The Billionaire's Silent Wife (Ryan and Eve) novel Chapter 81

81 THE LAST EVENING IN WESTWOOD 2

Ryan stood there, expression unreadable, jaw clenched, eyes flicking between them with an icy precision

that made the room feel ten degrees colder.

Oliver straightened unconsciously, his posture stiffening.

Ryan walked toward them slowly, every step filled with a calmness that made Eve panic inside. Ryan never

exploded immediately. He simmered, quiet, lethal, calculating.

“Mr. Macintire,” Ryan said in a polite tone wrapped in steel. “I didn’t realise we had company.”

Oliver cleared his throat. “I didn’t expect to run into Eve here. I just wanted to,”

“catch up?” Ryan finished, lips curving in a controlled smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Understandable. My wife makes an impression.”

The word wife was a deliberate punch.

Oliver bristled.

Eve’s heartbeat hammered in her ears.

“Ryan,” she began.

But Ryan’s gaze softened briefly, only for her, then hardened as he looked at Oliver again.

“You’ve had your moment,” he said calmly. “Now excuse us.”

Oliver looked like he wanted to argue, but Mitre appeared suddenly, clearing his throat loudly.

“Señor,” Mitre said to Oliver in a warning tone. “I think it’s best you leave now.”

Oliver hesitated, then nodded, his eyes lingering on Eve one last time.

“If you ever need help,” he said quietly, “you know where to find me.”

Ryan’s hand closed around Eve’s waist before the last syllable left Oliver’s mouth.

“Good night, Mr. Macintire,” Ryan said, voice like velvet over a blade.

Oliver walked out, reluctantly, regretfully.

The moment he was gone, Ryan’s grip loosened, but the tension vibrating through him didn’t.

Eve turned to him. “Ryan, nothing,”

“I know,” he said, surprising her. “I heard enough.”

Her eyes widened. “You… you did?”

He nodded once. “I’m not angry at you.”

Her breath shook with relief.

BE THE LAST EVENING IN WESTWOOD 2

Ryan leaned in slightly, voice softer, lower.

+25 Points

“But let him look at you like that again,” he murmured, brushing a thumb over her cheek, “and I won’t be as polite next time.”

Her stomach fluttered.

“Ryan…”

He pulled her closer, not violently, not possessively, but with a certainty that left her breathless.

“You’re mine,” he said quietly, not as a threat but a vow. “And I’m yours. No one else is part of this story.”

Her chest tightened with something warm and terrifying.

The restaurant buzzed around them. Camila peeked from the kitchen, wiping her hands on an apron,

watching the scene with barely disguised curiosity. Tiff was gripping another waitress by the arm and

whispering frantically. Mitre nodded in approval like he always expected this.

Eve exhaled shakily.

Ryan tilted her chin up, eyes burning into hers.

“Let’s go upstairs,” he whispered.

Her heart pounded.

Upstairs.

Upstairs with him.

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