Chapter 254

Eavesdropping on Juicy Secrets

The morning sun streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Evelyn Sinclair’s penthouse, casting golden streaks across the marble floors. She lounged on her plush velvet sofa, sipping her vanilla latte, when an unexpected thought flickered through her mind—Nathan Blackwood’s secretary, Victoria Hayes, is hiding something.

Evelyn nearly choked on her drink.

Since when could she hear other people’s thoughts?

She blinked, setting her cup down with a clatter. The voice—no, the thought—had been as clear as if someone had whispered it directly into her ear. But Victoria wasn’t even in the room. In fact, she was probably halfway across the city, scheming in her office at Blackwood Industries.

Evelyn’s pulse quickened. Was this some bizarre side effect of the stress she’d been under? Or had she finally cracked under the pressure of navigating high society’s cutthroat gossip mill?

Then it happened again.

If Nathan finds out about the embezzlement, I’m .

Evelyn’s breath hitched. That was definitely Victoria’s voice—sharp, calculated, laced with panic. But how?

A slow smirk curled her lips. If this was real—if she could actually pluck secrets straight from people’s minds—then the game had just changed.

And Evelyn Sinclair loved winning.

Down in the Blackwood Industries lobby, Victoria Hayes adjusted her blazer, her perfectly manicured nails tapping against her tablet. She had worked too hard, sacrificed too much, to let some upstart like Evelyn Sinclair ruin everything.

Little did she know, her most guarded secrets were no longer safe.

Not when Evelyn was listening.

Grayson's expression shifted instantly upon hearing the news, his brows knitting together in concern that Vivian might give Gwendolyn a hard time.

Yet, when he recalled how Vivian had only ever challenged Gwendolyn for his sake, an undeniable warmth curled in his chest—smug satisfaction he couldn’t quite suppress.

"Vivian," he drawled, tilting his chin up in that infuriatingly arrogant way of his, "I don’t appreciate your confrontational attitude. And since when do you hunt down my people?"

Vivian responded by flipping him off with both hands, her face an unreadable mask.

Grayson’s pulse spiked, irritation flaring—but beneath it, that same twisted satisfaction burned brighter. Then, from behind him, a soft, mocking laugh cut through the tension. He whirled around, but Gwendolyn had already schooled her features back into neutrality.

Stepping forward, Gwendolyn gestured gracefully toward the hall. "We have a private lounge this way. If you’d like to—"

Before Grayson could protest, Vivian was already striding off beside her, leaving him gaping in their wake.

"Gwendolyn!" he barked, voice sharp with disbelief. "Have you lost your damn mind? You—"

"Mr. Hart," she called over her shoulder, tone cool, "perhaps you should return to the party. You are the guest of honor, after all."

By the time he recovered enough to chase after them, the elevator doors had already slid shut.

Grayson stood there, utterly bewildered. What the hell just happened? This wasn’t how things were supposed to go. He should be there—what if Vivian decided to take a swing at her? How was he supposed to protect Gwendolyn if she kept walking away from him?

Frustration coiled tight in his chest, warring with something far more unsettling. He wanted to storm off, to leave her to deal with Vivian’s temper alone—but the thought of it made his stomach twist. The truth was, even now, he had no idea what he truly wanted.

Grinding his teeth, he stalked back to the party, scanning the crowd for Evelyn. If anyone could intervene, it was her. Vivian listened to her.

His gaze landed on Evelyn and Nathan in the pool, their eyes locked on him with identical, unreadable expressions.

Grayson marched over without preamble. "Hey, Evelyn. Your little admirer just got dragged off by Vivian for a chat. I’d bet my fortune she’s getting chewed out right now."

Evelyn’s lips parted, and for a second, Grayson thought she was hesitating—until Nathan’s smirk told him otherwise. He could practically hear the curses running through her mind.

"Actually," Evelyn said smoothly, "Vivian mentioned she and Gwen hit it off instantly. They’re planning to spend more time together."

Grayson scoffed. "You actually believe that?"

The way Nathan’s eyes gleamed told him he was missing something—something big. And Grayson hated being the last to know.

"Could you honestly believe Vivian would give Gwendolyn a hard time?" Evelyn's question hung in the air, her tone laced with amusement.

Grayson stiffened, his pride wounded by the implication. He opened his mouth to argue, but the sight of Evelyn's teasing smirk stopped him cold. "Don't flatter yourself," she added with a playful roll of her eyes. "You really think they're fighting over you? Please."

His jaw clenched. What the hell does that mean? If they weren’t fighting over him, then—what? Was he reading this all wrong?

He wanted to snap back, but the memory of past embarrassments made him hesitate. Still, stubbornness won out. "If you don’t know what’s going on, maybe keep your opinions to yourself."

Evelyn arched a brow, unimpressed. "Oh, I know enough. Face it—Vivian seems way more interested in Gwendolyn than in you. Right, darling?" She nudged Nathan, dragging him into the conversation for backup.

Predictably, Grayson shot Nathan a wary glance. Nathan, ever the supportive husband, nodded without hesitation. Because honestly? That’s exactly how it looked.

Grayson’s expression cracked. "Wait… you don’t think she’s actually—" He cut himself off, eyes widening as if struck by a sudden, horrifying realization.

Evelyn and Nathan exchanged a look.

Oh no. Evelyn’s thoughts raced. That’s not the kind of "like" I meant. Did he seriously jump to that conclusion?

Nathan barely suppressed a wince. For a second, he’d thought Grayson was going there too—but thankfully, the man seemed to catch himself.

Evelyn bit her lip. Right. Vivian did mention once that she wasn’t strictly into men. Said she might fall for a woman if the right one came along. But she’d never acted on it, so Grayson had dismissed the idea. Until now. The way Vivian looked at Gwendolyn was different. No wonder Grayson was spiraling.

Grayson, meanwhile, was mentally kicking himself. Even if Vivian’s into women, she wouldn’t go for someone who looks like her own reflection. That’s just… weird. He must’ve lost his mind for a second, thrown off by their oddly cozy dynamic.

He opened his mouth to argue further, but Evelyn had already lost interest. With a smirk, she grabbed Nathan’s hand and swam toward the center of the pool, leaving Grayson fuming in their wake.

Hoisting herself onto a giant float, Evelyn lounged lazily while Nathan stayed close, his hands resting on the edge beside her. Her mind, however, was still on the drama. I have to see how Vivian handles this.

Meanwhile, Gwendolyn had successfully steered Vivian away from Grayson’s chaos. Catching her breath, Gwendolyn finally relaxed—and, without thinking, blurted out her gratitude.

Vivian Moore arched an eyebrow, her voice dripping with amusement. "Seems my instincts were right. You're not exactly thrilled with how he's treating you."

Gwendolyn Brooks didn't hesitate. "Of course not."

A soft laugh escaped Vivian's lips. "Thank God. I was worried Grayson's idiocy might've made you resent me."

Gwendolyn immediately caught the reference—the whole stand-in fiasco. She scratched her cheek sheepishly. "Don't be mad at me, okay? I swear, I don’t have feelings for him."

"Good," Vivian exhaled dramatically. "Because if you did, I'd have to drag you to an optometrist first, then line up a hundred gorgeous men outside your door. That ought to fix your taste."

Gwendolyn burst out laughing.

Objectively, Vivian's comment was borderline inappropriate given their barely-there friendship. But she said it so effortlessly, and strangely, Gwendolyn didn’t mind.

"So," Vivian pressed, genuine curiosity in her tone, "why did you agree to be my replacement?"

Gwendolyn hesitated. Grayson had been a nightmare to deal with, and she was this close to breaking their agreement. But if she did, he’d demand compensation—money she’d already donated to the orphanage.

She couldn’t afford to piss off spoiled heirs, and she definitely wouldn’t crawl to Evelyn or Vivian for help just because they were nice to her. She had her pride. So she’d endured.

Before she could answer, Vivian’s eyes narrowed. "Was it about money?"

Gwendolyn stiffened—just for a second—but it was enough.

Vivian’s jaw clenched, but she kept her voice steady. "Was it your choice?"

No point lying. Gwendolyn nodded. It had been a job, nothing more.

In a way, Grayson’s absurd demands had helped her during a rough patch. That’s why she tolerated him—not just because of the contract, but because she owed him some gratitude.

Internally, Vivian was cursing Grayson to hell and back. But if Gwendolyn had done this for money, she must’ve been desperate. So Vivian swallowed her rage.

Then, tentatively, Gwendolyn spoke again. "So... Ms. Moore, you also don’t like—"

Vivian's perfectly arched eyebrow lifted in question. "What did you just call me?"

Gwendolyn instantly straightened under that piercing gaze, her fingers nervously smoothing her uniform skirt. "Vivian," she corrected softly, the name tasting strangely sweet on her tongue.

A secret thrill shot through Vivian at the sound. The corner of her lips twitched as she casually reached out, her manicured fingers brushing against Gwendolyn's shoulder. "You had something here," she murmured, holding up a single golden strand between them like a trophy.

The afternoon sunlight caught in Gwendolyn's wide eyes as she stared at the hair now coiled around Vivian's finger. Her breath hitched when Vivian didn't immediately let go, their fingers accidentally brushing as she pretended to examine the strand.

Somewhere in the bustling hotel lobby, a champagne flute shattered. Neither woman noticed.