Chapter 120

The penthouse suite was eerily silent as Evelyn Sinclair stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, her reflection a ghostly silhouette against the glittering Manhattan skyline. The city lights blurred through unshed tears as she clutched the damning photographs in her trembling hands.

Nathan Blackwood's betrayal burned hotter than the whiskey she'd thrown in his face an hour earlier.

"Ms. Sinclair?" Lillian Graves hovered in the doorway, clutching an iPad like a shield. "The press release is ready when you—"

"Change of plans." Evelyn's voice was steel wrapped in velvet. She turned, the photographs fluttering onto the marble counter like fallen leaves. "Cancel all my appointments. I'm going to London."

Lillian's gasp was audible. "But the shareholders meeting—"

"Can wait." Evelyn snatched her Givenchy coat from the chaise lounge. "Tell Preston Whitmore I want that private jet fueled in thirty minutes."

Downstairs in the lobby, Marcus Donovan materialized from the shadows near the elevators. "Evelyn." His hand caught her elbow. "Nathan's trying to reach you. He says—"

"Save it." She wrenched free, her Valentino heels clicking like gunshots across the polished floors. "His sister can explain why she's been funneling company funds to her husband's offshore accounts."

The paparazzi swarm outside the building erupted in flashes as Evelyn emerged. She ignored their shouted questions about "the Blackwood scandal" and slid into the waiting town car, where Serena Whitmore sat tapping furiously on her phone.

"Damage control?" Evelyn asked coldly.

Serena didn't look up. "Your Instagram followers just increased by 200k. The hashtag #TeamEvelyn is trending worldwide."

The car pulled away as Evelyn finally checked her phone. Seventeen missed calls from Nathan. Three from Julian Blackwood. And one... Her breath hitched. One from Beatrice Holloway at Columbia University.

The final piece of the puzzle.

Rain began streaking the windows as they sped toward Teterboro Airport. Somewhere over the Atlantic, Evelyn would decide whether to destroy the Blackwood empire—or save it.

But first, she needed answers from the one woman who knew all of Nathan's secrets: his first love, Cassandra.

The moment the words registered, Evelyn Sinclair froze, her face draining of color.

Without missing a beat, Nathan Blackwood shot them a sharp glare. "Ms. Sinclair has every right to live as she chooses. It's not for outsiders to dictate morality to her."

A chill ran down the directors' spines—Nathan's fury was unmistakable.

"Accusing Ms. Sinclair of defending a mistress could irreparably damage her reputation. We’ll be consulting our lawyers, Mrs. Bennett. You’d better have concrete proof to back your claims."

The final remark nearly made Claudia Bennett stumble, forcing the director beside her to steady her.

This wasn’t what she’d expected. She’d assumed that exposing Evelyn’s supposed defense of the other woman would at least prompt Nathan to question her motives. Instead, he’d turned the tables completely.

Worse, their responses mirrored each other perfectly. Just moments ago, Evelyn had demanded proof that Rebecca was the mistress.

From a distance, Genevieve gasped. "I’ve never heard Nathan speak so aggressively before."

Margaret Blackwood blinked, then burst into laughter.

"What’s so funny?" Genevieve asked, confused.

Margaret shook her head. "Nathan’s changed. Normally, he’d let Evelyn handle things herself—she’s more than capable. But this time? He didn’t hesitate to strike first."

Genevieve frowned. "Didn’t he always stand up for her?"

Margaret smirked but said nothing. Nathan had always protected his wife out of duty, but this? This was instinct.

Even Nathan’s ever-present assistant was stunned.

No sane person would dare argue now. Though Claudia seethed with resentment, she had no choice but to swallow her pride. In the end, the director had to step in, forcing her to issue a formal apology.

Nathan, however, remained unmoved. "If these rumors persist and harm Ms. Sinclair’s reputation, we will pursue legal action."

With that, he turned to Evelyn, who was staring at him with wide, expressive eyes—his reflection clear in their depths.

Then, to his bewilderment, her thoughts roared to life.

Damn it, he’s too smooth! That authoritative tone just wrecked me.

The ice in Nathan’s expression melted instantly, warmth flooding his cheeks.

What should’ve been a serious moment dissolved into awkward hilarity—because Evelyn, as always, had a knack for ruining the mood.

Nathan nudged her shoulder, prompting her to stand.

His assistant accepted the compensation from the other party—an unexpected windfall for Evelyn.

The rest of the onlookers stood frozen, too intimidated to move.

As they reached the exit, Nathan paused, glancing toward the VIP section. "Mother. Genevieve."

Margaret and Genevieve stiffened, realizing they’d been caught. Sheepishly, they removed their sunglasses and waved.

Evelyn’s jaw dropped. "You two were here the whole time?!"

The wives paled. They hadn’t noticed Margaret and Genevieve’s arrival—meaning they’d heard everything.

Being caught red-handed was far worse than being reported.

But before their panic could spiral, Margaret and Genevieve rushed forward, linking arms with Evelyn.

"When did you get here? Why didn’t you call me?"

"We were about to make a dramatic entrance, but someone stole our thunder!"

"Wait, you were planning to upstage me too?"

The trio dissolved into laughter, chatting animatedly while Nathan dutifully held doors open for them.

Meanwhile, Isabelle Laurent—freshly assigned to handle Evelyn’s files—received a call that made her eyebrows shoot up.

Back in Nathan’s office, the trio lounged on the couch, unwrapping apology gifts with childlike glee.

Nathan settled at his desk, accidentally waking his computer.

Evelyn, assuming he needed help, trotted over—then froze.

"Huh?"

Reply? To what? Does he not realize this is an email from his ex?

Margaret and Genevieve paused mid-unwrapping.

An ex? An email?

The Blackwoods knew little about Cassandra. Nathan had never brought her home during university, never acted lovesick. Their breakup had been so uneventful, they’d wondered if she’d mattered at all.

But now, with Nathan married, Cassandra’s email was a landmine—and Evelyn had just stepped on it.

Swallowing hard, Evelyn forced a smile. "Just tell me what to say, and I’ll type it."

Nathan met her gaze. "It’s not about relaying my words. It’s about your reply."

Evelyn’s pulse spiked.

The gossip’s backfiring on me now?! She wants to meet in two weeks—what am I supposed to say?!

"Reply… what?"

Nathan’s gaze sharpened. "You know who sent this. As my wife, shouldn’t you know how to respond?"