it was finally time for her to start playing her own game.

Chapter 2

The shadows danced under the moonlight, its silver glow casting a serene light over the evening-clad ground. A hint of fragrance wafted through the air, leading down the quiet garden path, where flowers glimmered like jewels under the ethereal glow. The tranquility was pierced only by the hurried footsteps of someone gliding through the night, the fabric of their lavish attire whispering secrets of elegance.

A moment later, Evelyn Chase burst through the ornate archway at the far end of the corridor.

Even the brightest stars paled in comparison to the anxious glimmer of her eyes, and no blossom could match the beauty of her finely turned features. Draped in luxurious silk, she moved with urgency that seemed to wrap the air around her like a shroud. The soft chime of her waist ornaments echoed, and the intricate embroidery of her robe shimmered under the moon as she drew closer, revealing her exquisite form — delicate as sculpted jade, with skin reminiscent of a snow-kissed spring flower, and a grace that rivaled the finest pines growing in secluded valleys.

Her raven hair flowed like ink, cascading down her back and adding to the enchanting allure of her presence. Yet, beneath her breathtaking exterior laid a heart burdened with worry, her brow furrowed, and her lips pressed tight in an expression of concern.

Just moments later, Evelyn pushed open the ornate door of Ravencrest Manor.

As she stepped inside, the pearl-beaded curtain parted, revealing her in an instant — the expensive outer cloak she wore still damp from the early autumn dew was hastily cast aside as she hurried further into the dimly lit room. She swiftly navigated around a beautifully painted jade screen, noticing the tremors of movement emanating from the bed in the corner.

“Isabella Harper,” she breathed softly, instinctively opening her arms as a small figure emerged from underneath the covers, rushing to her.

“Papa…” The child in her arms looked every bit a frail porcelain doll, just four years old. Her voice, sweet yet fragile from a lingering fever, filled Evelyn’s heart with worry.

Evelyn's gaze fell tenderly upon her daughter, whose cheeks were flushed from the illness. “Where does it hurt, my love?”

Isabella clung to Evelyn’s neck, burying her face against her father’s chest, silent, breathless.

The nurses and maids present immediately fell to their knees, and the headmaid, Aurora Blackwell, stuttered an apology. “My lord, Lady mentioned she felt exhausted after lunch. We thought it best to let her rest, but then things took a turn this evening. We just sent for Rowan Bennett upon noticing her discomfort. He said it’s the sudden cold that brought on her fever. She won’t take her medicine, and that’s why Steward Gerard came to fetch you, m’lord. Please forgive us…”

Evelyn, having welcomed Isabella into his life when he wed into the noble family, adored her like a treasured gem. Though his heart ached to see her in such a state, he couldn’t lash out at the servants he had handpicked and trained — each one loyal and diligent.

With a sick child, no one pointed fingers or passed blame. From the moment they sent for help to the minute they sought him out, everything was managed with impressive efficiency, a true mark of the family’s integrity.

“Nothing comes before Isabella Harper’s well-being. You did the right thing by calling me back,” he reassured them, his voice calm as he gently took the warm bowl of broth from the maid’s hands.

He adjusted his hold on the delicate child, cradling her against his chest as he cooled the medicine with a careful breath, testing the temperature against his lips before bringing the spoon to Isabella’s mouth.

“Papa…” The child blinked up at him, her tear-brimmed eyes sparkling with distress.

Evelyn’s icy demeanor melted completely, giving way to an ocean of tenderness. He spoke softly, each word laced with warmth, “Sweet Isabella, drink your medicine so you can feel better. I promise you, it will help.”

But Isabella, usually obedient, stubbornly shook her head, her soft, pale face lit with a pleading expression.

The memory of her birth — the pain and strife he endured to bring her into the world — flooded back, and he felt an intense surge of love and protectiveness swell within him. “If you drink your medicine, I promise to get you anything your heart desires.”

Her eyes glimmered, and she whispered, “I haven’t seen Uncle for so long… I miss him…”

Evelyn’s heart dropped, a lump forming in his throat as the ache of yearning tightened around him. Yet he kept his composure, stroking her soft hair with a gentle hand. “Once you take your medicine, I’ll have Uncle come see you. Just like that.”

He coaxed her to drink, and once she was snug under the covers, the pallor from earlier seemed to lighten. Suddenly revitalized, Isabella beamed up at him with bright, wide-open eyes, tugging at his sleeve. “When Uncle comes back, I want to tell him I’ve memorized the entire Thousand Character Classic. Even my teacher says I’m a prodigy!”

As he tucked the covers around her, Evelyn's heart swelled with pride. “Of course, my brilliant Isabella! You are the smartest lady in all of Ravencrest. No one can compare.”

But soon, the medicine’s effects began to take hold. Isabella’s eyelids began to droop, murmuring sleepily, “Papa… does Uncle not love Isabella…”

Evelyn’s hand froze mid-stroke, warmth kissing at his heart as he reassured her in the softest tones, “Of course he does, my sweet. Uncle loves you more than anything. He’s just... very busy. But he’ll be right here when you wake up…”

As her breathing steadied into a soft, even rhythm, he rose silently, slipping out into the cool night.

The hour grew late; the autumn chill nipped at him as he noticed, for the first time, the slight tremor of his form in the thin fabric of his simple shirt.

“Master,” Steward Gerard said, appearing with a dark cloak spread across his arm.

Evelyn took it without a word, a steely resolve sharpening his features as he draped the cloak over his shoulders. “Prepare the carriage.”

Gerard hesitated. “At this hour, my lord...?”

Without sparing a glance, he replied, “I promised Isabella I would fetch her beloved uncle.”

The simple statement sent a shudder through Gerard; the air seemed to tense with unseen danger. The moonlight painted a chilling picture of the resolute figure that moved past, where once there had been soft affection for a daughter, now danced the shadow of a vengeful spirit seeking her wayward father, Liam Knight of Northvale Manor.

In the backstreets of the city, the night held many whispers, and the men of the world wandered as Evelyn Chase prepared to claim what was rightfully his.

Chapter 3

At the edge of the lake, a lavishly adorned boat swayed gently in the breeze, vibrant flowers bursting with color all around it, while willows danced lightly and songbirds flitted through the air.

This was Silverthorn Lane, the most famous district in Highreach, home to its largest entertainment venues and the secret delights of the nobility.

Among them, Stormwatch Tower stood out, not just for its stunning women but also for the carefully curated selection of charming young men who drew in countless well-placed gentlemen under the cover of night.

Despite the darkness outside, the lobby of Stormwatch Tower bustled with energy, clinking glasses and laughter creating a symphony of indulgence.

Liam Knight of Northhold Keep was in high spirits, clinking glasses with a few equally inebriated young aristocrats, his long hair cascading loosely about his shoulders, giving him a wild, carefree look. The rich fabric of his robe hung loosely, enhancing his relaxed, debonair demeanor.

“Your Lordship can certainly hold his liquor… Come, let me toast you again.” A few drunken young men tugged playfully at Liam’s sleeve, their words slurring slightly.

Just as he lifted his glass to drink, a slender hand interjected.

This hand, graceful and pale as jade, was a picture of effortless beauty.

“Lord Knight is too far gone; let me drink this for you.”

The voice rang clear, sharp as crystal, slicing through the laughter and chatter and falling into an abrupt silence.

Evelyn Chase turned slightly, raising her delicate chin as she downed the wine in one fluid motion.

The candlelight in Stormwatch Tower glinted off in soft pink hues, casting a seductive glow. However, no allure outshone the breathtaking beauty before them. Evelyn’s lashes framed eyes like a crescent moon, while her lips glistened subtly with remnants of wine, more inviting and luscious than ever.

She seemed blissfully unaware of the captivated audience around her. With a flick of her fingers, the glass she held shattered at her feet, the sound sharp and jarring in the suddenly hushed room.

Gasps rippled through the crowd.

In Highreach, there was hardly anyone who didn’t know of Evelyn Chase.

The William family of Chesterford House was immensely wealthy, and though the late William and his wife left behind only two sons, those sons were extraordinary figures in their own right. They’d earned the moniker “The Twin Gems of Highreach” by their early twenties.

Years ago, whispers told of the older son, Oliver Chase, whose beauty was likened to jade and whose talents shone as bright as the stars. But it was the younger son, Evelyn, who captivated hearts with his striking looks and deft social prowess, weaving through high society with ease and grace. It was said that no one dared to cross him.

Only those who had truly encountered Evelyn could understand why he was dubbed “the blade under velvet.”

“It’s quite late; my lord should be heading home,” Evelyn remarked with a cool mockery.

The moment those words fell, the young men, still reeling from her beauty, sprang back to reality. The enticing figure before them was not someone to be trifled with. Evelyn had been married to the young Lord Liam Knight for five years now, and they had a four-year-old child together.

Perhaps it was the current trend, where powerful figures like queens ruled alongside kings, that made the idea of a man like Evelyn taking the lead in a household somewhat of a gossip-worthy subject.

And yet, Evelyn Chase was already a celebrated figure; his husband, by association, was no ordinary man.

While envy lingered in the air, a stronger sensation prevailed—anticipation, as the onlookers eagerly awaited whatever spectacle this pair would create next.

Their tumultuous relationship was as well-known as it was fascinating, a clash of wills that seemed destined for disaster. The annual drama was gearing up to unfold, and thoughts of the impending spectacle lit a spark of excitement in the crowd.

Liam, feeling the effects of the wine, caught sight of Evelyn and grimaced with distaste. He steadied himself, the draping robe slipping further off his shoulders, emphasizing his reckless charm. With a confident smirk and breath steeped in alcohol, he boomed, “What an oddity… isn’t that the esteemed Evelyn Chase, so close to the throne? What brings you to a place like this tonight? Running low on royal duties? Ha! How about I pick a pretty lady for you? Or better yet… maybe a dashing young man? No need to be shy, with looks like yours, I’m sure there are plenty who would be eager to please.”

His words dripped with contempt, causing the surrounding men to bristle. Evelyn was no mere socialite; he was a designated overseer in the Inner Sanctum, a figure of authority that even seasoned statesmen treated with caution. With a brother as a high-ranking official, Evelyn’s future was all but assured. In Highreach, no family of note dared to cross Chesterford House.

Only Liam Knight possessed the audacity to provoke Evelyn Chase so brazenly.

Chapter 4

Evelyn Chase sat motionless, a practiced calm on her face, but inside her heart was a raging inferno. Liam Knight’s biting words scorched her more than the sting attached to them. It wasn’t the vitriol directed at her that hurt; it was the burning ache of her daughter’s illness, the silent accusation hanging in the air that Liam, a father in title only, cared so little to ask after his own flesh and blood.

Around them, a group of young nobles glanced sideways, uneasy with the tension. One of them murmured, “Your Grace, it’s getting late. You really should return with Oliver Chase…” Others quickly chimed in, eager to divert the brewing storm. “Yes, yes, let’s not keep you here any longer.”

“But it’s such a rare occasion for Oliver Chase to personally deliver a visit. Surely, you can’t hold on to your anger for long, Your Grace. Better to head back home.” They all whispered among themselves, their voices fraught with anxiety. They were all too aware of how far Evelyn’s shadow loomed over Northvale Manor, and they didn’t want to be on the wrong end of her temper. Some of them couldn’t help but think: it would be far better to marry a kind, sensible woman than to deal with someone like Evelyn Chase—fierce, beautiful, and utterly intimidating.

Meanwhile, Liam Knight’s anger boiled over. Humiliation burned like acid in his chest, and in a moment of impulsive defiance, he yanked the sultry young guy standing beside him, turning to Evelyn with a condescending smile. “What’s a man to do when holding a beauty in his arms? I can’t just run off with Oliver Chase tonight.”

The young man, a striking figure from Stormwatch Tower, melted against Liam’s frame, his voice a soft whisper, “Your Grace…”

Evelyn’s laughter rang out, the sound lightly mocking as she settled onto a chair draped with embroidered cushions, chin tilted defiantly. “What are you trying to say, Your Grace?”

Liam’s patience had worn thin, his spirit fed up with the veneer of civility that came with their union. Since their marriage, they’d turned the art of tormenting each other into a game, each barb sharper than the last, but he had never managed to get the upper hand. The resentment clawed at him.

“What do you mean?” Liam scoffed, downing a silver goblet of wine with a practiced flair, throwing the empty cup aside just as effortlessly. He leaned closer to his companion, brushing his lips against the young man’s. The silence that fell around them was almost profound.

Evelyn’s laughter filled the space again. Her long fingers lightly tapped on the armrest of her chair as she spoke, airy and insouciant. “So, you’ve found someone worth staying out late for, have you? Why not just take him home and make it official then?”

This caught Liam off-guard. The idea of taking a concubine—what sort of slap to the face was Evelyn proposing?

Evelyn signaled to the Stormwatch Tower’s owner, who had been standing there until now, his expression fraught with anxiety. “What do you think about our lovely friend here? He’s signed the papers; the deal is done,” she teased.

The young man, Ethan Blackwell, blinked in confusion, “But I—”

“Let’s make it an even thousand silver coins. Think that covers it?” Evelyn interrupted, her tone playful, though the gravity of her words sent gasps rippling through the group.

Even a seasoned courtesan from Silverthorn Lane couldn’t handle that sort of valuation. Ethan’s wide-eyed stare shifted to panic, but after a moment, he suppressed it, putting on a bright, ingratiating smile. “Of course, Your Grace, that’s more than sufficient. We strive to please at Stormwatch Tower. I assure you, our services will be top-notch for you both…”

His gaze darted nervously towards Liam. “Ethan, go fetch some tea for the esteemed guests,” he continued, unaware of how he was stepping into a landmine.

Though Ethan had initially clutched Liam’s hand tightly, it had slipped free, his attention now glued to Evelyn, who bore an expression of dismissive enjoyment as she awaited the tea with an almost considerate eagerness.

Ethan thought he had hit the jackpot, believing he might’ve secured a ticket to a life of luxury. As he approached Evelyn, presenting the tea with the traditional politeness of a servant covered in pretense, his feet faltered, and the cup slipped from his grasp.

The scalding tea splattered across Evelyn’s exquisite robe, some droplets stinging her skin, leaving angry red marks blooming on her pale wrist.

“Oh no—” Ethan gasped, shaking his head. “I’m so sorry, Your Grace. It was just a simple accident, I—are you alright?”

Evelyn smiled knowingly, but her eyes simmered with a challenge.

Chapter 5

Evelyn Chase remained motionless, his gaze slowly lifting to meet Ethan Blackwell’s smirk. Something about Ethan’s bold red lips drew him in, anchoring his attention despite the mocking glint in his eyes.

When the silence stretched, Ethan turned his back to Evelyn and sauntered over to Liam Knight, putting on a pathetic act. “Your Grace, I swear I didn’t mean to upset anyone. Did you see Victor Nightingale's stare? It's like he wanted to eat me alive! It was terrifying!”

Liam saw right through Ethan’s ploys. He recognized the game all too well; this was Ethan seeking favor. Suddenly, the overly sweet scent clinging to Ethan made Liam’s stomach churn.

Evelyn flicked the remnants of spilled tea off the back of his hand with indifference. “I once thought you were a thoughtful beauty, but it seems you’re nothing but a clumsy fool. What use is such a waste of space?”

At Evelyn’s words, Ethan’s eyes widened in disbelief. “You—”

A single, icy glare from Evelyn silenced Ethan, and a bead of cold sweat formed at the back of his neck, an ominous feeling creeping into his chest.

“Rules exist for a reason,” Evelyn continued, his tone chilling. “If it were just me in the Knight household, that might be one thing. But since you've been added to the mix, it’s time to establish some order. After all, I am lawfully wedded to the lord of this house; decisions regarding domestic matters rightfully fall to me. Ethan, you’ve overstepped your bounds...”

His eyes lingered on Ethan's vibrant lips, voice low and frigid. “...You will pay the price.”

Gasps echoed through the room.

Ethan's face drained of color. Instinctively, he recoiled against Liam’s side, his once radiant lips trembling. “You—you're not serious…”

Evelyn let out a low, mocking laugh, his gaze glimmering with wicked delight. “Who dares speak to me so—a retired official, or perhaps a criminal behind bars? I wonder.”

The panic in Ethan's eyes deepened as he clutched at Liam’s sleeve, desperately seeking safety.

Evelyn wiped the smile from his face, his voice now flat and unyielding. “Let the household discipline him.”

The guards, loyal to the Chester family and trained for combat, immediately obeyed, lunging for Ethan, tearing him away from Liam’s protective embrace, ready to deliver punishment.

Liam knew the weight of a family like Northhold Keep, one steeped in martial tradition. Though he had once dazzled with his martial arts skills, years of self-indulgence had rendered him incapable of fighting back the very soldiers who stood before him.

Ethan’s body could scarcely endure it; soon, he was sobbing, “Your Grace! Please!”

Liam’s eyes blazed with fury, a raging inferno that seemed ready to consume him as he fixed a piercing glare on Evelyn. “If you’re angry, then come at me! Why take it out on someone innocent?”

Evelyn casually raised an eyebrow, treating Liam’s outrage with cool detachment. “My lord, surely you jest. Ethan poured tea for me; as such, it’s my duty to educate him on our household’s standards.”

Liam’s hands clenched into fists, bone joints cracking as he fought against his restraints. The guards were skilled, and no matter how hard he resisted, he couldn’t break free. “You low-life, scheming monster; your jealousy knows no bounds.”

With a sudden flick of his wrist, Evelyn closed the lid of a tea canister with a sharp snap. “You mistake my intentions, my lord. I merely fulfill my role without guilt, whether here or in the court.”

Liam scoffed, a bitter laugh escaping him. “You’re so innocent, huh? You know exactly what vile acts you’ve committed.”

“Your Grace! I see the error of my ways! Please, spare me!” Ethan wailed, his realization dawning that Evelyn was the true threat looming over him.

Evelyn tilted his head, observing as crimson began seeping through Ethan's shirt, a sign that the guards weren’t holding back.

“Evelyn,” Liam seethed, overwhelmed with a potent cocktail of anger and desperation.

Without a glance backward, Evelyn replied coolly, “There’s no need to raise your voice, my lord. I can hear you just fine.”

Ethan’s cries grew fainter, his entire lower half soaked in his own blood—a chilling sight.

Liam’s gaze flicked to Evelyn, who stood a mere few feet away, his stunning features casting a striking silhouette. But to Liam, the beauty was nothing short of terrifying.

From the day Evelyn entered his life as his spouse, it had morphed into an endless nightmare—a relentless blaze that devoured everything Liam once held dear. His youthful exuberance, his tender affections, his lofty aspirations, all reduced to ashes in the face of Evelyn’s icy demeanor.

“I’ll go back with you…” Liam finally muttered, sinking to his knees, observing the red patterns splattering the floor.

Evelyn held up a hand, signaling the guards to halt. He approached Liam slowly, voice steady and tempered. “You should have done so long ago.”

Liam rolled his eyes, pushing hair from his face with a motion tinged with sarcasm and resent. Their eyes clashed, his filled with utterly unmasked disdain.

Evelyn reached out as if to help him up, but Liam flinched, pulling away from the touch.

Not embarrassed, Evelyn withdrew his hand, standing tall. “Fetch a doctor for Ethan.”

The guards nodded, moving swiftly.

Ethan lay limp on the ground, his body trembling involuntarily as Evelyn’s expensive shoes came into view.

“Here’s the contract. If you ever think about stepping foot back into Northvale Manor…” Evelyn pressed the contract into Ethan’s trembling hands, but Ethan hiccupped a sob, interrupting him.

“Your Grace, I was wrong... I swear, I’ll never set foot in Northvale Manor again...”

With a slight curl of his lips, Evelyn said nothing more.

As the moon hung high, Evelyn stifled a sigh and spoke softly, “My lord, let’s go home.”

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