Mr. Wellington flashed a genial smile. “Evangeline, that won’t do. Mr. Whitmore is still your father, after all. You can’t speak to him that way—he’ll be heartbroken. Come now, apologize to him.”
As he spoke, he used the pretense of mediation to reach out with his pudgy hand, aiming to grab Evangeline’s arm.
But before he could touch her, another hand shot out, gripping his arm in an iron hold.
“Words are one thing, Mr. Wellington, but there’s no need to get physical,” came a smooth, aristocratic voice.
Before Mr. Wellington could react, his arm was twisted back with unyielding force. The pain was so sharp it drained the color from his face, and he nearly doubled over, unable to stifle a yelp.
“Ow—stop, that hurts!”
Finn released him, calmly pulling out a handkerchief to wipe his fingers before taking Evangeline’s hand in his own.
With a mocking tilt to his voice, Finn remarked, “If you can’t handle a little pain, Mr. Wellington, maybe you shouldn’t be trying to hit on women.”
“Who the hell do you think you are?” Mr. Wellington spat, fuming. Only now did he realize there was a man at Evangeline’s side—he’d been too focused on her to notice before.
Finn stayed silent, but Winston hurried to fill the gap. “Mr. Wellington, this is Finn. Evangeline’s… friend.”
Friend? Mr. Wellington looked Finn up and down, clearly unimpressed.
He gave a dismissive snort. “Friend? Looks more like a pretty boy to me.”
At that, Winston’s heart skipped a beat. He hastily added, “His last name is Lockridge…”
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