My Husband Never Dies - Chapter 45

Her voice was barely a whisper, teeth clenched as her trembling hands locked together. The duke raised a brow, then smoothed her gleaming blonde hair with surprising tenderness before turning to the door.

“You may enter.”

“Yes, sir!”

Only after receiving permission did Laura step inside, carrying a silver tray. A vintage glass bottle gleamed with golden liquor, and a smaller, more delicate glass sat neatly beside it.

The drink she had prepared with death in mind now sat between them on the table. Laura placed a glass in front of each of them, then took the empty dishes and quietly withdrew with a bow.

“Eve.”

The nickname rolled sweetly off Calix’s tongue as he continued in a soft, almost lazy tone.

“It won’t make a difference anyway.”

“Bullshxt! Don’t give me that — just answer me! Are you… do you actually know what I’m thinking right now? Huh? Is that it?”

The duke narrowed his eyes, watching her in silence. A heavy, stifling stillness settled over the room.

She bit down hard on her dry, pale lips. Just as a bead of blood began to form, he reached out. His thumb brushed her mouth — firm at first, pressing the wound — and when he pulled away, both the blood and the pain had vanished as if they’d never existed.

“No.”

“Liar! You do know!”

She screamed, the words tearing from her throat like a raw nerve. His blue eyes met hers — calm, gentle, and unbearably tender.

It made her skin crawl.

Damn it. This plan had been doomed from the start. Of course it was. Attacking without knowing the full extent of that thing’s powers — how could that ever have worked?

And then he spoke.

“Eve. ‘You’ don’t know.”

His voice was calm — truthful, without a trace of mockery. When their eyes met again, the corners of his eyes softened into a smile.

“That’s why you’re so very special to me.”

As the golden liquor flowed into the empty glass, Calix’s voice remained smooth, unhurried.

“Just to show you — this sort of thing? I can drink it down anytime.”

Before the last syllable had even cooled in the air, he downed the glass in one clean motion. No grimace, no sound. He placed the emptied glass on the table with eerie grace.

Evelyn’s breath caught in her throat.

He knew.

He knew exactly what that was and still, he drank it. Just like on their wedding night, when he’d accepted her poisoned tea without blinking.

That face, still as picture-perfect as ever, wore a beautiful, tranquil smile. And as Evelyn reeled in silence, he drank her in — her horror, her confusion, and her stunned disbelief.

“Eve.”

He whispered it like a lover’s name in the dark. Lifting the wine bottle, Calix poured the red wine into both of their glasses, filling them halfway without a drop spilled.

Clink.

The sound of glass striking glass rang out like a chime in the hush. Evelyn hadn’t moved. It was Calix who raised his own glass and gently tapped it against hers.

“Not planning on drinking more?”

He asked, still standing, looking down at her with that same unreadable calm.

Frozen stiff, Evelyn said nothing, too stunned to even breathe. Calix tilted his head slightly, a single corner of his mouth lifting. Then, slowly, leisurely, he brought the crimson wine to his lips.

After swirling the fragrant wine in his mouth and swallowing, he called out to her fondly.

“Eve.”

Calix set the glass down and leaned in. Evelyn watched, transfixed, as that chiseled face moved steadily closer. She still couldn’t breathe properly, like a fish flung out of water, gills opening and closing in vain.

“Already drunk?” he murmured.

Then his lips brushed hers. They were so soft, curved like a crescent moon, and pressing down with surprising tenderness. A warm, slick tongue slipped past the seam of her lips with practiced ease.

“Mmph!”

Evelyn gasped sharply, instinct overriding the haze clouding her mind. Air rushed into her lungs, and at last, clarity began to pierce through the fog. Her thoughts, dulled and distant, slowly reassembled themselves.

One of Calix’s hands gripped the armrest; the other wrapped around her waist, pulling her in as he deepened the kiss. It was like biting into overripe fruit, soft and giving, only to suddenly shift into something more forceful. Like chewing through a piece of rare steak.

A wet sound echoed through the room, shameless and intimate in those slow, deliberate sucking sounds of their lips and tongue.

“Ah…”

Overwhelmed by a situation she couldn’t begin to make sense of, Evelyn’s rational mind screamed at her to wake up, to resist, to run. But her body, already too used to the Duke’s touch, was no longer listening. It moved on its own — hesitant, expectant, and treacherously eager.