Her Secret Identity: The Tycoon’s Unplanned Wife

The autumn wind whipped across the manicured lawns of the Long Island private country club. Evelyn sat on a wrought-iron bench near the grand entrance. She pulled her thin cardigan tighter around her shoulders, shivering slightly. She had just finished a highly classified, two-hour meeting with a senior medical researcher regarding a new targeted therapy drug for her own rapidly expanding biotech venture. Her phone vibrated in her pocket. She pulled it out. An unknown number flashed on the screen. Evelyn's stomach tightened. She knew exactly who it was. Arthur Vance never gave up easily. A cold sneer formed on her lips. She pressed the volume button, muting the call, and tossed the phone into her purse. Tires crunched against the gravel driveway. A massive, armored black Maybach glided smoothly to a stop right in front of her. Evelyn expected the driver to step out. Instead, the heavy rear door swung open. Silas Thorne stepped out into the biting wind. The valets and club staff standing nearby instantly stiffened, holding their breath at the sight of the financial titan. Silas strode toward her. His dark brows were pulled together in a tight frown. He stopped right in front of her. His eyes dropped to her trembling shoulders. Without a single word, Silas shrugged off his bespoke suit jacket. He leaned forward and draped the heavy, warm fabric over Evelyn's shoulders. The sudden heat enveloped her. The jacket smelled intensely of him-a masculine blend of sharp cedarwood, dark tobacco, and a hint of expensive cologne. Evelyn's breath hitched. She looked up at him, startled by the sudden proximity. Silas's gaze shifted downward, landing on her legs. He remembered the society whispers. The rumors that the Vance girl was crippled, struggling to walk after a severe accident. Before Evelyn could open her mouth to say she was perfectly fine to walk, Silas moved. He bent down. One of his massive arms slid smoothly behind her knees. His other arm wrapped firmly around her back. "Oh!" Evelyn let out a sharp, breathless gasp as her feet left the ground. She was suddenly airborne. Instinct took over. Her hands shot up, not to grab his shirt in a panic, but to brace against his shoulders, her palms flat and steady, instantly finding a point of perfect balance. Beneath the thin cotton, she felt the rock-hard tension of his chest muscles. He was incredibly strong. He held her weight effortlessly, as if she weighed nothing at all. Silas carried her toward the open door of the Maybach. Evelyn's heart hammered a frantic rhythm against her ribs. She was pressed so tightly against him that she could feel the steady, powerful thud of his own heartbeat. Silas lowered her gently into the cavernous back seat of the car. His hands lingered on her waist for a fraction of a second longer than necessary before he pulled away. He walked around the back of the car and slid into the seat beside her. The heavy door slammed shut, sealing them inside. The spacious cabin suddenly felt suffocatingly small. The air crackled with a heavy, unspoken tension. Evelyn smoothed down her skirt, her fingers slightly unsteady. "Thank you," she said, her voice lower than usual. Silas stared straight ahead at the privacy partition. "It is my duty as your husband to ensure you aren't struggling," he said. His voice was rough, like gravel scraping against stone. The Maybach accelerated, heading back toward Manhattan. The streetlights from the highway flickered across their faces in alternating flashes of gold and shadow. Evelyn rested her hands on her lap. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Silas's gaze darting toward her hands. He was watching her. To test him, Evelyn slowly pulled her hands back, sliding them into the dark shadows of her lap. Silas's jaw clenched so hard a muscle ticked visibly in his cheek. He immediately tore his eyes away and stared out the window into the dark night. The silence between them grew heavier, thick with a strange, confusing heat.