Chapter 245

The morning sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Evelyn Sinclair's penthouse, casting golden patterns across the marble floors. She stood by the window, her fingers tracing the rim of her coffee cup absently as she watched the city below come to life.

A sharp knock at the door interrupted her thoughts. "Come in," she called, turning to see Lillian Graves, her ever-efficient assistant, stride in with a tablet in hand.

"You have a meeting with Preston Whitmore in an hour," Lillian announced, swiping through her schedule. "And Nathan Blackwood's office just called. They want to confirm your attendance at the charity gala tonight."

Evelyn's lips curved into a wry smile. "Of course they do." She set her cup down. "Tell them I'll be there."

Lillian hesitated, then added, "Victoria Hayes is also on the guest list."

Evelyn's smile faded. "Perfect." She exhaled sharply. "Just what I needed—another public showdown with Nathan's scheming secretary."

"Should I—"

"No," Evelyn cut her off. "I can handle Victoria." She straightened her blazer. "But let's make sure I'm not seated anywhere near her."

Lillian nodded, making a note. "I'll arrange it."

As Evelyn gathered her things, her phone buzzed. A message from Serena Whitmore, her agent, flashed on the screen: Don't forget—the press will be all over you tonight. Play nice with Nathan.

Evelyn rolled her eyes. Play nice. As if she hadn't been doing that for months.

The drive to the studio was uneventful, but her mind raced with the evening's possibilities. The gala was a high-profile event, and every move she made would be scrutinized. Nathan would be there, charming as ever, with Victoria lurking in the shadows, ready to pounce on any misstep.

Preston Whitmore greeted her warmly when she arrived. "Evelyn, you look radiant as always."

"Flattery will get you everywhere, Preston," she teased, though her smile didn't quite reach her eyes.

They discussed the upcoming project, but Evelyn's attention kept drifting. Tonight wasn't just about the gala—it was about proving she could stand her ground, even in Nathan's world.

As the meeting wrapped up, Preston leaned forward. "You seem distracted. Everything alright?"

Evelyn hesitated, then sighed. "Just... navigating complicated waters."

He gave her a knowing look. "Ah. The Blackwood effect."

She laughed dryly. "Something like that."

Back in her car, Evelyn checked her phone again. Another message, this time from Nathan himself: Looking forward to seeing you tonight.

Her fingers hovered over the screen. She typed, then deleted, then typed again before settling on a simple: Likewise.

The response was immediate: Don't sound too excited.

She smirked. I'll save my excitement for when you finally fire Victoria.

His reply came fast. Not happening.

Evelyn tossed her phone onto the seat beside her. Some battles, it seemed, were far from over.

As her driver pulled up to her apartment, she steeled herself for the night ahead. The gala would be a battlefield—one she intended to win.

Because if there was one thing Evelyn Sinclair knew how to do, it was fight.

By the poolside, anyone who knew Grayson could tell he was deliberately causing a scene.

Grayson watched Gwendolyn intently, expecting her to crumble at the sight of him with another woman. He imagined her heartbreak, the regret washing over her as she realized her mistake—how foolish she had been to defy him. After all, he was a man who responded to sweetness, not defiance.

If she swallowed her pride and begged, he might just let her back into his life. Maybe even grant her the coveted title of girlfriend.

But the past weeks without her had been unbearable—like reliving a nightmare.

She needed to learn her lesson.

Yet, the reaction he anticipated never came. Gwendolyn merely glanced at him—first startled, then mildly annoyed. Was that… amusement tugging at the corner of her lips?

As a staff member, she bowed politely. "My apologies, sir, for the interruption."

Her composure only fueled his irritation—and a twisted sense of satisfaction.

Lila, however, wasn’t having it. Her expression darkened as she glared at Gwendolyn.

"Call the manager. This kind of unprofessional behavior deserves termination."

Gwendolyn’s stomach dropped. She couldn’t let her friend lose her job because of this. Frantically, she scrambled for a solution.

Daniel, unable to stand by while a grown man bullied a woman, moved to intervene—until Isabelle suddenly spoke.

"Oh, come now," she drawled, flipping her hair. "I was just chatting with my biggest fan. Why the hostility? Are you trying to embarrass me? If we’re not welcome here, why invite us at all?"

Isabelle rarely took a stand, but when she did, it was for her fans.

Grayson and Lila froze.

They hadn’t expected Isabelle—a socialite from their own circle—to defend a mere staff member. Was she out of her mind? Risking social capital over this?

Gwendolyn was just as shocked. Isabelle wasn’t known for her charity.

Then the manager arrived, sweating bullets. One look at his terrified face confirmed it—he’d throw Gwendolyn under the bus to appease the elite.

She was doomed.

Even if Evelyn hadn't spoken up for Gwendolyn, that fool Grayson would still be wielding his power to play his twisted game of bittersweet revenge due to Gwendolyn's defiance. It was despicable enough that his actions had cost an ordinary worker her job. I needed to find a solution.

Evelyn was deep in thought when, before Gwendolyn’s manager could even apologize, Nathan suddenly spoke.

"Gwendolyn has done an excellent job," Nathan said, his voice cool and commanding. "I’d like her to personally attend to my wife and me for the remainder of the evening."

His tone was deceptively casual, but the underlying authority left no room for argument.

The manager, well aware of Nathan’s status, paled slightly before nodding eagerly. "Of course, Mr. Blackwood. It’s no trouble at all." He quickly instructed Gwendolyn to give the two VIPs her undivided attention.

Evelyn’s heart swelled with delight.

Nathan gets me. He’s absolutely perfect.

A faint smirk tugged at Nathan’s lips.

The onlookers were stunned.

They had expected to witness nothing more than the petty drama between Grayson, Lila, and Gwendolyn. But now, Nathan and Evelyn had stepped in, turning the tables.

Lila, whose family status was far beneath theirs, wisely kept her mouth shut, not daring to provoke them.

Grayson, however, glowered at the couple, irritation flashing in his eyes. He might have been annoyed, but challenging Nathan? Not a chance.

Gwendolyn, meanwhile, gazed at Evelyn and Nathan with stars in her eyes, gratitude radiating from her.

Who would’ve thought? I was being bullied, and my idol defended me. Even her husband backed me up. Just who is this goddess I’m a fan of?

And so, Gwendolyn stayed by their side, serving them with renewed confidence.

Grayson shot her a venomous glare, but she didn’t spare him a single glance. He scoffed, convinced she was just putting on an act.

"What’s this?" Grayson snapped, his voice dripping with displeasure.

"Taking care of my fan," Evelyn replied sweetly, flashing him a dazzling smile.

"Mrs. Blackwood," Lila interjected, her voice laced with fake concern. "I think you’ve been deceived. Everyone knows about her past. Her sudden appearance here is far too convenient, don’t you think? Maybe she’s deliberately seeking out Mr. Hart. Be careful—this social-climbing schemer might be pretending to be your fan just to manipulate you into helping her win him back."

Her words were sharp, her expression venomous as she stared at Gwendolyn.

Gwendolyn’s face went slack with shock.

Lila, expecting a reaction of guilt or anger, was baffled by her stunned silence.

Shouldn't she be feigning flustered outrage or panicking about being caught red-handed?

Gwendolyn Brooks was seething with frustration. She longed to snap back but dared not offend these spoiled socialites. After all, she was just a working-class girl. Yet she feared Isabelle might misinterpret her intentions and desperately wanted to clarify.

Instead, she caught Isabelle barely suppressing her amusement. "So you're saying she discovered Grayson would attend and deliberately positioned herself here beforehand, just to parade before him?"

Lila Carter shot Isabelle a triumphant look.

The surrounding crowd mirrored this sentiment, their expressions nearly identical.

Wait—why did Grayson wear that smug expression too? Had his narcissism completely erased the memory of who'd orchestrated this entire charade? Hold on. He probably assumed Gwendolyn, as staff, must've known he was hosting. Why else would she appear unless she wanted to see him? Thus his certainty that she'd secretly schemed to meet him. But—couldn't she simply have picked up an extra shift without knowing the guest list?

Isabelle was visibly struggling not to laugh as she countered, "But weren't we only notified about this party at noon today?"

Her single remark gradually silenced the room.

Ignoring Grayson's frozen expression, Isabelle turned to Gwendolyn. "What time did your shift start?"

"Eight this morning," Gwendolyn answered instantly, catching Isabelle's drift.

Isabelle shrugged, addressing Lila with exaggerated sincerity. "Seems you've misjudged, Lila. Her presence here is purely coincidental!"

The timeline suggested something far more damning—that Grayson had planned the event after discovering Gwendolyn's work schedule. Yet no one suspected face-saving motives. Given his earlier provocation, they assumed the rejected playboy was deliberately stirring trouble.

Lila's face darkened at the rebuttal, but she refused to accept Gwendolyn's innocence. A venomous idea struck.

With an icy smile, she purred, "Mrs. Blackwood, I'm merely offering friendly advice. Her conveniently appearing before you speaks volumes, no? Why not ask her directly—does she want back in Grayson's bed?"

The gasps were audible.

Gwendolyn's hands clenched. Isabelle's eyes flashed dangerously. Grayson's smirk vanished.

The tension crackled like live wires.

Then—

A champagne flute shattered against the marble floor.

All heads swiveled toward the interruption.

A statuesque blonde in a silver Versace gown stood framed in the archway, her crimson lips curved in contempt.

"Well, well," drawled the uninvited guest. "If it isn't the pathetic little waitress and her delusional fan club."

Recognition dawned on multiple faces.

Vivian Moore—Grayson's most notorious ex—had arrived.

And she looked ready for war.