Chapter 43

The grand ballroom of the Blackwood estate shimmered under the glow of a thousand crystal chandeliers. Evelyn Sinclair adjusted her silver Venetian mask, its delicate lace edges brushing against her flushed cheeks. Around her, masked figures swirled in elegant gowns and tailored suits, their identities hidden beneath layers of silk and mystery.

Nathan Blackwood stood at the center of the room, his dark suit accentuating his broad shoulders. His mask—black with gold filigree—did little to conceal the intensity of his gaze as it swept over the crowd. When his eyes locked onto Evelyn’s, a shiver raced down her spine.

He knows it’s me.

Victoria Hayes, dressed in a scandalously low-cut emerald gown, sidled up to Nathan, her fingers trailing possessively along his arm. "Darling, you promised me a dance," she purred, her voice dripping with false sweetness.

Evelyn clenched her fists, the bite of jealousy sharp in her chest. But before she could react, a familiar voice whispered in her ear.

"Don’t let her get to you." Serena Whitmore, her agent and closest confidante, handed her a flute of champagne. "He’s been watching you all night."

Evelyn exhaled shakily. "It doesn’t matter. After what happened last week—"

"Stop." Serena cut her off with a pointed look. "Tonight isn’t about the past. It’s about this." She gestured to the room, where the orchestra struck up a waltz. "Go claim what’s yours."

Across the room, Nathan disentangled himself from Victoria with a polite but firm nod. His eyes never left Evelyn as he strode toward her, the crowd parting like the Red Sea before him.

"May I have this dance?" His voice was low, rough with unspoken emotion.

Evelyn hesitated—just for a heartbeat—before placing her hand in his. "You may."

As they stepped onto the dance floor, the world narrowed to just the two of them. His hand settled at the small of her back, warm and sure. The music swelled, and they moved as one, their bodies perfectly in sync despite the months of distance between them.

"You’re avoiding me," Nathan murmured, his breath brushing her ear.

Evelyn stiffened. "I’ve been busy."

"Liar." His grip tightened imperceptibly. "You’ve been running. Just like you always do."

The accusation stung. She lifted her chin. "And you’ve been what, exactly? Playing house with Victoria?"

A muscle ticked in his jaw. "You know that’s not what this is."

"Do I?" Her voice cracked. "Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’ve moved on."

Nathan’s eyes darkened. Before he could respond, a crash echoed through the ballroom. The music screeched to a halt as all heads turned toward the entrance.

There, framed by the double doors, stood Cassandra—Nathan’s first love—her ivory gown torn, her face streaked with tears.

"Nathan," she gasped, her voice raw with desperation. "You have to help me. He’s here."

A collective gasp rippled through the crowd.

Evelyn’s blood ran cold.

Because standing behind Cassandra, his expression twisted with fury, was the one man Nathan had sworn to protect her from—his estranged brother, Julian Blackwood.

And he wasn’t alone.

Genevieve froze for a second. Damian had never spoken to her so harshly before. But knowing it came from concern, she quickly replied, "I'm sorry, Damien. Something came up, and I missed your call."

"Is your brother giving you trouble because of us?" His voice was laced with worry.

"Don't worry, I'm fine. Julian just has a temper. He's upset because I didn’t tell them about us sooner. Once I explain properly, everything will be fine."

Damien scoffed through the phone. Why does he still treat you like a child? You’re an adult, Gen. Independent. Free. You don’t owe them every detail of your life.

"I’m the youngest. They just care about me," Genevieve said with a soft smile. "Oh! My sister Evelyn just told me—"

She cut herself off. Instinct urged her to share Evelyn’s secret with Damian, but Evian’s warning flashed in her mind.

"What?"

"Um… Nothing."

Damien’s tone darkened. "You’re keeping things from me now? We’re supposed to share everything. Everything. I don’t hide anything from you. But you? It hurts, Gen. Makes me wonder if I love you more than you love me."

Genevieve’s cheeks burned. "No! That’s not true!"

She bit her lip. Her upbringing screamed at her—this isn’t your secret to tell.

Of course I trust Damien… but this isn’t mine to share.

His voice turned sharp. "Do they look down on me? Think I’m not good enough for the Quirk heiress?"

Genevieve gasped. "How could you think that? You’re amazing!"

"Amazing?" He laughed bitterly. "You’re Genevieve Quirk. And to them, I’m just some nobody."

Panic clawed at her. "My family doesn’t care about status! They just want me happy!"

"Really? Doesn’t matter if they approve. I chose you. No one’s tearing us apart," Damian declared, voice steel.

Her heart fluttered. A shy hum was all she could manage.

That evening, the Blackwoods gathered for dinner—the first time in months.

Genevieve adored her nephew, Theodore, showering him with gifts. Finally, she wasn’t the baby anymore.

Once Sophia put the boy to bed, the family settled in the living room.

The topic? Genevieve’s love life.

Richard and Nathan had dug into Damian’s background. Julian’s complaints didn’t help—no respect, too handsy in public. But young love was reckless. They let it slide.

Richard leaned forward. "You said your professor hired him temporarily. Does he not have a steady job?"

Genevieve brightened. "He’s starting his own gallery! He’s learning the ropes now. Once Camille and I graduate, he’ll showcase our work."

The room went still. Except Evelyn.

Margaret frowned. "But you always said—"

Genevieve laughed. "I was naive! High prices mean people value my art. And Damien said we could donate the profits. It’s meaningful."

Silence.

Technically true… but something’s off.

Genevieve’s head snapped toward Evelyn. It’s real! I really can hear her!

The others coughed, signaling her to stay quiet.

Julian crossed his arms. "How does he afford rent? Or is he mooching off you?"

Genevieve stiffened. "We just started dating! I wouldn’t ask that! But he rents his own place, does odd jobs at campus. He’s learning."

Dropped out after middle school. Been out for years. Evelyn’s internal sigh echoed.

The Blackwoods’ faces darkened.

Genevieve’s hands trembled. "Education doesn’t define someone! His family couldn’t afford school—they prioritized Camille’s art. You’re not judging him for that, are you?"

Nathan’s calm voice cut through. "Why would you assume we’d think that?"

Genevieve blinked. "Isn’t it… obvious?"

His gaze sharpened. "The Genevieve I know wouldn’t jump to that conclusion. Who put that idea in your head?"

The room tensed.

"N-No one! It’s just logic!"

Evelyn’s thought rang clear: Oh, Gen. Your guilty face says it all. Boyfriend’s words, not yours.

Genevieve paled. "I—"

Terrible liar. Evelyn mused.

Nathan didn’t relent. "You two aren’t right for each other."