Her Secret Identity: The Tycoon’s Unplanned Wife

The afternoon sun poured through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the penthouse sunroom.

Evelyn sat at a small glass table, pouring tea for her best friend, Harper Sinclair.

Harper took a bite of a Ladurée macaron and looked around the luxurious space.

"This view is insane, Evie," Harper said. Then, she leaned in, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "So? How was the wedding night? Did the Ice King melt?"

Evelyn took a slow sip of her Earl Grey tea.

"We slept in the same bed. We didn't touch," Evelyn said flatly.

Harper's jaw dropped. She nearly choked on her macaron.

"Are you kidding me?" Harper shrieked. "Silas Thorne is a healthy, red-blooded man. You are gorgeous. There is no way he is immune to you."

"He seems to be," Evelyn replied, staring at her teacup.

"Test him," Harper urged, tapping her manicured nail against the glass table. "Make the first move. See where his breaking point is."

Evelyn thought the idea was ridiculous at first.

But after Harper left, a stubborn seed of curiosity took root in her mind.

She wanted to know if her husband truly found her repulsive.

At nine o'clock, Evelyn asked the maid to light several expensive rose-scented candles in the master bedroom.

She went into the closet and selected a black, French lace nightgown. It clung to her curves and left her shoulders completely bare.

At exactly ten o'clock, she heard the front door open.

Evelyn sat up in bed, a book resting on her lap.

Silas walked into the bedroom.

He stopped dead in his tracks.

The heavy scent of roses filled the air. The dim candlelight flickered across Evelyn's pale skin and the dark lace of her nightgown.

Silas's eyes locked onto her.

His throat worked visibly as he swallowed hard.

Evelyn set her book aside. She looked up at him, her dark eyes soft and inviting.

"Silas," she said softly. "Since we are married... shouldn't we fulfill our obligations to each other?"

The air in the room instantly thickened. It felt hard to breathe.

Silas's eyes turned pitch black. They were wild, hungry, and dangerous.

He took half a step toward the bed.

Evelyn's heart slammed against her ribs.

But then, Silas stopped.

He violently tore his gaze away from her body and stared at the wall.

"No," he said. His voice was a harsh, grating sound.

Evelyn flinched as if he had slapped her.

"Your soft tissue injury hasn't fully healed," Silas said, his tone turning to absolute ice. "You are in no condition for strenuous physical activity."

Evelyn stared at him in shock.

A hot flush of deep humiliation crawled up her neck. Soft tissue injury? The pathetic, clinical excuse was almost laughable coming from a layman. She was a top-tier medical mind; she knew exactly what a healed leg felt like. The utter condescension in his tone stung far more than the physical rejection itself. She bit her lower lip hard to stop it from trembling, suddenly feeling utterly foolish for even trying.

Silas didn't look at her again.

He walked stiffly to the closet, grabbed a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt.

"I will sleep in the guest room tonight," he said to the wall.

He walked out of the bedroom and shut the door firmly behind him.

Evelyn sat alone in the massive bed. She let out a dry, bitter laugh.

He couldn't even stand to be in the same room as her.

Outside in the hallway, Silas leaned his back heavily against the closed door.

He let out a ragged, shaking breath.

He closed his eyes, his hands balling into tight fists at his sides. His knuckles were stark white.

His chest he heave as he fought down the violent, consuming urge to tear that lace off her and claim her.

He wanted her so badly it physically hurt his bones.

But he knew if he touched her now, with his control hanging by a thread, he would lose his mind. He would hurt her.

And he would rather die than cause her pain.