?<strong>Chapter 490:</strong>


    For such a reserved, conservative woman to surrender herself so freely in such a setting—it could only mean one thing. She loved him.


    Daxton’s chest tightened painfully, and he took an involuntary step back, retreating into the shadows.


    Daxton’s hand slid to the edge of the sink. His fingers curled tightly around the ss diffuser sitting there. The pressure mounted as the emotions he’d kept bottled up surged to the surface.


    The diffuser shattered under his grip, shards slicing into his palm. Blood began to drip onto the sink and floor, the crimson stark against the white porcin.


    But Daxton didn’t even flinch. His lips curled into a faint, bitter smile as he stood motionless, letting the pain ground him.


    Daxton hadn’t realized how much time had passed until he saw Kristopher carry Carrie into the elevator. Only then did he finally turn and leave.


    Rather than heading home, he found himself at the VIP Club. As a regr client, he usually visited for business, never onceing on his own. Tonight, though, he couldn’t bring himself to go home alone.


    Seeing Daxton’s troubled state, the manager decided to call for a woman to attend to him. She stood tall and slim, her graceful curves entuated by a moon-white dress that exuded both elegance and a sense of quiet dignity. Her alluring eyes added an extrayer of timeless, sophisticated beauty. She seemed like the perfectpanion for someone as polished and schrly as Daxton.


    “Madilyn, make sure to look after Mr. Garcia,” the manager instructed, giving her a quick nod before he shut the door behind him.


    As Madilyn stepped into the room and saw Daxton’s face clearly, her heart skipped a beat. He was lounging on the sofa, eyes gently shut, his expression calm and peaceful. There was something almost otherworldly about him, like a gentleman from another time, radiating an effortless elegance that made him stand out in a way she wasn’t used to.


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    In her profession, she rarely got to choose her clients, and most of the men were the typical, middle-aged types—greasy, with no real charm. But Daxton was different. He was strikingly handsome. She even thought that, had she the means, she wouldn’t mind paying to have a drink with someone like him.


    She sat beside him, uncorked a bottle of wine, poured herself a ss, and gently asked, “Mr. Garcia, what’s troubling you today?”


    Daxton kept his eyes shut, trying to rx, but his mind wouldn’t let him. All he could see was the image of Carrie and Kristopher locked in a passionate kiss. But as he focused, that image began to shift, and Kristopher’s face slowly morphed into his own.


    Madilyn poured the wine, and seeing Daxton’s eyes still closed, she cautiously ced her hand on his thigh, caressing it lightly. “Mr. Garcia, if you’re feeling low, I could join you for a drink.”


    Daxton’s eyes flew open, his once calm gaze now sharp and icy. The calm and gentle demeanor he had shown earlier was nowpletely gone, as though he had transformed into someone entirely different.


    Without a word, he reached out and gripped her wrist firmly, his eyes narrowing into something darker and full of resentment, like a storm ready to break.


    Madilyn may not have looked anything like Carrie, but there was a familiar coldness to her that reminded him of the same distant, untouchable air. Yet, instead of using that aloofness to protect herself or stand strong, she was using it to lower herself, trying to seduce him.


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