Chapter 586

Rosalind's hands trembled visibly as her mind raced. She could feel Everett's piercing gaze burning into her back.

This was her test.

Would he intervene?

Did she still mean anything to him?

If he remained seated, she would finally let go.

"That's right," she declared, her voice quivering just slightly, "I'm taken."

Julian's eyebrow arched mockingly. "And who might this lucky man be?"

"Not your concern," Rosalind snapped. "Just know he towers over you in every way. We're deeply in love!"

The crowd erupted in laughter.

"Ouch, Julian got burned!"

"Looks like someone's striking out tonight."

Julian's smirk turned vicious. "Prove it. Where is this mystery man? If he cared, why would he let his woman work in a dump like this?" He took a swig of whiskey before thrusting the glass toward her. "Drink. If he exists, he'll come running."

He lunged forward, attempting to force the liquor down her throat.

Rosalind twisted away, shoving at his chest. "Get off me! I said no!"

Amber liquid splashed across her blouse, leaving dark stains on the fabric. The spectators howled with laughter.

"Still no white knight? Guess she was lying!"

"Julian's not so bad, sweetheart. He'll treat you right!"

Her heart plummeted. Everett wasn't coming.

Genevieve watched Everett with feline amusement. "Our private evening's become quite the spectacle, hasn't it?" She draped herself against his arm. "Though I must say, their drama is more entertaining than our conversation."

Everett's knuckles whitened around his crystal tumbler. He downed the remaining bourbon in one burning swallow before slamming the glass onto the table with a thunderous crack.

The entire room froze.

Julian blinked in confusion. "Problem, Sinclair?"

Genevieve stiffened. "Everett?"

But his glacial stare remained locked on Julian. "Remove your hand. Now."

"What the hell are you—"

Everett moved like lightning. In one fluid motion, he wrenched Julian's wrist sideways. The sickening snap of bone echoed through the silent room as the glass shattered against the Persian rug.

Without sparing Julian a glance, Everett turned to Rosalind. His touch was unexpectedly gentle as he pulled her upright.

"We're leaving," he stated, his voice leaving no room for argument.

Murmurs exploded through the crowd.

"Since when does Sinclair care about waitresses?"

"Who is that girl?"

"Ms. Blackwood, what's happening?"

Genevieve stood rooted, realization dawning. That wasn't just any waitress.

It was Rosalind Fairchild.