Chapter 282 - 282: You’re Accusing Me

"Miss Clifford, please stop," James groans. "You're accusing me of some awful things—do you want to know the truth?"

"That depends," Jessica says, still hitting him. "Is it the truth, or are you trying to trick me?"

"I didn't drug you," James says, looking deep into her eyes. "When I found you, you flirted with me and started to undress. I immediately knew that something was wrong—you dress provocatively, but I know you don't normally seduce men. I guessed that you'd been drugged and tried to make you take a cold bath, but you refused.

"You told me you needed me. My God, Jessica, no woman has ever talked to me that way before. No woman has ever touched me the way you touched me. I tried to refuse, but there's only so much a man can resist. You started to undress me, and I just—I couldn't say no."

Jessica stares at him in shock and horror. She doesn't want to believe a word he's said, but his face is serious. She can't remember anything from that day, but she knows she can be overbearing. He may be telling the truth, she thinks. But how could he have been so shameless and weak?  

"It's my fault," James whispers. "I should have been stronger. But if you're pregnant, I'll accept full responsibility as the father."

Jessica's heart pounds in her chest, and she says, "Responsibility? Are you offering to take responsibility? You don't even know what that word means! Get out! I can't even look at you right now!"

She points at the door with a trembling hand. James nods slowly and walks out of the bedroom, softly shutting the door behind him. Jessica paces the room, her blood boiling with rage.

"James Moore," she shouts. "What the hell is wrong with you? You have no backbone—you just do whatever I say. I ask you to f.u.c.k me, and you f.u.c.k me. I ask you to leave, and you leave. If I asked you to cut off your own balls, would you do that too?"

If James hears her, he doesn't respond. She continues pacing the room, hating him for his weakness. He's the reason I fought with Jackson, she thinks. He's the reason we broke up. He did this to me just days before Jackson proposed, and now everything is ruined. I was saving myself for Jackson, and James took that away from me.

Evan wakes to a loud booming sound. He rubs his burning eyes and shakes his head. His mouth is dry and cottony, and his head is pounding. He inhales and almost retches: his skin, clothes, and even breath smell like stale whiskey.

He looks out the window and sees fireworks exploding across the dark sky. He groans and rolls onto his side. He blinks and rubs his eyes in surprise—Avery is lying next to him, smiling her shy but seductive smile.

"Avery," he whispers. "Come here."

He reaches for her, but his hand moves through empty air and lands on the mattress. The sheets are cool and crisp—he's alone in the bed. His heart throbs dully in his chest, and he staggers to his feet, looking for the whiskey bottle. I'm an idiot, he thinks. She's never coming back. I'm never going to see her again.

He stumbles to the window and watches the fireworks flash red, silver, blue, and gold. He looks at his reflection in the window pain and groans. His face is pale and sweaty, and there are dark purple circles under his eyes. I look like an addict, he thinks. She's my drug, and now I'm going through withdrawals.  

He presses his forehead to the cool glass of the window and closes his eyes. The fireworks continue to boom overhead, and he walks across the room, looking for the button to call the servants. A male servant rushes into the room within seconds.

"It's too noisy," Evan says.

"Yes, sir," the servant says. "Someone is having some sort of celebration."

"Well, make them stop," Evan snaps. "It's bothering me."

"But—" the servant objects.

"Just do it," Evan roars.

Evan paces the room waiting for the noise to stop. He walks to the window and looks down at the grounds below. Small golden lights flicker and glow as fireflies fly over the lawn. Further from the mansion, bodyguards use a potent flashlight as they sweep a large net through the river.

Evan calls for Robert and asks, "What are they doing?"

"There have been a lot of bottles and other rubbish in the river recently," Robert says. "I asked some of the men to clean it up. I didn't want any pollution on the property."

Evan waves his hand with annoyance and yanks the curtains shut. He sits down on the bed and rubs his aching temples. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees one of the books on the nightstand. The cover looks bent, but he doesn't remember damaging it. He squints and reads the title: What To Expect When Your Wife Is Expecting.

He grabs the book, and it falls open in his hand. Though the room is dark, he can see that the page is a list of tips for making your wife's pregnancy more comfortable. The page is badly wrinkled, and the red ink he used to make notes is smeared.

He flicks on the bedside lamp to get a better look. If I didn't know better, I'd think someone cried while reading this, he thinks. He puts the book down and looks for How To Be A Good Husband, but he can't find it anywhere. He calls Robert again and waits impatiently for the butler to return.

"Where's my book?" he asks.

"Book?" Robert asks. "What book?"

"You know what book," Evan says with a scowl.

"Oh, that book," Robert says. He shuffles his feet nervously and says, "A certain person took it from the house."

Evan blinks and says, "A certain person? You're not making sense."

"Sir, you told me not to say her name," Robert says.

Evan glares at Robert and sweeps the books off the nightstand and onto the floor. Why the hell would she take that book? He wonders. Is she going to give it to Andrew? Did she take it so she and Andrew can laugh at me?

"I thought I told you to burn all her things," Evan says. 

"Sir, the books are yours, not hers," Robert says, bending over to pick up the books.

Evan jumps to his feet and rushes into the bathroom. He grabs the towels that Avery touched, the bar of hand soap that she used, and the tube of toothpaste and throws them in the trash. He stumbles to the closet and looks through the hanging clothes.

There's a white silk nightgown between two of his shirts. Evan touches the nightgown, and for a moment, he sees Avery wearing it. It clings to her curves as she walks toward him, reaching out for a hug. The silk is as soft as the skin on her thighs, and she calls out his name. He blinks and yanks the nightgown off its hanger. 

"I thought I told you to get rid of all her stuff," Evan says.

With a deep sigh, Robert says, "Okay, the nightgown was an oversight. But the rest of these items aren't hers. The towels and soaps and books are all yours."

"But they remind me of her," Evan says. "Everything she ever touched or looked at reminds me of her. I look at a towel, and I see it wrapped around her body; I look at a chair, and I see her sitting in it; I look at a glass, and I see her throwing it at me."

"We can't completely redo the house," Robert says gently. "I can change some of the furniture if you like, but it's impossible to change everything."

Evan groans and puts his head in his hands. She's in every corner of the house and every memory in his mind. Even the fireworks in the sky reminded him of her—dazzling and bright and fiery.

Robert clears his throat and says, "Maybe you need a distraction, sir. Mr. Oliver sent you an invitation. Why don't you take a look and see what it's all about?"

"An invitation to what?" Evan asks.

"Mr. Oliver bought a new luxury yacht," Robert says. "I think he's having a party on it."

Evan looks curiously at Robert. Ever since the truce between the families, Jackson has stopped attacking Evan, but the invitation seems weird. We're not at war right now, but it's not like we're friends, Evan thinks. Why the hell does he want me to see his yacht? What is planning?

"Do you know anything else about it?" Evan asks.

"Well, I've heard that Mr. Clifford was also invited," Robert says, looking down at his shoes. "I know your invitation said you're allowed to bring a plus one. I imagine Mr. Clifford will be able to do the same."

Evan grits his teeth and glares at Robert. Is that why Jackson invited me? Evan wonders. Does he want to torture me by making me spend time with Avery? I can't spend an evening watching her touch him and laugh at his jokes and whisper in his ear.

Robert clears his throat and asks, "So do you want to go?"