EVELYN

CHAPTER TEN

Evelyn's POV

I felt disgust washing over me as tears streamed down my cheeks.
My makeup was smeared, my mascara running down my cheeks in black streaks.. my body shaking with sobs
My eyes had become red and puffy, but still Langston held me down.
He grabbed my hands and held them still, staring down at me as I continued to struggle against him, pleading for release. His arms were steel, and as he slowly lowered my hands back to the bed, crossed my wrists over and imprisoned them in one of his own hands above my head, there was nothing that I could do.
Not even yell. My throat hurt from crying, noone came. Noone heard me. I was hopeless. At the mercy of a man old enough to be my father.
His cock was rock hard as he ground it against my ass. Making me shut my eyes bitterly.
I was disgusted.
By him, by myself, by what he did to me. Shamelessly.
"Please... stop," I begged, my voice barely audible, i muttered, with the last amount of air pumping from my lungs.
"Just stop... I beg of you."

My eyes were blurry from tears, and my throat hurt from screaming. I felt helpless, trapped, and scared. The pain was overwhelming, and I just wanted it to end.

I tried to move, to escape, but I was frozen in place. My mind was racing, but my body wouldn't respond. I felt weak..my eyes heavy, but still I was given deaf ears.

I cried until my eyes felt heavy, weighed down by the sheer volume of tears. My sobs grew weaker, my body exhausted.

As the tears slowed to a trickle, I felt my eyelids growing heavier, my vision blurring. I tried to fight it, to stay awake, to yell atleast,  but it was no use.

My head spun, my body swaying precariously before crashing to the ground. Everything went dark, and I felt myself being pulled under, consumed by the darkness.

I was aware of my body relaxing, my muscles releasing their tension as I slipped into unconsciousness.
"M..mister... L.an..g..s.t..o..n.. Som..some...somebody..h..hel..hel.." my pale voice trailed.

And then, nothing.

......................................................

The laughter and clinking of glasses echoed through the grand halls of the estate as the party continued downstairs. Guests mingled and networked, a collection of society’s finest: businessmen in sharp suits, well-dressed socialites with flawless hair and bright smiles, and families trying to maintain an air of perfection. The night was young, and the house glittered with luxury. The atmosphere was a display of wealth, a celebration of power, status, and success.

Evelyn's father stood at the center of it all, his voice booming over the music, commanding the attention of his business partners. The deal was moving forward—everything was falling into place for the next step in his empire. His smile was wide, his hands gesturing as he spoke, but there was a flicker of something behind his eyes. A growing sense of annoyance, though few could notice.

Evelyn had disappeared.

At first, no one noticed her absence. The rhythm of the party continued, the conversations moving fluidly from one person to the next. But as time passed, and the party began to feel just a bit too full, someone finally noticed.

"Where's Evelyn?" Margaret, James' wife, asked, scanning the room with an air of mild concern.

James, distracted by a conversation about a new investment opportunity, paused and turned toward her. “What do you mean, where is she? She was just here a few minutes ago.”

“She’s not downstairs anymore,” Margaret said, glancing at their son Max, who was chatting with a few of his friends near the staircase. "Have you seen her, Max?"

Max, his eyes still on the group of his friends, didn’t respond immediately. He looked up and shrugged. “She said she was tired and went up to her room.”

James’ face immediately darkened. The irritation was palpable. His grip on his drink tightened, his jaw clenched. A daughter was supposed to participate in these things, especially when people of importance were gathered in the house. She had responsibilities. To him, to the family, to the guests. But she had left, and that didn’t sit well with him.

Max, still seemingly unconcerned, continued talking, but his father wasn’t listening. Instead, James excused himself from the group, walking briskly toward the stairs, his thoughts turning darker with each step.
Reaching the foot of the stairs, James paused for a moment. He was still fuming, trying to keep his cool, but it was hard to ignore the nagging feeling in the back of his mind. How dare she?
It was disrespectful—he was certain of it. This was no time to be playing coy, not with this kind of gathering. What did she think she was doing?

Before he could go any further, Margaret stepped forward, her hand on his arm, her voice soft but firm. "James," she said quietly. "Let her be. She’s still adjusting. This is a lot for her. You know how she gets."

James shot her a sharp look, but his anger was mixed with something else, something like uncertainty. Deep down, he didn’t want to make a scene. She was just a girl, after all—still learning how to navigate all of this. But still, it rankled him. The disrespect. The audacity to simply leave.

Margaret’s eyes softened as she continued, “She’s new to all this. She’ll come around. Let her be, please. She’s probably just overwhelmed.”

He glanced at her, his expression tight. "She better not start acting like this regularly," he muttered, mostly to himself.

Margaret, in the calm manner she always adopted in such situations, gave him a knowing look. "James, just let it go. Don’t go up there now. It won’t do any good."

After a long, uncomfortable pause, James reluctantly nodded. He couldn’t exactly argue with his wife’s reasoning. But the tension in the air was undeniable, both in his body and in the quiet storm swirling in his mind.