Chapter 32

The morning sun cast golden streaks across the penthouse as Evelyn Sinclair stirred awake, her mind still foggy from the restless night. Beside her, Nathan Blackwood slept soundly, his strong arm draped protectively over her waist. She traced the sharp line of his jaw with her fingertips, marveling at how peaceful he looked—so unlike the ruthless CEO the world feared.

Her phone buzzed insistently on the nightstand. A message from Lillian Graves, her assistant:

"Evelyn, urgent. The press has caught wind of your engagement. Victoria Hayes is behind the leak. She’s spinning it as a business arrangement, not love."

Evelyn’s stomach twisted. Victoria Hayes—Nathan’s scheming secretary—had been a thorn in her side since day one. The woman had made it clear she wanted Nathan for herself, and now she was weaponizing the media to undermine their relationship.

Nathan’s phone rang next, jolting him awake. He frowned at the caller ID—Marcus Donovan, his brother Julian’s agent.

“What?” Nathan growled, his voice rough with sleep.

Marcus’s frantic voice crackled through the speaker. "Nathan, turn on the news. Now."

Evelyn grabbed the remote, flipping to a gossip channel. A headline blared across the screen:

"Blackwood-Sinclair Engagement: A Calculated Merger or True Love?"

Beneath it, a grainy photo of them at a gala—Nathan’s hand resting possessively on Evelyn’s lower back. The caption insinuated their relationship was a PR stunt to boost Sinclair Media’s failing stocks.

Nathan’s grip on the phone tightened. “Who the hell leaked this?”

Marcus hesitated. "Rumors point to Victoria. But there’s more. Someone dug up old photos of you and Cassandra."

Evelyn’s breath hitched. Cassandra—Nathan’s first love, the woman who had shattered his heart years ago.

The screen flashed to an image of a younger Nathan, his arms wrapped around a smiling Cassandra. The headline taunted:

"Blackwood’s Past Haunts Present: Is Evelyn Just a Replacement?"

Nathan swore, throwing the phone onto the bed. “This is sabotage.”

Evelyn forced a steadying breath. “We need damage control. Serena Whitmore can draft a statement—”

“No.” Nathan cut her off, his gaze darkening. “We’re not playing defense. We’re ending this.”

He snatched his phone back, dialing a number. When the line connected, his voice was ice.

“Victoria. My office. Now.”

Evelyn watched as he stormed into the walk-in closet, already barking orders to his legal team. She knew that tone—someone was about to pay.

But as she scrolled through the flood of notifications, one anonymous message stood out:

"You think you know him? Ask Nathan about the night Cassandra disappeared."

Her blood ran cold.

What secret was Nathan hiding?

And why did she feel like the real game had only just begun?

Evelyn smiled sweetly, seizing the moment to interject, "Julian just has a short fuse. I was there when it happened. You were caught off guard—anyone would freeze in that situation."

Vivienne blinked in surprise. She hadn’t expected Evelyn to defend her.

Her throat tightened, tears welling up.

Wasn’t she the one who started this? Did she suddenly grow a conscience?

But then Evelyn continued, her tone light but razor-sharp, "After all, anyone with half a brain and working eyes knows Celeste would never be interested in someone like that. She doesn’t have bizarre tastes—her standards are perfectly normal. If even A-list celebrities don’t meet her expectations, why would she ever look twice at some delusional, violent nobody? And she certainly doesn’t have a masochistic streak. If a man so much as raised his voice at her, she’d be halfway across the country by sundown. So, Vivienne, deep down, you know Celeste wouldn’t touch your ex with a ten-foot pole. Sure, they say birds of a feather flock together, but you and Dominic are fundamentally different. He gets off on imagining other men stealing his girlfriend, while you get off on imagining other women stealing your boyfriend. The problem lies with him. You? You’re perfectly fine."

Vivienne stood frozen, her face draining of color. Then, like a dam breaking, she burst into tears.

"Oh dear," Evelyn cooed, tilting her head. "Why the waterworks? Wasn’t I defending you? Or is your brain so waterlogged it’s leaking? Besides, if anyone should be crying, it’s Celeste! She tried to help, only to get dragged into your toxic little fantasy. Poor thing—completely innocent."

The research team exchanged bewildered glances. The two male researchers failed to stifle their snickers.

"Ms. Sinclair, you’re... brutally honest," the female researcher muttered, casting nervous glances around, hoping they wouldn’t draw a crowd.

Evelynn shrugged, all innocence. "Some truths need to be said outright. Bottling things up just festers. You’re all too close to say it. As an outsider, I don’t mind."

Dealing with people like Vivienne required a sledgehammer, not a scalpel. Private resolutions? Pointless. She had to shatter Vivienne’s self-righteous delusions, force her to confront the absurdity of her own narrative. No more excuses, no more imaginary rivals to prop up her crumbling ego.

Evelyn had no doubt Vivienne was exactly the type to spin such tales.

"Celeste," Evelyn suggested lightly, "maybe you should make your stance crystal clear. Just to be safe."

Celeste studied the sobbing Vivienne, her expression cool. Slowly, she said, "To avoid future misunderstandings, don’t ever mention you and Dominic in front of me again. The only emotion I have for your ex is disgust. Rest assured."

The words landed like a slap.

Something in Vivienne snapped. "Is this really necessary? Ganging up on me just because Dominic misunderstood? Just because I had doubts? Celeste is some high-society princess, but what am I? Trash? Is that why you’re all humiliating me like this?"

Her voice cracked. "Celeste, this was just a misunderstanding! We could’ve talked it out. Why drag outsiders into it? Why let them humiliate me? Aren’t we friends?"

"Not anymore." Celeste didn’t hesitate. Since her rebirth, she’d vowed to prioritize herself. No more compromises. "I don’t keep people who betray me close."

Vivienne’s face went blank. Then, with a choked sob, she turned and fled.

The others shifted uncomfortably.

"Vivienne crossed a line, but... we’re still a team. How do we move forward?" one researcher murmured.

"Is she irreplaceable in your project?" Julian cut in, icy.

"Not really. She’s just an assistant."

"Then cut her loose." His tone left no room for argument. "Keeping someone like that around is nothing but trouble."

The team wavered. They’d worked together for years.

But Julian had already decided. As the project’s primary investor, didn’t he have the final say?

No way was he letting that toxicity near Celeste again.

Ah, the perks of capitalism.

Too far to hear clearly, they caught Vivienne’s shrill voice: "Because of your stupidity, Celeste cut me off! How am I supposed to stay on the team now? They’re right—you’re obsessed! You want to isolate me, control me! We’re done!"

With that, she sprinted away, oblivious to their stares.

Julian’s jaw tightened. That look—like prey spotting a predator—sent him lunging forward, but Dominic bolted before he could reach him.

"Honestly, without Vivienne, we’d never have had to deal with him," someone grumbled as they entered the elevator.

"Which floor?" the button-pusher asked.

Celeste shot Julian a wary glance.

Guilt flickered in his chest. (He’d absolutely researched the hotel beforehand.) But he nodded, deadpan. "Seventeenth. Only floor with vacancies."

Evelyn hesitated when they turned to her—until Julian interjected, "Same for her."

A calculated move. If Evelyn played along, maybe Celeste wouldn’t reject him outright.

The team marveled at the coincidence.

Evelyn arched a brow but stayed silent.

Julian, fearing she’d expose him, whipped out his phone. "Marcus just texted. Your room had plumbing issues. They moved you to the seventeenth too." He shoved the screen in her face.

A bank notification glowed: $500,000 transferred.

Nathan had mentioned Evelyn’s weakness for money. This should guarantee her cooperation.

(What Nathan actually meant: Evelyn appreciated direct gestures. Cash was the simplest gratitude.)

Sure enough, Evelyn beamed. "What a coincidence! Seventeenth floor for me too. Since we’re all here, how about supper later?"

Julian exhaled—just as Evelyn’s sly chuckle sent chills down his spine.

What an easy mark! I was gonna say seventeenth anyway. Now I get to watch him grovel and a fat paycheck? Two birds, one stone.

Julian swallowed hard, tasting blood.

How could I forget? Evelyn Sinclair thrives on chaos.

The polished steel doors of the elevator slid shut with a soft chime, sealing Evelyn Sinclair inside the mirrored cubicle. Just as the mechanism engaged, a blur of movement caught her eye through the narrowing gap. Someone had sprinted across the marble lobby, their designer heels clicking frantically against the floor.

Victoria Hayes skidded to a halt mere inches from the closed elevator, her manicured fingers hovering over the call button. Through the narrow glass panel, Evelyn watched her rival's perfectly contoured face twist in frustration. The assistant's crimson lips moved soundlessly as she glared at the ascending numbers above the door.

Evelyn allowed herself a small, victorious smirk as she leaned against the elevator's handrail. The mirrored walls reflected her satisfaction from every angle - the way her emerald green dress hugged her curves, the subtle lift of her chin, the knowing glint in her hazel eyes. She'd timed her exit perfectly.

Victoria's reflection disappeared as the elevator passed the third floor. Evelyn's phone buzzed in her clutch - a message from Nathan Blackwood that simply read: "My office. Now." The commanding tone sent an involuntary shiver down her spine, though she'd never admit it.

The elevator continued its smooth ascent, each floor passing with a soft ding that echoed in the confined space. Evelyn adjusted the diamond pendant at her throat - a gift from Nathan that felt more like a collar some days. She could still see Victoria's furious expression burned into her memory. That woman had been gunning for her position since day one, but Evelyn Sinclair didn't rise to become Blackwood Industries' top executive by being an easy mark.

As the elevator approached the executive floor, Evelyn squared her shoulders. Whatever Nathan wanted, she was ready. The game was afoot, and she held all the best cards. The doors slid open to reveal the plush carpet of the executive suite, her stilettos sinking into the thick pile as she stepped forward with calculated confidence. Behind her, the elevator doors closed with finality, leaving Victoria Hayes stranded thirty-eight floors below where she belonged.