Chapter 213

The morning sun cast golden rays through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Evelyn Sinclair’s penthouse, illuminating the scattered scripts on her coffee table. She sighed, running a hand through her tousled auburn hair as she reread the latest revisions. The role was challenging—a period drama set in 19th-century England—and she needed to perfect the nuances of her character’s aristocratic accent.

Her phone buzzed, breaking her concentration. A message from Nathan Blackwood flashed on the screen:

"Dinner tonight? I have something to discuss."

Evelyn’s pulse quickened. Nathan had been unusually distant lately, ever since that explosive argument at his sister Sophia’s engagement party. She typed a quick reply before she could overthink it.

"Sure. Your place or mine?"

His response was immediate.

"Mine. 8 PM."

She exhaled sharply. That was Nathan—terse, to the point, impossible to read.

Meanwhile, across town, Nathan stood in his office, staring at the legal documents spread across his desk. His father, Richard Blackwood, had just dropped a bombshell—the family company was facing a hostile takeover, and Nathan’s inheritance was at stake.

His assistant, Victoria Hayes, knocked lightly on the door. "Sir, your sister is here to see you."

Nathan barely had time to react before Sophia stormed in, her emerald-green eyes blazing. "You’ve been avoiding my calls," she accused.

"I’ve been busy," he said flatly.

"Too busy for family?" Sophia crossed her arms. "Dad told me about the takeover. You’re not handling this alone."

Nathan clenched his jaw. "I don’t need a babysitter."

Sophia’s expression softened. "You need allies. And Evelyn—does she know?"

The mention of Evelyn’s name made his chest tighten. "Not yet."

That evening, Evelyn arrived at Nathan’s penthouse, dressed in a sleek black dress that hugged her curves. The moment he opened the door, the tension between them was palpable.

"You look stunning," he murmured, stepping aside to let her in.

Evelyn arched a brow. "Flattery won’t make me forget you’ve been ghosting me for weeks."

Nathan poured them both a glass of wine before meeting her gaze. "I’ve been dealing with… complications."

"Care to elaborate?"

He hesitated, then handed her a folder. "This is why I’ve been distant."

Evelyn flipped it open, her breath catching as she scanned the contents. "A takeover? Nathan, this is serious."

"I know." His voice was rough. "And I need your help."

Her heart pounded. "What do you mean?"

Nathan stepped closer, his dark eyes intense. "I need you to play the role of my fiancée—publicly. It’s the only way to secure investor confidence and stop the takeover."

Evelyn nearly dropped her glass. "You’re joking."

"Dead serious."

She stared at him, torn between outrage and something dangerously close to hope. "And if I say no?"

Nathan’s jaw tightened. "Then I lose everything."

The air between them crackled with unspoken tension. Evelyn took a slow sip of wine, buying time. Finally, she set the glass down with deliberate calm.

"Fine. But this is strictly business."

Nathan’s lips curved into a smirk. "Of course."

But the way his gaze lingered on her mouth told a different story.

Evelyn Sinclair snapped back to reality under the weight of numerous questioning stares. For a fleeting moment, her carefully constructed mask nearly slipped.

By now, she was absolutely certain Violet Carter had intentionally made those humiliating comments just to provoke her.

A bitter taste filled her mouth. Why did Violet always have to make things difficult? Given Nathan Blackwood's close friendship circle, Violet should naturally align with them. How could she possibly side with outsiders against her?

Hmm? What's with that accusatory look? Is she seriously blaming me? Good grief. The audacity. Is Claire Morgan actually faulting me for not joining her petty bullying campaign?

Evelyn suppressed a shudder of disgust.

As the heated discussion grew louder, Ethan Carter intervened with practiced ease. "Everything alright here?" he asked with his trademark charming smile.

"Just introducing the ladies to a talented makeup artist," Claire forced out through clenched teeth, her smile brittle. "Though Violet's celebrity status apparently commands higher rates than ours. We were merely... discussing the discrepancy."

Ethan smoothly turned to Violet. "Ms. Carter, you've been working hard tonight. Please feel free to sample our wine selection. If any catch your fancy, we'd be delighted to send you home with a bottle."

His words were gracious, yet Violet's responding gaze held something unreadable.

She recognized their shared predicament, yet the gulf between their social standings made any solidarity impossible. The Hampton family's eldest son hardly needed her sympathy.

"You're too generous, thank you." Violet seized the lifeline Ethan offered, eager to diffuse the tension. She refused to let petty drama ruin someone else's important event—or worse, create professional complications for herself.

She made to leave, acutely aware of the hostile undercurrents. These vipers had made their intentions clear, and she wasn't about to remain their punching bag. The makeup room offered safer refuge until this wretched gala ended.

Yet before departing, Violet locked eyes with Evelyn, silently conveying profound gratitude. Notably, she didn't spare Mason Hunter—her own boyfriend standing mere feet away—so much as a glance.

The deliberate snub sent Mason spiraling. The old Violet would've orbited around him like a lovesick moon, her entire world reduced to his presence. This cold indifference? Unbearable. His chest constricted as if gripped by invisible talons.

"Just where do you think you're going?" Mason finally snapped as Violet turned to leave. "Sit. Down."

The command cracked through the air like a whip, drawing every eye in the vicinity.

Oh here we go, Evelyn thought, resisting the urge to facepalm. The classic temper tantrum from Hampton's entitled second son. Could he be any more obvious? He didn't even specify who he was ordering around.