Chapter 56 

In the pages of *The High Council*, Gareth Montgomery’s unwavering love for the original character had been meticulously chronicled, but that was supposed to unfold a year down the line. 

Now, as Elowen Howard found herself living in this world, there was no sign of the warm camaraderie she’d expected with Gareth. In fact, they hardly spoke to one another. How could he possibly harbor any strong feelings for her? 

But as Alistair Edwards laid out each word with a seriousness that felt real, Elowen couldn’t shake the nagging thought in her mind. There was a detail she’d been ignoring, an aspect of her new life she’d been consciously trying to avoid–the storylines of the original book. Yet despite the changes in her approach, some outcomes remained frustratingly the same. 

She was tiptoeing around the edges of Edwards Manor, desperately trying to craft the perfect image of a devoted wife in the hopes that Gareth would show mercy and not seal her fate. Yet, to her dismay, she’d still been poisoned–thankfully, only lightly. 

Though she’d intended to keep her distance from Gareth, it seemed he’d still managed to take an interest in her. And there were other threads of fate that had shifted beyond her control–everyone else’s endings were changing, but hers was stubbornly flirting with the original plotline. 

Elowen’s head was spinning. She shook it as if to dislodge these unsavory thoughts, refusing to scare herself with the looming shadows of fate. 

She forced a laugh, trying for a bright tone. “Alistair, are you tipsy or something? You’re rambling.” 

Alistair didn’t bite; he wasn’t drunk and was only teasing her to see her reaction. He had no intention of settling old scores–if he did, Elowen’s past would surely send him into a rage. 

He nodded, eyes still closed. “Yeah, I’m drunk.” 

Elowen exhaled a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding, relief washing over her. “Then you should get some sleep.” 

Difficult to Escape a Doting Wife “Then you should get some sleep.” 

“I’ve got a headache.” 

“Could be from drinking too much.” 

“Probably.” 

Alistair was dancing around what he truly wanted, and Elowen was too weary to keep guessing. She helped him to bed and slipped off his shoes, thinking about fetching some broth to sober him up. 

But as he clutched her sleeve with an iron grip, he said firmly, “I don’t want any.” 

Perfect–the sentiment echoed her own fatigue. At that moment, all she wanted was to crawl into bed herself and sleep deeply. 

As she looked down at him, Elowen had to admire his striking features. He was handsome, with full lips and bright eyes that could captivate anyone. She licked her lips instinctively–she could look at Alistair’s face a hundred times without getting bored; he was just that mesmerizing. 

Feeling an unexpected urge, she reached out, gently tracing a fingertip along his jaw. The realization hit her suddenly, and she jerked back her hand, feeling the warmth of her touch linger on her fingertips. 

Forgetting to change out of her day clothes, she slid under the covers, turning away from him. Exhaustion swept over her, and she fell asleep almost immediately. 

In the dead of night, Elowen was stirred awake but found herself drenched in heat. Sweating, her forehead beaded with droplets that trickled down her cheeks. 

Trapped in her dreams, she felt as if she were in a furnace, trapped on all sides by impenetrable walls, unable to move. 

She whimpered softly–then, oddly, the pressure on her limbs seemed to ease as a cool hand slipped into her collar. It unfastened the buttons one by one, pulling her clothes loose. 

Difficult to Escape a Doting Wife 

Caught between sleep and wakefulness, Elowen basked in the cool air that surged 

around her. A soft moan escaped her lips as something cold brushed against her own- had someone kissed her? 

The next morning, Elowen awoke to find the other side of the bed empty. Alistair was long gone. 

Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, she padded to the mirror, inspecting her face. As her fingers grazed her lips, she felt a sharpness there, but no visible wounds. 

That was odd. She had thought Alistair had kissed her again–his quirky habit of biting her lip left a distinct mark most times. Yet, there was nothing this morning to suggest he’d been there at all, leaving her to wonder if her immediately spiraling thoughts were 

fiction. 

Then again, the man had been drunk; surely he wouldn’t rouse in the night to nip at 

her. 

With a sigh, she took stock of her empty home. There was little entertainment for her here–no real friends and scant company. 

As noon approached, the butler announced a visitor—Fiona Kingsley, the fifth daughter of House Kingsley and Elowen’s closest confidante. Unlike the dubious relationships described in the book, Elowen’s friendship with Fiona was genuine. 

Fiona was the lone daughter in her family, spoiled by four overzealous brothers. Tied to a betrothal but with her fiancé in mourning, their wedding was not on the horizon, 

Elowen braced herself. She needed the distraction the visit promised, even if she was unsure how much of her worries she could share.