Chapter 172

Eavesdropping on Juicy Secrets in Her Head

The morning sun streamed through the curtains, casting a golden glow over Evelyn Sinclair’s bedroom. She stretched lazily, her mind still half-asleep, when suddenly—

"Ugh, Nathan Blackwood is such a pain! Who does he think he is, ordering me around like that?"

Evelyn jolted upright, blinking in confusion. That voice—sharp, irritated—was unmistakably Victoria Hayes, Nathan’s secretary. But Victoria wasn’t in the room.

Then it hit her.

She was hearing Victoria’s thoughts.

A slow smirk curled Evelyn’s lips. This was gold.

She focused, tuning in like a radio dial.

"If he thinks I’m going to fetch his coffee one more time, he’s got another thing coming. I didn’t claw my way up the corporate ladder to be a glorified barista."

Evelyn muffled a laugh into her pillow. Oh, this was delicious.

Then another voice cut in—smooth, arrogant, dripping with authority. Nathan.

"Victoria’s been slacking lately. Maybe I should replace her. That new intern seems eager enough."

Evelyn’s eyes widened. Oh-ho! Office drama and impending firings? She was living for this.

But before she could dive deeper, her phone buzzed. A text from Lillian Graves, her assistant:

"Emergency meeting in 30. Preston and Donovan are freaking out about the script changes. Bring coffee. Lots of it."

Evelyn groaned. Right. Work.

Still, as she dragged herself out of bed, she couldn’t help but grin. This mind-reading thing? Best. Superpower. Ever.

And she had a front-row seat to all the drama.

The play reached its climax as the audience witnessed Julian Blackwood's character—the fallen soldier—die on the battlefield. At last, Evelyn Sinclair's character returned with the wounded, retired military dog, Sven.

Evelyn gazed at Sven, who lowered his head and let out a soft whimper, as if begging forgiveness for failing to bring her son home safely. Her voice trembled as she stepped forward, gently stroking his fur. "Good boy," she whispered. "Welcome home."

Time passed in a montage of shifting seasons, marked by the soft glow of stage lights and a haunting orchestral score. Evelyn, now aged and frail, slowly made her way to the front of the stage with Sven at her side. Her posture had curved with the years, and she sank onto the ground with effort, leaning against the loyal dog as they both stared into the distance.

Behind them, the massive screen displayed a collage of photographs—smiling faces of military families, proud soldiers in uniform, and finally, the outline of the nation’s borders. The imagery was striking, evoking a profound silence from the audience. Even the livestream viewers were moved to tears.

One comment flashed across the screen: No dramatic twists, yet… it’s breathtaking.

Another followed: Our peace is built on the sacrifices of others.

A third chimed in: I came for entertainment, not an emotional breakdown!

And yet another: These are the real idols—the ones who stand between us and danger.

A particularly poignant remark read: After this, celebrity scandals feel like cheap distractions.

Someone else agreed: Exactly. Pathetic, really.

A fan of Sven revealed: Did you know he’s a real detection dog? His handler retired safely, thank goodness. Otherwise, I’d be sobbing uncontrollably right now.

Another viewer marveled: Who knew a performance without drama could be this powerful? Team A-List, you’ve outdone yourselves.

As the play neared its conclusion, Preston Whitmore and Donovan Sharpe finally released the breaths they’d been holding.

They had been on edge ever since Vivienne Monroe and Claire Harrison made last-minute changes to the script. The fear of a live broadcast exposing their secrets had been paralyzing—like trusting a known troublemaker to behave, only for them to spark chaos anyway. It was an epidemic of unpredictability.

But they were veterans at damage control. Their hearts had raced at first, terrified that Team A-List might derail everything. They had braced for backlash, for controversy, for disaster.

And yet… nothing happened.

It had gone too smoothly.

Which, in their world, was suspicious.

The previous team had used the stage to settle personal vendettas. But Team A-List? They hadn’t seized the opportunity to "reform the industry" or make some grand statement.

It was almost… disappointing.

Or maybe, just maybe, they were playing a longer game.

Preston and Donovan finally mustered the courage to respond to their worried friends' frantic messages.

Though their friends were innocent, their friends' associates might not be.

Tension hung thick in the air after Team A-list's disastrous performance.

A mass notification went out: Aside from Vivienne and Gabriel's situation, tonight was uneventful. Justice Upholder is off duty.

Then, a message from Isabelle Laurent popped up.

Preston and Donovan exchanged uneasy glances, but relief washed over them after reading it.

They knew minor trouble might follow, but given the culprit's fame and connections, they weren't worried. Another trending scandal? Bring it on.

Just as they prepared to reply, the trainer in the filming zone abruptly stepped forward. "Sven?"

Murmurs rippled through the audience.

Preston and Donovan looked up to see Sven—who had been sitting obediently beside Evelyn—suddenly rise, hackles raised. The massive dog snarled, muscles coiled to attack.

Its piercing gaze locked onto the Blackwoods.

A dog of Sven's size acting aggressively was terrifying. Evelyn gasped. "S-Sven!"

The trainer paled, signaling frantically, but Sven remained fixated, clearly zeroing in on a target.

Retired for over two years, Sven's abrupt aggression left the trainer scrambling to react.

The barking intensified, sharp and urgent. Nearby guests shrieked, scrambling back.

Claudia Bennett cursed, "Who brings a wild animal on set? It's a hazard! Your precious daughter-in-law might lose a limb!"

"Shut your vile mouth. That detection dog has more brains than you!" Margaret snapped.

Hearing the commotion, Gabriel shot to his feet, cold sweat drenching him. He ignored the stab of pain from his sudden movement.

The dog was targeting him. They were barely five meters apart.

Gabriel spun to flee—but Sven's barks pursued him.

Gasps erupted as a black blur launched through the air.

Gabriel's foot hit the stairs just as Sven tackled him. A scream tore from his throat when the dog's jaws clamped onto his leg, trapping him.

His hat flew off. Someone yelled, "That's Gabriel Ramirez!"

The studio erupted into chaos.

The cameras instantly zoomed in on the unfolding drama, and the live chat erupted into chaos.

One viewer typed: What just happened? Gabriel’s here and got bitten?!

Another replied: Guess the dog knows who’s shady?

A third chimed in: This isn’t just any dog. It’s Justice Upholder’s K-9. Did it just pass judgment?

A sharp-eyed netizen corrected: Hold up, people. That’s a retired detection dog. They don’t bite without reason!

Someone else added: I’ve seen this before. Sven’s signaling he found something—probably drugs.

The comments flew wildly as the studio descended into pandemonium. All eyes were locked on Sven and Gabriel, their confrontation stealing the spotlight.

No one noticed Evelyn on stage.

When Sven lunged, Evelyn instinctively moved to intervene but was no match for the dog’s speed. Her heel caught the edge of the platform, and she stumbled backward.

As she braced for impact, a deep, commanding voice cut through the noise.

"Don’t fight it. Fall. I’ve got you."

Evelyn’s mind barely registered the words, but she recognized Nathan’s voice instantly.

For a heartbeat, she considered surrendering—letting gravity take her, trusting he’d catch her. There was something undeniably reassuring about his tone, as if the outcome was already certain.

But instinct overrode trust. At the last second, she twisted midair, pushing off the stage to land on her feet.

As she descended, she saw Nathan waiting below, arms outstretched. His gaze, steady and intense, ignored the surrounding chaos, focusing solely on her.

She hadn’t even noticed him rushing forward.

His tailored suit strained against his muscular frame, every line of his body radiating strength. If she had let him catch her, she’d have been cradled securely against him.

A flicker of regret danced through her.

Instead, Evelyn landed hard—right into Nathan’s arms. The collision forced a quiet oof from her lips as she collided with his solid chest.

Thankfully, Nathan’s stance was unshakable. Anyone else might have been knocked flat by the force of her fall.

But not him.

Never him.

Nathan caught Evelyn as she stumbled, gently setting her down but keeping his hands lightly on her arms. His dark eyes searched hers with quiet concern. "Are you hurt?"

"Just startled. Thank you." Evelyn's pulse fluttered like a trapped bird beneath her skin. The warmth of his touch lingered, making her cheeks burn. She couldn't bring herself to meet his gaze.

A shrill scream shattered the moment.

"Get off, you beast! Gabriel, move!" Claudia's voice sliced through the garden.

Evelyn jerked back to reality, slipping from Nathan's hold to assess the chaos.

What's gotten into Sven? She couldn't check the dog directly—not with everyone watching—but a glance at Gabriel's thoughts made her blood run cold.

Oh God. He's insane. Drug smuggling? Hiding contraband there of all places?

The Blackwoods turned at the commotion, their curious stares landing on Evelyn and Nathan standing close. Before they could speculate, Evelyn's mental outcry exploded like a grenade in their minds, drowning out all other noise.