Aubrey’s POV:
My heart raced as Evan’s voice pierced the air. I turned swiftly, my eyes meeting his as he stood at the gate. A mix of surprise and concern washed over his features, and his gaze lingered on the place where Lucas had held my hand. Sensing his disapproval, I gently extricated my hand from Lucas’s grasp and stood up, feeling a sudden need to explain.
“It’s not what it looks like,” I began, but Evan interrupted me before I could finish my sentence. His question hung in the air, leaving me bewildered. Did he already know Lucas?
“What are you doing here?” Evan’s voice held a tinge of anger, directed squarely at Lucas. He didn’t give me a chance to respond, cutting me off. Confusion swirled within me, unsure of how much Evan knew about Lucas’s presence.
“Big Brother, I’m sorry, but Dad invited me,” Lucas spoke with a tinge of guilt, his voice tinged with regret.
“I told you never to come in front of me,” Evan shouted angrily, his words carrying a weight that resonated with the intensity of his emotions. The commotion drew other family members out of their rooms, their curiosity piqued by the unfolding scene.
“I know you told me, but this is also my family,” Lucas’s response heightened Evan’s anger.
“You and your f***ing family are not part of this family,” Evan’s words were laced with bitterness, and I couldn’t help but notice the hurt that flickered across Lucas’s face. I felt a pang of sympathy for him, but it seemed that no one could temper Evan’s fury.
Seeking to diffuse the escalating tension, I approached Evan, only to be greeted by a strong waft of alcohol emanating from him. “Mr. Evan, please calm down,” I pleaded softly, placing a hand on his arm. But my gesture was met with a forceful push, my hand forcefully brushed aside. It was a stark reminder that my hopes of pacifying Evan were futile.
“Evan, why are you shouting at your younger brother?” Mr. Davis, Lucas’s father, interjected, stepping forward to stand beside Lucas.
“YOU AND YOUR F***ING FAMILY JUST GET OUT OF THIS HOUSE!” Evan’s shout startled me, his anger palpable as his brows furrowed and his nostrils flared.
“Evan, you’re drunk. We can talk later,” Mr. Davis attempted to reason, but Evan was beyond reason. He lashed out, responding to Mr. Davis’s plea with a venomous retort. “Aubrey, take Evan into the room,” Grandma’s commanding voice pierced through the chaos, directing her attention toward me. Fear gripped me, for Evan’s appearance resembled that of a raging beast. I hesitated, apprehensive about approaching him. The mere thought of getting close to him filled me with a paralyzing dread. “AUBREY, didn’t you hear? Take Evan into the room!” Grandma’s voice thundered, propelling me forward. Summoning my courage, I gingerly made my way toward Evan. However, as I tried to touch him, he pushed me away, and my forehead collided with the wall. Pain shot through my head, but I dared not show my vulnerability. “Big Brother, what are you doing?” Lucas’s voice filled with concern as he rushed to my aid, providing me the support I desperately needed. His actions stood in stark contrast to the others, who remained mere spectators. Lucas’s presence offered solace in a sea of chaos.
Evan, consumed by rage, approached us menacingly, seizing Lucas by the collar and slamming him against the wall. The collective gasp of everyone present filled the room. “Evan!” the horrified chorus echoed through the air. “She is my wife. What I do to her is not f***ing anyone’s matter!” Evan growled, his eyes filled with an unbridled desire to harm Lucas.
“I know she’s your wife, but she’s a human being too. You can’t treat her like this,” Lucas’s voice quivered, yet he refused to cower before Evan’s wrath. Relinquishing his hold on Lucas, Evan smirked, a malevolent gleam in his eyes. “Why are you taking her side? Don’t tell me you’re into married women,” he sneered. Evan’s words struck me with humiliation, a deep wound that cut to the core. How could he speak of me in such a degrading manner?
Grandma gestured for me to guide Evan back to the room, and though Lucas seemed poised to intervene, I interrupted him. “Lucas, please don’t interfere between us,” I implored, my voice tinged with a mix of resignation and sorrow. Taking Evan’s hand in mine, I led him toward his room. But as we reached our destination, I mustered the courage to speak up once more. “Mr. Evan, please release my hand. You’re hurting me,” I pleaded, my voice trembling. Instead, he pushed me forcefully against the door, capturing my lips with his own. I struggled against his unyielding grip, attempting to break free, but his hold tightened, deepening the intensity of the unwanted kiss. “Ugh, Ev…Ug…Evan,” I gasped for air, my strength waning. The taste of alcohol tainted his kiss, and my mind raced with questions. Why was he doing this? Why didn’t he care that no one could witness our encounter? Why now, when he was not himself? I felt a growing sense of panic, my body trembling, and tears streamed down my cheeks. “Please, Evan, I don’t want this,” I pleaded desperately, my voice choked with fear. “F***,” he uttered under his breath, as my words reached his ears. He abruptly released me, retreating into the bathroom, leaving me to lean against the wall, my gaze fixed on the closed door. “Why are you doing this to me?” I whispered softly to myself, struggling to comprehend the contradictions that swirled within our relationship. I had come to accept that he didn’t love me, but the least I hoped for was basic respect as a fellow human being.
Time passed, and I gradually regained a semblance of composure. Evan emerged from the bathroom, his eyes scanning the room in search of something. He rummaged through his belongings, but I refrained from asking questions, my anger preventing me from showing concern. Why was I subjecting myself to this emotional turmoil? With a deep breath, I finally mustered the courage to speak up. “What are you looking for?” I inquired, my tone tinged with a mix of curiosity and frustration.
“The first aid box,” he replied tersely, prompting me to hurry to the bathroom and retrieve it. As I handed it to him, he unexpectedly grasped my hand, leading me to sit in front of him on the bed. I met his gaze, uncertain of his intentions, as he began to tend to my forehead with antiseptic and cotton. The stinging sensation brought back the memory of the collision with the wall. “Why did you hurt me before applying medicine for my injury?” I asked, my voice laced with a mixture of pain and tears that flowed freely. Evan looked at me, his expression filled with remorse, and he reached out to wipe away my tears. “Sorry,” he murmured, his guilt evident. In that moment, a surge of conflicting emotions washed over me—a blend of anger and hurt mingled with an overwhelming love that threatened to consume me. I found myself caught in the throes of a love so intense that the mere thought of being without him felt like a death sentence. I was irrevocably and madly in love with him, unable to comprehend the depths of his complexity or my own. All I knew was that he was my downfall and my salvation, intertwined in a complex web of emotions that defied rational understanding.
