**Chapter 12** The clock struck nine as the stars twinkled in the night sky. Dry leaves crunched beneath her heels, rustling like whispers in the cool autumn breeze. Avery stepped out of the cab, shivering as the chilling air enveloped her. Her heart raced in a tempest of nerves as she clutched her purse like a lifeline, hurrying toward the imposing facade of the Foster mansion. Draped in a sultry red dress with delicate straps, she was an enchanting vision against the night. Earlier that day, however, she had dressed in simple tees and pants, and the shift in attire seemed to fan the flames of jealousy in Elliot’s heart. The corners of his lips tightened as he thought about her allure directed at other men. Only when she was poised to change her shoes in the foyer did she notice him seated on the couch, a specter of darkness in his black shirt. His countenance was as frigid and impassive as the chilling wind outside, prompting her to avert her gaze quickly. Once her shoes were on, an uncomfortable hesitation washed over her. Should she extend a greeting or remain silent? After all, he did hand her a pack of tissues that morning—a small gesture that suddenly felt laden with unspoken tension. Taking a deep breath, she ventured into the living room, her heart thumping a frantic rhythm against her chest. The room felt eerily quiet tonight. Where was Mrs. Cooper? Usually, her presence provided a comforting buffer in moments like these. “Avery,” Elliot’s voice sliced through the silence, cold and commanding. She froze, the softness in his tone belying the force it carried. He was not a man one could ignore, especially in this cavernous space they shared alone. “What is it?” she replied, her voice slightly shaky as she glanced at him. “Come here,” he ordered, the chilling authority in his tone sending shivers down her spine. His fierce gaze ignited an involuntary fire of fear and complicity within her, compelling her feet to move against her will. Despite his wheelchair’s constraints, a sense of danger lingered like smoke in the air. As she approached, a tempest of emotions collided within her. Closer now, she could see the turmoil behind his unwavering façade. “Is this where we discuss divorce?” she blurted out, the words escaping with a mixture of defiance and desperation. Elliot’s brow furrowed, another wave of anger washing over him as he detected the odor of wine swirling around her. She had been drinking. He sharply lifted his gaze, the disgust unmistakable as he grasped her slender wrist with a grip that felt like steel. “Did you drink with someone? Did you enjoy yourself?” Pain erupted in her wrist as she struggled against him. “Let go! You’re hurting me!” she gasped, tears brimming in her eyes. Each attempt to release herself only tightened his hold, the look in his eyes a storm of fury and disdain. “I asked if you had a good time! Answer me!” he snapped, fury igniting within him as he observed her distress. “Good time? I have no idea what you’re talking about!” she cried out, frustration mounting as hot tears began to streak down her cheeks. “I didn’t drink, Elliot! I didn’t!” she protested, her voice now thick with emotion and fear. His throat tightened, a wave of conflicted emotions coursed through him. Without warning, he pulled her into his embrace, his face against her neck, inhaling the delicate fragrance that lingered. But there was no trace of alcohol on her skin. Avery stood petrified, every inch of her tense against the proximity of his body, his breath branding her thoughts. As she felt his presence enveloping her, the moment seemed to stretch, fear mingling with an inexplicable thrill. But his earlier aggression lingered like a specter between them, and the sharp pang of unresolved anger simmered beneath her skin. Wresting away from the moment, she resolved to reclaim a fragment of her autonomy. With a sudden burst of courage, her fingers found the fabric of his trousers and pinched him hard. While she steeled herself for the consequences of her boldness, he seemed unperturbed, his bewildered expression only fueling her resolve. “Your clothes reek of another man’s alcohol. Are you going to remove them, or must I?” The roughness of his voice sent tremors through her, thick with threat. Avery’s heart stilled in disbelief. Did he truly expect her to undress here and now? As clarity returned, she pushed against his chest with desperation, seeking escape, but his grip tightened as he hoisted her effortlessly, the fabric of her dress surrendering to his strength as he ripped it down the back. A sinister gasp escaped her lips—the night air bite against her exposed skin. “Elliot Foster! You maniac!” she shouted, until he tossed her onto the couch, his icy gaze fixating on her bare shoulders. “Remember your place, Mrs. Foster!” he commanded, shrouded in arrogance. Avery clutched the remnants of her torn dress, emotional turmoil bubbling within her as she fought against the sting of tears pooling in her eyes. Just that day, Shaun had orchestrated this meeting, suggesting the very dress that was now ruin. She thought of the bank managers who had attempted to ply her with liquor, persisting even as she brushed them away. Her voice trembled with conviction and pain as she shot back, “I don’t care about being Mrs. Foster! Don’t pin your ridiculous standards on me!” With defiance fueling her, she gathered her disheveled hair and stormed toward her room, slamming the door behind her, leaving Elliot in his storm of emotions, a flicker of something raw cracking through his stoic façade. He had lost control. A surge of frustration washed over him as he remembered the hours spent waiting, hoping she would reach out for him instead of fluttering to other men under the guise of social obligation. Even without her declarations, he felt the distance growing steadily between them, knew she viewed him as more fearsome than the Devil himself. His phone buzzed, brightening the dim room with a message from Chad. [Mr. Foster, did Miss Tate make it home safely? I saw her out drinking with Ben. She had a spat with the bank managers and left before dinner.] A shadow of gloom settled over Elliot. Whether she drank or not made little difference; the very fact that she’d presented herself to those men in such a way was enough to stoke the flames of rage within him. The last straw had been drawn. Moments later, a cautious knock broke through the weight of the silence. “Madam, Master Elliot asked me to bring you something to eat. I didn’t know what you would like, so I made you a bowl of soup,” Mrs. Cooper announced, placing a tray delicately on the desk. Avery had washed away the day’s turmoil, using every drop of water to cleanse the remnants of Elliot’s harshness, but the memories of his sudden outbursts clung to her like a shadow. “What does he mean by this?” she murmured, staring warily at the steaming bowl of soup that sat before her. “Master Elliot must feel remorse for how he spoke to you earlier. His mood has shifted markedly since you retreated to your room,” Mrs. Cooper offered gently, picking up the red dress from the floor. “Would you like me to have this mended?” “It’s fine. I borrowed it. Please return the tag to him,” Avery replied, her heart heavy with indignation. “Oh…” Mrs. Cooper replied softly. Avery drew a deep breath, her voice trembling as she added, “I can’t afford to pay for it.” “Alright. Do take care of yourself, Madam. Once you finish the soup, you should rest. Madam Rosalie will be discharged tomorrow, and Master Elliot will be taking you to the old mansion with him.” The weight of tomorrow hung heavy in the air, a blend of uncertainty and apprehension tightening its grasp around her heart.