Chapter 192

The morning sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Evelyn Sinclair's penthouse, casting golden patterns across her silk sheets. Stretching like a contented cat, she reached for her phone with a smirk already playing on her lips. Today promised delicious drama.

Three unread messages from Lillian Graves blinked on her screen. Evelyn's manicured finger hovered over the notifications with the anticipation of a child unwrapping presents. The first message contained a blurry photo of Nathan Blackwood leaving a high-end hotel at 2 AM. The second showed him helping a stunning brunette into his Lamborghini. The third simply read: "His new flavor of the month?"

Evelyn's laughter echoed through the spacious bedroom as she imagined Victoria Hayes's reaction to these photos. That scheming secretary had been throwing herself at Nathan for months, convinced she'd become the next Mrs. Blackwood. Oh, how the mighty would fall.

Rolling onto her stomach, Evelyn dialed Preston Whitmore with the phone wedged between her shoulder and ear. "Cancel my morning meetings," she purred while scrolling through her contacts. "I'm declaring a personal day to enjoy this entertainment."

The director's protest was cut short as she hung up, already typing a new message to Donovan Sharpe: "Remember that indie project Victoria was begging you for? Let's give it to Seraphina Delacroix instead. Consider it... poetic justice."

Her phone buzzed with an incoming call from Julian Blackwood. Evelyn's eyebrows shot up. Nathan's younger brother never contacted her directly. This was getting better by the minute.

"Julian, darling," she answered in her sweetest tone, "to what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?"

"Evelyn." His voice carried uncharacteristic tension. "We need to talk about whatever game you're playing with my brother."

She twirled a lock of honey-blonde hair around her finger. "Games? Me? I'm simply an observer enjoying the show."

A pause. Then Julian's quiet warning: "Be careful. The Blackwoods don't take kindly to puppeteers."

The call ended abruptly, leaving Evelyn staring at her reflection in the vanity mirror. Her smile didn't waver. Threats from the Blackwood siblings only made the game more thrilling. She opened her laptop and began drafting an email to all major entertainment reporters with the subject line: "Blackwood Heir's Midnight Rendezvous - Exclusive Photos."

As the message sent, Evelyn stretched back against her pillows, imagining the chaos about to unfold. Victoria's humiliation. Nathan's frustration. Julian's anger. And best of all? She'd orchestrated it all without leaving a single fingerprint.

Her phone chimed with a breaking news alert from Celebrity Insider. The headline made her giggle aloud: "Nathan Blackwood Spotted with Mystery Woman - Is Wedding to Socialite Off?"

Evelyn tapped her champagne flute against the screen in a mock toast. "Let the games begin."

A chilling silence descended upon the room.

Is he mentally unstable or just completely devoid of ethics? What kind of twisted logic is this? Evelyn's thoughts screamed through her mind, unwittingly broadcasted to Nathan.

The man in question merely raised an eyebrow in innocent confusion. Isn't this basic courtesy?

If Cassandra wants to pretend she's ill, I'll simply treat her as a patient and wish her speedy recovery. Perfectly reasonable.

Yet Nathan's "perfect logic" left everyone in the dining room utterly gobsmacked.

Even Lillian, who had been fuming moments earlier, found herself speechless, her anger momentarily derailed by sheer disbelief.

Whether from genuine distress or shock-induced forgetfulness, Cassandra's carefully maintained composure shattered as tears began streaming down her face.

By the time the stunned guests regained their senses, they were scrambling to console the weeping socialite.

Cassandra quickly collected herself, forcing a brave smile. "It's nothing," she sniffled delicately. "Just some chili oil that got into my eyes earlier."

In truth, her mind was still reeling, but years of social conditioning automatically prompted her to choose the most sympathetic response.

As predicted, her performance further darkened the guests' opinions of Nathan.

They wanted to voice their disapproval, but cold logic prevented them - how could they fault a man for wishing someone good health?

Meanwhile, Nathan remained completely unperturbed, as if entirely detached from the drama he'd created. Having delivered his "kind wishes," he considered his social obligation fulfilled.

Noticing Evelyn's empty plate, he selected another crab leg and began meticulously peeling it for his wife.

This simple domestic gesture derailed Evelyn's train of thought entirely.

It wasn't the act itself that confused her - Nathan had always been attentive during meals, which she'd attributed to his sense of spousal duty.

But why now? In this charged atmosphere? Has his love turned to resentment? Is he punishing me for keeping secrets when I left?

Nathan's hands stilled momentarily at her mental accusation. Again with this?

Unlike last time, he didn't set down the shellfish. Evelyn's plate needed filling, after all.

Suppressing a sigh, he resumed his task with forced patience.

Something's not adding up, Evelyn mused. He seems genuinely indifferent, almost distant. Was I wrong about everything? Were his previous declarations sincere? Has he truly moved on? Her thoughts spiraled as she studied her husband's impassive face.

His anger had melted away, replaced by a smirk. I knew it. As long as I stayed true and honest, the truth would always find its way to the surface.

Nathan poured a steaming cup of chamomile tea for Evelyn, his voice barely above a whisper. "Finish this. You're not getting another."

Evelyn blinked at him, uncomprehending.

Though Nathan had spoken softly, every word carried across the table. The others exchanged uneasy glances. Was this another one of his calculated performances, or did he genuinely care for Evelyn? The ambiguity hung thick in the air, leaving them shifting uncomfortably in their seats.

Meanwhile, Cassandra was struggling to hold back her tears. Her quiet, choked sobs were just loud enough to unsettle everyone at the table—not to mention drawing curious stares from neighboring diners. Even Evelyn couldn’t take it anymore and inched closer to Nathan.

Instinctively, he leaned toward her. Their heads nearly collided before Evelyn caught him just in time. Then, in a voice so small it was almost lost beneath the clatter of silverware, she murmured, "She’s crying. You should…"

Of course, Evelyn didn’t actually want Nathan to comfort Cassandra. She knew exactly what kind of person Cassandra was—every tear, every trembling breath was just another act. But without being able to read Nathan’s mind like usual, Evelyn felt adrift. She burned to ask him: Why are you reacting like this?

Nathan met her gaze, his expression unreadable. "She isn’t crying."

Evelyn nearly choked. Are you blind? What kind of nonsense is that?

Nathan barely suppressed an eye roll.

The table had gone eerily silent.

Nathan arched a brow. "Didn’t she say she got chili in her eye?"

The silence turned suffocating.

Even Cassandra’s sobs cut off abruptly.

Evelyn sucked in a sharp breath, barely stifling a laugh. Hah! What the hell is he saying? It wasn’t even funny—just so absurdly literal that she couldn’t help it. While everyone else read between the lines, Nathan had taken Cassandra’s words at face value.

Hearing Evelyn’s thoughts, Nathan’s lips curled. It’s Cassandra’s own fault for saying it.

If Nathan had been friends with Cassandra for years before their ill-fated romance, even if their relationship had crumbled, at least their friendship might have remained intact.

But now?

Now, he couldn’t care less.

The moment Nathan uncovered Cassandra's web of deceit and realized her intentions to sabotage his marriage with Evelyn, all he felt was pure contempt.

"Nathan, you..." Lillian finally found her voice again, her hands trembling at her sides. "This is too much!"

A cold, questioning gaze from Nathan silenced her mid-sentence. Her eyes instantly welled up with tears, her lips quivering.

She cares this much about her friend? Oh... Oh! Evelyn's thoughts flickered with realization, and Nathan caught the shift in her expression, his curiosity piqued.

To him, Lillian was nothing short of a fool. While their classmates might have once wished for him to end up with Cassandra, none had dared to voice such thoughts after his marriage. At most, they entertained the idea privately.

The reason was simple—meddling in someone else's marriage and endorsing an affair was morally reprehensible. Almost no one would openly support such a thing.

Which was why Nathan found himself genuinely baffled. What on earth is going through her mind?

She’s been secretly in love with Nathan all along! Evelyn deduced, her lips curving slightly.

Nathan’s internal response was dry. Well, I suppose I don’t need to wonder anymore.

Evelyn continued analyzing. So she’s both his admirer and a hardcore shipper? Meaning, aside from Cassandra, she won’t accept anyone else being with him. Tsk, tsk—that’s not devotion, that’s an obsession needing therapy.

Exactly. Nathan agreed silently.

Huh. So Cassandra knows about her feelings and is using her as a pawn? Evelyn mused.

Nathan’s brow furrowed almost imperceptibly. That just makes me despise her even more.

Meanwhile, the others remained oblivious to this dynamic, assuming Lillian was merely defending her friend. Given Cassandra and Nathan’s history, they also found his harshness somewhat unjustified.

"Lillian, stop," Cassandra finally interjected, realizing her friend wasn’t achieving the desired effect. She forced a fragile smile, tears glistening on her cheeks. "It really was just the chili that made me cry. And Nathan… thank you for your concern. I’m better now. The treatment was difficult, but I held onto hope. I… I’ve said too much. I’m fine. Truly, I am."

Her voice trembled just enough to wrench at the heartstrings of anyone listening.

Then, Cassandra turned to Evelyn, her expression painfully earnest. "Seeing how happy you two are together… it brings me peace. I wish you both all the happiness in the world."

At that, Lillian snapped back to her mission.

"You shouldn’t say that, Cassandra! Nathan, do you even know what your wife has been doing behind your back?"

Evelyn, who had been quietly observing Cassandra’s performance, blinked in shock. What exactly have I done?

Nathan, equally unimpressed by Cassandra’s theatrics, merely arched a brow at Lillian, waiting for her next move.

Lillian's fingers flew across her phone screen with practiced ease, her manicured nails tapping furiously as she exposed Evelyn's transgressions to the entire dinner party. "Cassandra had reached out to you months ago," she announced, her voice dripping with righteous indignation. "She wanted to meet face-to-face to finally put that ancient misunderstanding to rest."

A collective gasp rippled through the assembled guests as Lillian thrust her phone toward Nathan. The screen displayed damning evidence—intercepted emails, private correspondence laid bare for all to see. "But your precious wife," Lillian continued, her lips curling in triumph, "didn't just violate your privacy by snooping through your messages. She took it upon herself to threaten Cassandra using your account!"

The crystal chandelier above them seemed to tremble as Nathan's expression darkened. Across the table, Evelyn's champagne flute slipped from her fingers, shattering against the marble floor like their carefully constructed façade.

Lillian wasn't . With a theatrical swipe, she revealed the pièce de résistance—a screenshot of Evelyn's final warning to Cassandra: "Stay away from my husband if you know what's good for you." The timestamp showed it had been sent during Nathan's business trip to Milan—the same week Evelyn had claimed her phone was stolen.

Victoria Hayes, seated strategically beside Nathan, leaned in with feigned concern. "Darling," she purred, placing a possessive hand on his arm, "I always said there was something... unstable about her."

The dining room plunged into chaos as guests erupted in scandalized whispers. Only Preston Whitmore noticed how Evelyn's trembling hands weren't from shame—but from barely contained fury. As their eyes met across the table, the director realized with dawning horror that they'd all severely underestimated Mrs. Blackwood.

Somewhere beneath the hysterics, a silver fork clattered to the floor—the first domino in a chain reaction none of them saw coming.