Evangeline stared after the luxury car, bewilderment clouding her features as it slowly pulled away and disappeared from sight.
"Mr. Fawkes…" Gregory hesitated from the driver's seat, glancing in the rearview mirror.
He could see Soren's expression—hard, unreadable. Finally, Gregory couldn't help himself. "Sir, maybe you should go back and talk to Miss Whitmore."
Both he and Mr. Fawkes had seen the man—seen him enter Miss Whitmore's house and later leave. Thankfully, the curtains hadn't been drawn; through the window, their silhouettes were visible. There had been no impropriety, only dinner. Still, Gregory had noticed how Soren's face had darkened, his mood colder than ice.
At Gregory's suggestion, Soren shot him a cool glance, his long fingers tapping idly on the leather upholstery. He said nothing.
What was there to discuss? Should he ask her why she'd moved out—was it just to make it easier to see other men? Or should he command her to move back in and never see that man again? Either way, he'd be playing straight into her hands.
He gave a quiet, humorless laugh. When he'd first seen that man, he'd been angry. But the feeling had quickly faded, replaced by the realization that this was just another one of Evangeline's games.
The reason was obvious: she wanted to make him jealous. She was retaliating because he'd brought Poppy back to the Fawkes estate.
After all, in Serenity City, he was at the top—both in family and in personal accomplishments. In five years of marriage, Evangeline had only ever been surrounded by men like him; how could she possibly be interested in anyone else?
Since Soren stayed silent, Gregory tried again. "Sir, maybe it's not my place, but I really think you ought to sit down with Miss Whitmore and talk things through. Be honest with each other."
Soren snorted. "There's nothing to talk about—just the same old tricks."
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