The Almighty Tycoon Reclaims His Queen

Evelyn gripped the steering wheel of the Aston Martin until her knuckles turned completely white. The rain in Midtown Manhattan was not just falling. It was violently attacking the windshield. The wipers slashed back and forth frantically, but they could not clear the sheets of water fast enough. The gray afternoon sky felt like a heavy concrete ceiling pressing down on her chest. On the passenger seat, her phone screen lit up. She glanced away from the road for a fraction of a second. The text message from her father glared at her in harsh black letters. Final notice on the liquidation. We are out of time, Eve. A sharp, physical pain seized her chest. Her lungs stopped working. The air in the expensive leather interior of the car suddenly felt too thick to breathe. Her stomach twisted into a tight, painful knot. She closed her eyes for one desperate second, trying to force oxygen back into her body. When her eyes snapped open, the traffic light ahead had turned solid red. A massive, custom black Rolls Royce Phantom was already stopped dead at the crosswalk. It looked like a solid wall of black steel. Evelyn's pupils dilated. Her right foot slammed down on the brake pedal with all her body weight. The tires screamed against the flooded asphalt. The sound was high-pitched and sickening. Momentum threw her violently forward. The seatbelt locked instantly, biting hard into her collarbone and cutting off her air supply. A heavy, deafening crunch filled the cabin. The front of the Aston Martin smashed into the rear bumper of the Rolls Royce. The impact sent a violent shockwave up Evelyn's spine. Her teeth clicked together hard. Then, dead silence. The only sound left was the relentless drumming of the rain against the metal roof. Evelyn rested her forehead against the steering wheel. Her brain was completely blank. Her hands shook so hard she could not unbuckle her seatbelt for a long moment. She slowly lifted her head. Through the sweeping wiper blades, she saw the crushed rear bumper of the ten-million-dollar vehicle ahead of her. A cold wave of absolute despair washed over her skin. The driver's side door of the Rolls Royce opened. A large man in a sharp black suit stepped out. He opened a large black umbrella and walked toward her car. His face showed zero emotion. Evelyn took a shaky breath. She pushed her door open and stepped out into the storm. The freezing rain instantly soaked through her thin silk blouse. The wet fabric clung to her skin, making her shiver violently. She wrapped her arms around herself and walked toward the driver. "I am so sorry," Evelyn said, her voice shaking from the cold. "The rain was blinding. I will contact my insurance company right away." The driver stopped in front of her. His cold eyes scanned her soaked clothes. "Ma'am," he said, his voice completely flat. "You just rear-ended Mr. Hawthorne's personal vehicle. Your insurance will not cover this." Evelyn's heart physically skipped a beat. The blood drained from her face. Her fingertips went numb. The name Hawthorne felt like a physical blow to her stomach. A nameless, suffocating panic crawled up her spine. The driver did not look at her again. He turned and walked to the rear passenger window of the Rolls Royce. The glass was tinted pitch black. He knocked twice, respectfully. The heavy window rolled down exactly two inches. A scent drifted out into the cold rain. It was a mix of premium cigar smoke and sharp cedarwood. Evelyn's knees went weak. She knew that scent. It hit her nervous system like a lightning strike. The face of the man she had brutally abandoned three years ago flashed behind her eyes. A low, raspy laugh came from the dark gap in the window. The sound was dripping with dark amusement and absolute control. It pierced straight through the noise of the rain and nailed Evelyn to the pavement. "Bring her here." The command was short. Cruel. It carried a weight that made the air around them feel heavy. The driver stepped back and gestured with his hand. Evelyn's feet felt like they were set in concrete. Every step she took toward that black window felt like a march to her own execution. Her pulse hammered in her throat. When she finally stopped next to the window, the heavy rear door suddenly swung open from the inside. The force of it almost knocked her backward into the flooded street. A pair of long legs in custom Italian leather shoes stepped out. A massive black umbrella snapped open, instantly blocking out the gray sky above Evelyn's head. Julian Hawthorne stood in front of her. He wore a perfectly tailored high-end suit. He looked down at her like a predator looking at a trapped animal. His presence was suffocating. Evelyn instinctively took a half-step back. Julian's hand shot out. His large fingers wrapped around her wrist like an iron vice. His palm was impossibly warm and completely dry against her freezing, rain-slicked skin. The contrast made her gasp. His dark eyes slowly dragged down her wet body. The look was sharp enough to cut. Three years of pure hatred and sick possessiveness burned in his pupils. "Three years, Evelyn," Julian said, his voice a dark rumble. He glanced at the wrecked Aston Martin. "And your taste has only gotten cheaper." Evelyn gritted her teeth against the sharp pain in her wrist. She tried to pull her arm back. "Let me go. It was an accident. I will pay for the damages." Julian did not let go. Instead, he jerked her forward. Her chest crashed hard against his solid chest. Their breath mingled. She could feel the heat radiating off his body. "Pay for it?" Julian lowered his head. His lips brushed against the shell of her ear. His voice was a demonic whisper. "With what? Your new fiancé's allowance?" Evelyn's face turned completely pale. Julian turned his head slightly, ignoring her shock. He looked at his driver. "Lock down the street, Gus. She doesn't take a single step without my permission."