**Chapter 55** The frigid night air swept through the car, tousling Avery’s hair and soothing her frayed nerves. Elliot had made it clear: he was not destined to be her only choice. With that revelation, hope flickered within her. As long as she stood firm on her decision to divorce, perhaps he would ultimately relent. The anxiety that had gripped her eased into a gentle comfort, buoyed by this newfound conviction. Upon arrival at the mansion, the ever-dutiful Mrs. Cooper and the driver assisted Elliot from the car. Satisfied that he was in good hands, Avery retreated silently to her room, her footsteps muffled against the marble floor. It wasn’t long before Mrs. Cooper appeared at her door, a worried expression etched across her face. “Madam, Master Elliot refuses to let anyone help him. Perhaps you should give it a try! All you need to do is wipe his face and help him change his clothes,” she urged, her tone mingling concern and desperation. Wipe his face and change his clothes? Those tasks hardly phased her when it came to someone incapacitated, but Elliot was far from that state. Certainly, he had indulged a bit too much, but conscious he was—and not without a fiery temper. Their argument in the car still echoed in her mind. “Why not let him sleep as he is?” Avery suggested, folding her arms defiantly. “He can shower and change himself in the morning. Just let him be.” “How could we possibly allow that, Madam?” Mrs. Cooper exclaimed, her eyes wide with disbelief. She took a step closer, her voice dropping to an urgent whisper. “Come, let’s just try! If it’s you doing it, he might resist less.” As Avery reached the master bedroom, its door swung wide open, revealing Elliot sprawled across the bed, lost in a slumber that seemed deep yet tumultuous. With a gentle but firm push, Mrs. Cooper nudged Avery inside. “Master Elliot has had far too much to drink, and waking up in the middle of the night could lead to him being sick. It’s safer if someone stays with him tonight,” she insisted. Avery felt a frown crease her brow, the protest she had been about to voice vanishing in the face of Mrs. Cooper’s logic. The gravity of Elliot’s recovery weighed heavily in the air around them, and Avery knew she couldn’t turn her back on that. “You can wait until he’s fallen asleep a bit deeper before wiping his face. If you can’t manage to change him into his pajamas, at least help him undress so he can rest more comfortably…” Mrs. Cooper continued, her voice trailing off as she moved toward the room’s exit. Avery’s head felt like it might explode; the intrusion of her thoughts was overwhelming. Once she was alone, she found herself standing at the bedside, gazing down at Elliot. His eyes were shut tight, the gentle rise and fall of his chest betraying a troubled mind. A blush adorned his cheeks—how much had he really drunk? Seeking a solution, Avery slipped into the bathroom, returning shortly with a bowl of warm water. She set it down on the nightstand and positioned herself at the edge of the bed, her fingers moving with determination as she began to unbutton Elliot’s shirt. Suddenly, his reflexive grip fastened around her arm, eyes snapping open with fierce caution. “Let go,” she demanded, locking her gaze with his. “Or remove it yourself.” But Elliot’s body seemed too heavy with intoxication for him to fight her command. A dull headache throbbed in his temples as his senses dulled; he relinquished her arm, granting her passage to remove his shirt entirely and loosen his belt. Yet, just as she braced for the next step—removing his trousers—Elliot’s grip tightened painfully around her wrist, his voice laced with sudden anger. “Who let you into my room? Who told you to take off my clothes? Are you always this audacious?” Avery stumbled back, caught off guard. Was this the intoxicating influence of alcohol, sending him spiraling into such rage? She realized with a shudder that he likely wouldn’t remember any of this in the morning. In that instant, a surge of confidence washed over her. She brushed aside his hand with determination, seizing hold of his waistband, and with a few forceful yanks, she offloaded his trousers to the floor. Elliot stared at her incredulously, a storm cloud brewing in his eyes, yet she paid him no heed. With deft movements, she tossed the offending clothing into the laundry basket. Next, she retrieved a towel from the bowl of warm water, wringing it gently before dabbing it upon Elliot’s flushed face, the warmth of the cloth contrasting sharply with the tension crackling in the air. In that moment, the night felt suspended—fixated on the battle between their wills, tangled in unspoken truths and unyielding desires.