Chapter 16

The moment Evelyn Sinclair stepped into the grand ballroom, all eyes turned toward her. The chandeliers cast a golden glow over the room, but it was her presence that truly illuminated the space. She wore a deep emerald gown that hugged her curves, the delicate lace sleeves brushing against her wrists as she moved.

Nathan Blackwood stood near the balcony doors, a glass of whiskey in hand, his sharp gaze tracking her every step. He had known she would be here tonight—had planned for it—but seeing her in person still sent a jolt through him.

"Mr. Blackwood," a voice purred beside him. Victoria Hayes, his ever-persistent secretary, sidled closer, her crimson lips curved in a knowing smile. "I see you’ve noticed our guest of honor."

Nathan didn’t bother responding. His attention remained fixed on Evelyn as she exchanged pleasantries with Preston Whitmore, the acclaimed director. The way she laughed—soft, genuine—made something tighten in his chest.

Then, as if sensing his stare, Evelyn turned. Their eyes locked.

A beat of silence.

A challenge.

She arched a brow, the faintest smirk playing at her lips before she deliberately turned away, dismissing him as effortlessly as one might a passing stranger.

Nathan’s grip on his glass tightened.

Oh, she was good.

Too good.

And he loved a challenge.

Across the room, Lillian Graves, Evelyn’s ever-loyal assistant, leaned in. "You’re playing with fire," she murmured.

Evelyn’s smile didn’t waver. "And isn’t that the most fun part?"

Meanwhile, Marcus Donovan, Julian Blackwood’s agent, watched the exchange with keen interest. He had his own agenda tonight—one that involved ensuring Nathan’s carefully constructed world began to unravel.

And Evelyn Sinclair?

She was the perfect spark to ignite it all.

The night was young.

And the game had only just begun.

The day of the grand party arrived, and Nathan returned home earlier than usual to oversee the final preparations.

In the lavish dressing room reserved for styling, he found Evelyn already transformed—her makeup flawless, her gown perfectly fitted.

Evelyn looked strikingly different tonight. Gone were the days of heavy, dramatic makeup and ostentatious jewelry that screamed for attention. She no longer resembled the bold, crimson rose demanding admiration. Instead, she radiated effortless elegance.

She wore a delicate pale yellow gown that swayed with every movement, accentuated by a single strand of pearls around her neck. Her long, silky hair cascaded down her back with just the slightest curl at the ends, framing her face with soft sophistication.

When Nathan entered, she lifted the hem of her dress slightly and glided toward him with effortless grace.

"Your mother just called," Evelyn said, adjusting his tie with nimble fingers. "She wants us to greet the guests together."

Nathan gave a curt nod, but before he could respond, he caught her scrutinizing him—her gaze sweeping from his polished shoes to his perfectly styled hair.

Damn, he looks good enough without any extra effort, she thought, biting back a smirk.

Nathan shifted uncomfortably. Unlike his brother Julian, he never cared much for appearances.

Clearing his throat, he gestured toward the door. "We should go."

Just as they were about to leave, Sophia entered with Theodore in tow, leading him toward the makeup chair.

The moment they saw Evelyn, both Sophia and Theodore froze, momentarily stunned by her breathtaking transformation.

Sophia chuckled, nudging her son. "Look how stunning your Aunt Evelyn is tonight."

Theodore nodded obediently. "She's really pretty."

Evelyn flushed at the compliment and quickly deflected, crouching slightly to meet Theodore’s gaze. "Tell me, Theo—who’s prettier? Me or your mom?"

As expected, the boy’s cheeks turned pink. "Mom is the prettiest," he mumbled.

Sophia’s eyes softened as she ruffled his hair, her heart swelling with affection. The bond between them had deepened so quickly—no one would guess they had been separated for nearly a decade.

As for Daniel and Adriana, their neglect had made it easy for Theodore to move on. These days, he barely thought of them.

"Oh, by the way," Sophia added with a sigh, "Genevieve won’t be able to make it. She’s on that art expedition overseas—you know how rare those opportunities are. She sent Theo a gift and apologized over video call."

Genevieve, the youngest of the Blackwood siblings, was still in university, currently halfway across the world on an artistic journey.

Nathan gave an understanding nod before leading Evelyn to the grand entrance to greet their guests.

As the guests arrived in waves, Evelyn couldn’t help but notice the weight of their stares—few were warm. Most were scrutinizing, judgmental, even hostile.

The recent scandal involving Blackwood Group had sent shockwaves through high society. Not only had they held a high-profile press conference to clear the air, but they had also terminated several employees. Most notably, they had blacklisted Evelyn’s former manager and demanded compensation from her.

This was widely seen as Nathan’s public declaration of support for his estranged wife.

At the time, many had assumed the scandal would lead to their inevitable divorce. Countless socialites had already begun scheming, eager to position themselves as the next Mrs. Blackwood—even if it meant being his second wife.

Now, as they stood side by side, those same schemers could only seethe in silence.

Too bad for them. I’m still very much married to Nathan. Their little fantasies just went up in smoke. Evelyn smirked inwardly.

Nathan’s lips twitched imperceptibly at her smug thoughts, though his expression remained perfectly composed as he greeted each guest with practiced ease.

Before long, the Cowells arrived—but instead of the expected four, only three stepped through the door.

Behind the middle-aged couple stood a woman with an air of detached indifference. While the others wore polite smiles, she seemed utterly disinterested, her presence cold and aloof.

Dressed in a simple black gown with no jewelry, her long, unstyled hair framing sharp features, she looked nothing like the polished heiresses of high society.

"Nathan, it’s been too long. You’ve only grown more impressive," Edward Cowell greeted warmly, shaking Nathan’s hand with enthusiasm.

Penelope, flashing a practiced smile, chimed in with equal fervor. Like most social climbers, her attention was reserved solely for Nathan. Evelyn might as well have been invisible.

Not that Evelyn cared. Instead, she studied them with quiet amusement.

The more faces I remember, the juicier the gossip later.

Her gaze landed on the woman at the back. When their eyes met, the woman offered a polite, almost imperceptible nod.

Evelyn tilted her head. "Are you Celeste… or Isabelle?"

She had seen her a few times before, but the twins were nearly indistinguishable. Even now, she wasn’t entirely sure which one stood before her.

The woman’s lips curved slightly—not quite a smile, but something close.

"Does it matter?"

Evelyn blinked.

Interesting.

The game had just gotten a lot more intriguing.

After all, they were identical twins.

"I'm Celeste."

The sudden shift in Celeste's tone didn't escape Edward and Penelope. Their smiles faltered for a split second before they quickly recovered, plastering on practiced grins. "Our Isabelle is busy filming today, so she couldn't make it," they began, their voices dripping with false modesty.

Before they could finish, the roar of an engine cut through the air. A sleek sports car pulled up, its doors swinging open with dramatic flair.

Julian stepped out, removing his sunglasses to reveal a face strikingly similar to Nathan's—though where Nathan carried an air of refined authority, Julian exuded reckless charm.

"What a shame," someone murmured nearby. "He's already taken, otherwise..."

But speculation was cut short as Julian strode to the passenger side and opened the door.

The woman who emerged had the same long, dark hair as Celeste—the same delicate features, the same porcelain skin. But where Celeste's sharp gaze held defiance, this woman's eyes were soft, her demeanor gentle. She wore an elegant white gown, every movement graceful.

The crowd buzzed. High society thrived on gossip, and this was a spectacle too delicious to ignore. Whispers spread like wildfire, eyes darting between the twins.

Penelope's grip tightened on Edward's arm. "Celeste," she said, voice strained with forced cheer, "why don't you greet your sister?"

Celeste didn't move. Her lips curled into a cold smile.

Julian, meanwhile, guided Isabelle forward, his expression unreadable. When he glanced at Celeste, there was no warmth—only a silent challenge.

Before he could speak, a voice cut through the tension.

"Julian."

The crowd parted.

Standing there, arms crossed, was none other than Isabelle herself—the woman who had just stepped out of the car.

The guests froze.

Because the woman beside Julian wasn't Isabelle.

She was someone else entirely.

And the real Isabelle?

She was staring straight at Celeste, her eyes burning with something far from sisterly affection.

The game had just begun.