Chapter 281

Whispers in the Shadows

The morning sun filtered through the sheer curtains of Evelyn Sinclair’s penthouse, casting delicate patterns across the marble floor. She sat curled up on her plush velvet sofa, a steaming cup of Earl Grey in one hand and her phone in the other. The screen glowed with the latest headline from Celebrity Pulse:

"Nathan Blackwood Spotted Leaving Exclusive Gala with Mystery Woman—Who Is She?"

Evelyn’s fingers tightened around her phone. The grainy photo showed Nathan, impeccably dressed in a tailored tuxedo, his arm draped casually around the waist of a statuesque brunette. The woman’s face was partially obscured, but Evelyn recognized the confident tilt of her chin—Victoria Hayes, Nathan’s cunning secretary.

A bitter laugh escaped her lips. Of course.

She scrolled further, her pulse quickening as she absorbed the details. The article speculated about a possible rekindled romance between Nathan and Victoria, citing their "undeniable chemistry" and "years of professional closeness." Comments from anonymous insiders hinted at a rift between Nathan and Evelyn, painting her as the jealous ex who couldn’t handle sharing the spotlight.

Evelyn’s nails dug into her palm. Professional closeness? More like Victoria’s relentless scheming.

Her phone buzzed with an incoming call—Serena Whitmore, her ever-loyal agent.

"Evelyn, darling, please tell me you haven’t seen the gossip rags yet," Serena sighed.

"Too late," Evelyn replied dryly. "I’ve already memorized every ridiculous word."

Serena groaned. "Ignore it. You know how these tabloids love to twist things. Nathan wouldn’t—"

"Wouldn’t what? Stab me in the back publicly? Again?" Evelyn cut in, her voice sharper than intended. She took a steadying breath. "It doesn’t matter. I have my own life to focus on."

But the seed of doubt had been planted.

As she ended the call, her gaze drifted to the framed photo on her mantel—a candid shot of her and Nathan laughing under the stars at last year’s charity gala. Back when things were simpler. Back when she thought she knew him.

A knock at the door startled her.

"Miss Sinclair?" Lillian Graves, her assistant, peeked in hesitantly. "Mr. Blackwood is here. He says it’s urgent."

Evelyn’s heart stuttered. Speak of the devil.

She smoothed her silk robe and schooled her expression into cool indifference. "Let him in."

The door swung open, and Nathan strode in, his usually composed demeanor frayed at the edges. His stormy gray eyes locked onto hers, intense and unreadable.

"We need to talk," he said, his voice low.

Evelyn arched a brow. "About your undeniable chemistry with Victoria? Or is there another scandal I should brace for?"

Nathan’s jaw clenched. "It’s not what it looks like."

"Isn’t it always?" She crossed her arms. "Get to the point, Nathan. I’m busy."

He stepped closer, the scent of his cologne—dark, woodsy, infuriatingly familiar—wrapping around her. "Someone’s trying to sabotage us," he murmured. "And I think I know who."

Evelyn stilled. "Who?"

Nathan’s lips curved into a humorless smile. "The same person who’s been pulling strings since the beginning. The one who stands to gain the most from tearing us apart."

A chill slithered down her spine.

Victoria.

But before she could respond, Nathan’s phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen, his expression darkening. "We’re out of time."

Evelyn frowned. "What does that mean?"

Nathan pocketed his phone and met her gaze. "It means the game just changed. And if we don’t act fast, we’ll both lose."

The air between them crackled with tension, the unspoken question hanging heavy:

Who do you trust?

And for the first time in months, Evelyn wasn’t sure of the answer.

Well, well, well. The idiot just blew up his own grand scheme. I would pay good money to see the look on his face when he realizes he single-handedly ruined everything. Priceless.

Evelyn watched the live broadcast with dark amusement. Not only had Oliver exposed his own vile nature, but he’d also dragged Ava and her daughter into the mud, utterly destroying their reputations in one fell swoop.

"Strike fast, strike hard. I always knew that mother-daughter duo didn’t deserve to be part of Lucas’s family. Now, with this scandal breaking, even if Lucas chooses to cut them off completely, they won’t have a leg to stand on when it comes to guilt-tripping him," Marcus said, arms crossed.

Vivian nodded in agreement. "After everything Lucas has done for them, and this is how they repay him? Heartless doesn’t even begin to cover it."

"Once Lucas finally shakes them off, Beatrice can finally break free from Oliver too. A happy ending for both of them!" Vivian Moore clapped her hands together, grinning.

Daniel Wright gave a slow nod. "That engagement is as good as dead."

The Holloway family needed Beatrice for a political marriage, but there was no way they’d tie themselves to someone who brought this level of disgrace.

With this turn of events…

The group immediately dissolved into hushed gossip.

"Do you think they’ll switch the groom?" Vivian Grant whispered, eyes gleaming.

"Wouldn’t be surprised. They’re all victims here," Marcus Prescott agreed instantly.

"What? My poor girl just got out of one mess, and now she’s getting thrown into another?" Vivian Moore gasped dramatically.

"Even though Oliver just exposed some truths, you know people will still whisper. Rumors spread like wildfire," Daniel pointed out. "Besides, the engagement was arranged by the elders. There’s still room for… adjustments."

No way. Does this mean Lucas gets everything? Not only does he reclaim his inheritance, but he might just walk away with a wife too? Oliver and that scheming pair might as well have gift-wrapped his future for him.

As absurd as it sounded, Nathan didn’t deny the possibility. It was… disturbingly plausible.

After all, while the marriage alliance wasn’t about love, it was about securing ties between the families. There were multiple joint ventures waiting in the wings, all hinging on this union.

The group’s imaginations ran wild. The situation had reached its climax—there was nothing left to worry about.

Until—

A sudden uproar erupted from Ava’s side of the room.

With a surge of adrenaline she didn’t know she possessed, Penelope wrenched herself free from the bodyguard’s grip, her breath ragged. “No! This can’t be happening!” she shrieked, her voice cracking. “My daughter would never—never—be involved with… No, no, this is impossible!”

At that moment, Penelope’s composure shattered. She lunged at Lydia, her manicured nails clawing the air. “You! Did you orchestrate this? Was this your sick game?”

The guests exchanged uneasy glances. Penelope’s erratic behavior was unsettling, to say the least.

Even Luna was stunned. She couldn’t fathom why her mother was reacting this way. Sure, she had kept her relationship with Caleb a secret, but would that really drive her mother to madness? Or was it deeper than that? Did Penelope despise Caleb simply because he was Lydia’s son? Was her hatred for Lydia so consuming that she couldn’t bear the thought of their families entwined?

But it was too late now. Caleb had already exposed everything.

Lydia barely flinched at Penelope’s outburst. She had half a mind to have her thrown out—after all, Lucas probably didn’t want his mother making a scene like this. As for Penelope’s schemes against Lucas and Beatrice, both families would ensure she paid dearly.

Before Lydia could signal the security, however, Penelope froze. Her body trembled violently, as if seized by an unseen terror. The sudden silence was eerie.

Something was undeniably wrong with Penelope. It was as if she were trapped in some kind of waking nightmare.

Meanwhile, on the massive screen, Lucas flashed Caleb a knowing smile. “Thanks for playing along. You’ve just helped Beatrice and me clear our names.”

Caleb’s face paled. “What… did you say?”

Lucas pulled out his supposedly waterlogged phone and ended the video call.

Caleb’s expression twisted in horror.

“When you realized there were no surveillance cameras, did it ever occur to you that someone might be recording on their phone?” Lucas taunted. “Or did you actually believe my phone was ruined? Caleb, you really are painfully naive.”

“You—you tricked me!” Caleb sputtered, his voice strangled.

“Go see for yourself.”

Panic surged through Caleb. The old saying—pride comes before a fall—had never felt more real. One moment, he had been gloating, convinced of his victory. The next, he was plummeting from the heights of his arrogance. Without another word, he bolted toward the ballroom, his mind racing.

The wind howled around him, each gust like a slap to his face.

Desperate, he scrambled for a way to salvage the situation. Maybe he could spin this. Maybe there was still a chance—

But the moment he stepped into the ballroom, the weight of hundreds of scornful stares crushed him. The air thickened with disdain.

There was no coming back from this.

His face twisted through a series of emotions—confusion, humiliation, rage—before finally settling into sheer terror.

That expression could win an Oscar, Evelyn thought wryly.

She wasn’t the only one who noticed. The entertainment reporters, originally paid by Caleb Moore to cover the scandal, were practically salivating. They had come for a story, but never expected the mastermind himself to become the headline. Professionals to the core, they couldn’t resist capturing this explosive moment.

A camera flash went off.

Caleb snapped out of his daze. "Who the hell is taking pictures?!" he roared, his voice cracking with fury.

The crowd tittered. After all, hadn’t he orchestrated this entire mess? He’d tried to trap his cousin and fiancée, only to be caught in his own web. Poetic justice, they whispered.

The hushed laughter crashed over Caleb like a tidal wave. He glanced at his companions—Penelope Collins looked like a ghost, her spirit long fled, while Luna Morgan glared at him with accusing eyes.

Then his gaze landed on Beatrice Holloway, standing regally on the stage above them all.

"You scheming witch!" Caleb snarled, lunging toward her.

People moved to stop him, but to everyone’s shock, the usually composed Beatrice didn’t retreat. Instead, she charged at him.

Caleb faltered mid-step, stunned by her sudden aggression.

Beatrice didn’t hesitate. Her palm cracked across his cheek with a sound so sharp it silenced the room.

For a man used to being struck only by his mother or Lucas Thornton, this was unthinkable. Caleb’s eyes blazed, but before he could react, Beatrice struck again—and again—each slap landing with rhythmic precision.

"Beatrice is hitting someone?" Vivian Grant gasped.

"Damn, when she snaps, she snaps," Marcus Prescott muttered, impressed.

"I’ve never seen this side of her," Vivian Moore sighed.

"Desperation," Daniel Wright observed dryly.

Good. Hit him harder. Evelyn clenched her fists. Scum like him deserves it. As long as it doesn’t kill him, keep going.