Chapter 20

The penthouse elevator doors slid open with a soft chime, revealing Evelyn Sinclair gripping her phone so tightly her knuckles turned white. The screen displayed the latest tabloid headline: "Nathan Blackwood's Secret Affair with Assistant Confirmed!" accompanied by a grainy photo of him leaving a hotel with Lillian Graves at 2 AM.

"Damn it!" Evelyn hissed, stabbing the elevator button with more force than necessary. Her reflection in the mirrored walls showed smudged mascara - she'd cried all the way from the studio.

The penthouse was eerily silent when she entered. No classical music drifting from the sound system. No scent of Nathan's expensive cologne lingering in the air. Just the faint ticking of the antique grandfather clock in the foyer.

She found him on the terrace, silhouetted against the Manhattan skyline, a tumbler of whiskey in hand.

"You're home early," Nathan remarked without turning around. His voice held that infuriating calmness that always preceded a storm.

Evelyn slammed her phone onto the glass coffee table. "Care to explain this?"

Nathan finally turned, his emerald eyes scanning the headline with mild interest. "Photoshop. Obviously."

"Bullshit!" Evelyn's voice cracked. "Victoria Hayes sent me the security footage. You kissed her in that elevator!"

A muscle twitched in Nathan's jaw. "That was three months ago. Before we—"

"Before we what? Before you decided to stop sleeping with your entire staff?" Evelyn's laugh was bitter. "God, I'm such an idiot. All those late nights 'working'—"

"Enough." Nathan's glass shattered against the stone railing. "You want the truth? Fine. Lillian was a mistake. One I regretted the moment it happened."

Evelyn recoiled as if struck. The admission hurt more than the lie.

Somewhere in the building, a siren wailed. The city lights blurred through her unshed tears. "I need space," she whispered, grabbing her purse.

Nathan moved faster than she anticipated, blocking the doorway. "Running away won't solve anything."

"I'm not running. I'm surviving." Evelyn shoved past him, but his hand caught her wrist.

"Wait—" His thumb brushed over her racing pulse. "Just... wait."

In that suspended moment, Evelyn saw something raw in his gaze she'd never seen before. Not anger. Not lust. Fear. The great Nathan Blackwood was terrified—of losing her.

Her phone chose that moment to vibrate violently. Preston Whitmore's name flashed on the screen with the subject line: URGENT - Reshoot Schedule.

Nathan's grip loosened. "Go. Your career comes first. It always has."

The words hung between them like a guillotine. Evelyn opened her mouth—to protest? To beg? She'd never know, because her phone buzzed again. This time with a photo attachment that made her blood run cold.

It was Nathan. In their bed. With another woman.

And the timestamp read last night.

"If that's true, this would be the first time Isabelle has taken something that belonged to Celeste."

Julian's expression darkened as he stole a covert glance at Celeste.

Julian and Celeste had been classmates back in their homeland. Fate had twisted their paths when the country they visited for that disastrous summer camp happened to be where Isabelle was receiving treatment.

Even though Julian was only ten at the time, an arrangement between their grandmothers had already bound him as Celeste’s fiancé. Naturally, he was expected to meet the Cowell family.

That was Julian’s first encounter with Isabelle in the hospital ward—where she lay like a fragile porcelain doll, radiating an ethereal, delicate beauty.

"From the moment Isabelle saw Julian, she was spellbound. When she learned he was Celeste’s fiancé—exclusively her sister’s—she threw a tantrum, demanding time with him. Jealousy can poison even the purest heart! Despite being showered with her parents’ undivided love, Isabelle still craved what belonged to Celeste. In her mind, without Celeste, everything would have been hers by default."

Julian’s pulse stuttered at those words.

No. That’s not Isabelle. She isn’t like that.

Back then, Isabelle had caused a scene in the ward. But all Julian felt was pity for the sickly girl who seemed so lonely. And whenever he looked at her face—so eerily similar to Celeste’s—his chest tightened with sympathy.

But Evelyn claimed Isabelle had her parents’ unconditional love. What about Celeste? What did she have back then?

Me. Her fiancé.

The realization struck Julian like a physical blow, leaving his thoughts reeling.

"Originally, Julian and Celeste were supposed to attend the event together. But Isabelle, bedridden in the hospital, threw a fit—demanding she go with Julian instead, barring Celeste from attending. Since the event wasn’t open to last-minute changes, their parents asked Celeste to forfeit her spot. They sent Isabelle in her place, instructing Julian to watch over her."

Julian’s jaw clenched. At the time, he hadn’t questioned it. He’d agreed to Edward and Penelope’s request without considering Celeste’s feelings.

He’d assumed Celeste would yield to her sister. To him, it was natural—expected.

He couldn’t even remember Celeste’s expression that day.

The Blackwood family had praised Celeste for her selflessness, marveling at the sisters’ bond.

(Scene break: The Quirk family’s eavesdropping members exchange uneasy glances. One, hidden behind lush greenery, studies Celeste’s distant figure with dawning unease.)

Meanwhile, Julian’s personal guard—initially unnoticed—suddenly moved. His sharp eyes had caught Julian’s subtle signal.

The valley was treacherous, its depths swallowing all light. Yet Evelyn Sinclair pressed on, her determination unwavering as she searched for Julian Blackwood. When she finally found him unconscious among the scattered belongings, she didn’t hesitate—she hauled him onto her back and carried him out, step by agonizing step.

By the time they reached safety, Evelyn collapsed, her body wracked with fever. The strain of the ordeal had taken its toll. She was rushed to the hospital alongside Julian, leaving the Blackwood family in stunned silence.

But then… how did Isabelle Laurent come into the picture?

When Evelyn’s fever broke, she seemed to have no memory of what had happened. Julian, however, was certain he had seen Isabelle in the valley. The Cowells seized the moment, weaving a web of lies so convincing that even Eleanor, the family matriarch, believed it was Isabelle who had rescued Julian and fallen ill from exhaustion. The camp staff, too, assumed the girl who returned was simply overcome with worry. The deception was seamless.

Yet Julian couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. Why would Edward and Penelope Cowell perpetuate this lie? Their relationship with Evelyn hadn’t been strained back then.

"It seems they had always intended to switch their betrothed," Nathan Blackwood murmured, his voice edged with bitterness. "It wasn’t just Isabelle’s fragile health—they saw Evelyn as strong, capable of handling any alliance. Isabelle, on the other hand, needed a family that could provide for her without question."

The Blackwoods finally understood. Few families were as prestigious and wealthy as theirs, and the Cowells had been scheming for years.

When Eleanor Cowell first arranged Evelyn’s engagement to Julian, Edward and Penelope had been furious. They accused her of favoritism, of neglecting Isabelle. Eleanor had fired back, "You only care for Isabelle while ignoring Evelyn. Shouldn’t I ensure her future while I still can?"

Now, with Eleanor gone, the Cowells’ true intentions were laid bare.

But Julian…

His gaze burned with betrayal as he stared at Nathan. Nathan exhaled sharply, unwilling to entertain his brother’s foolishness—but then he remembered something Evelyn had said earlier.

"You were taller than Theodore at ten, weren’t you?" Nathan muttered under his breath.

Julian froze.

Nathan’s eyes darkened. "Not many girls could carry you out of that valley."

Between a healthy Evelyn and a frail Isabelle… who could have possibly managed it?

Julian’s face paled.

Memories flashed through his mind—Evelyn, her hand crushed beneath a cabinet, sweat beading on her forehead as she refused to make a sound. Isabelle, on the other hand, had wept for hours over a twisted ankle.

Evelyn had once refused help moving heavy lab equipment, lifting it effortlessly despite her slender frame. Isabelle had barely lasted three seconds holding a child during a shoot before begging Julian to change the script.

The banquet ended in hushed whispers.

As the Cowells were ushered away to "discuss matters," Julian stood frozen, the truth settling over him like a storm.

The golden chandeliers cast shimmering reflections across the ballroom as Evelyn Sinclair adjusted her emerald-green gown. Beside her, Nathan Blackwood offered a polite but distant smile. "We have prior arrangements with the Blackwood family today," he informed the crowd smoothly, his voice carrying effortless authority. "Time is rather pressing."

Murmurs of disappointment rippled through the gathered guests. Every eye lingered on the striking couple, curiosity burning about how this high-society engagement drama would unfold. Yet none dared protest—when the Blackwoods requested privacy, even the most persistent socialites knew better than to interfere.

Just as the first guests began drifting toward the exits, the grand doors burst open with a dramatic flourish.

"Celeste! My darling Celeste!"

All heads swiveled toward the intrusion. A disheveled Vincent Holloway staggered into the room, his designer suit rumpled and tie askew. The scent of expensive whiskey preceded him as he lurched forward, arms outstretched.

"I heard you're breaking your engagement!" His voice slurred with intoxication yet carried startling conviction. "Then let me propose to your family right now. You belong with me—you've always been mine! I'll take responsibility!"

The ballroom froze.

Celeste Wentworth's porcelain complexion drained of color. Across from her, Julian Blackwood's knuckles whitened around his champagne flute. Their gazes locked on the drunken interloper—the same man who'd accosted Celeste in the ladies' lounge mere hours earlier.

Vincent swayed dangerously, his glassy eyes fixed on Celeste with possessive intensity. "No more games, sweetheart. Time to make an honest woman of you."

A teacup shattered somewhere in the stunned silence.