Nine C-Section, Nine Dead Sons, One Escape novel Chapter 33

Chapter 1

The whole town of Ashland had a bet going right before Christmas.

Everyone was placing wagers on whether I’d finally get picked in the draw whether Jonathan Hartwell would finally take me home for the holidays.

See, the Hartwells had this rule: a new wife wasn’t really family until she’d sat through Christmas dinner with all of them.

Five years of marriage, and I’d never been picked once. I was the punchline of the entire city.

This year’s winner was some club dancer. She was straddling Jon’s lap when she tossed the red lotto stick at my feet like a challenge.

The whole room held their breath, waiting for me to lose it, same as the last four years, same as always. Waiting for me to go for her throat.

But I didn’t scream. Didn’t fight.

Just said, quiet and calm, “Congratulations.”

Jon leaned in, breath hot against my ear, that smug smile in his voice. “See, Evelyn? You’re finally learning. You’re almost ready to be a real wife.”

I dropped my gaze, snapped the lotto stick in half without changing my expression.

He didn’t know. About the deal I’d made with my brother five years ago.

The deal that was up now.

My brother was coming to take me home.

***

The crowd ate it up when Jon slid that stunning emerald bracelet onto the dancer’s wrist, Tiffany Brooks,

that was her name.

Same bracelet he’d won for me at auction not long ago. “For your birthday, Evie,” he’d said, all smiles and

promises.

And now some random girl was wearing it.

Something sharp dug into my chest.

Jon must’ve noticed my face. He pulled out a necklace, all casual about it. “Not your luck, babe. That’s what the winner gets.”

“But hey, you played nice tonight. That deserves a reward.”

The necklace was emerald too, a cheap one, though. The edges weren’t even polished right. It bit into my

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skin when he put it on me, and I blinked back tears from the sting.

Tiffany came over with a wine glass, all tiny steps toward Jon.

Then her heel caught, and the whole glass of red went right in my face.

Dead silence.

Every woman who’d ever won the draw had pulled some stunt like this. And every time, I’d lost it. Screaming, fighting, once even ended up in the ER.

Tiffany dropped to her knees at Jon’s feet, dress slipping, eyes all wet and pitiful. “Mrs. Hartwell, I swear, it was an accident! Throw a drink in my face if you want, a hundred drinks, I don’t care, just please don’t be mad at me!”

Jon’s throat moved. He shifted, half-covering her without thinking, like he was bracing for me to attack.

I just stood there for a second. Then I took a napkin and calmly wiped my face.

“Get up. I’m not mad.”

“Those heels are ridiculous. No wonder you tripped. I’ll have my assistant grab you some flats.”

Jon froze. One eyebrow went up.

The shoes came. I bent down and put them on Tiffany’s feet myself.

Then I noticed her bare neck. Took off the necklace he’d just given me and fastened it around hers.

“Here, this’ll look way better on you. Wear it to Christmas dinner with Jon’s grandma, gives you a little something extra.”

She looked genuinely confused by the kindness.

Jon just frowned. “Evie. Who said you could give away something I gave you?”

I met his eyes. “She’s not exactly a stranger, is she? Since you’re having Christmas dinner with her?”

He opened his mouth. Closed it.

My clothes were still wet from the wine, sticky against my skin. “Excuse me. I need to change.”

I felt his eyes on my back the whole way to the door.

The second it clicked shut, everything I’d been holding in hit me. My chest ached.

I managed to get dressed. Then my phone buzzed.

Alex Ashford: [He didn’t take you home again, Evie. You

lost. Come home with me.]

My eyes burned. Tears spilled over.

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Before I could answer, cold hands slid around my waist.

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