Christopher’s mind swirled with questions and anger. Had he been the one to ruin her? Had his indulgence and tolerance turned Evelyn into this cold, reckless version of herself?
His chest tightened as he gently laid Charlotte on the floor. Rising, he turned toward Evelyn, his expression dark and oppressive, his voice sharp as steel.
“Tell me what happened,” he demanded, his tone brooking no argument.
Evelyn looked up at him, her face devoid of emotion and then… she smiled. Not a warm or apologetic smile, but one cold enough to cut through the room like a blade.
The sight made Christopher’s chest burn with fury.
Before he could lash out, a weak voice broke through the tension.
“Brother Christopher… don’t… don’t ask. It was my fault. I slipped…” Charlotte’s words were halting, her breath shallow.
Her feeble attempt at an explanation only fanned the flames of Christopher’s anger. Charlotte was on the verge of death, yet she still defended Evelyn, who stood there with ice in her veins.
It was too much. A firestorm of rage erupted within him, consuming every rational thought.
With a swift motion, his hand rose and the sound of the slap echoed through the room.
“Snap!”