Chapter 295

Reading Evelyn's Gossip in Her Mind

The morning sun cast a golden glow over the penthouse as Evelyn Sinclair stretched lazily in bed. Her phone buzzed incessantly—another flood of notifications from the tabloids. With a sigh, she grabbed it and skimmed the headlines.

"Nathan Blackwood Spotted with Mystery Woman at Midnight Gala!"

Evelyn rolled her eyes. Again? She knew better than to believe every rumor, but the photos were hard to ignore. Nathan, ever the enigmatic billionaire, had his arm draped around a stunning brunette in a backless emerald gown.

Her fingers hovered over the screen. Should I text him?

No. She tossed the phone aside. They weren’t that kind of couple—if they were even a couple at all. Their relationship was a carefully curated dance of public appearances and private distance.

A knock at the door interrupted her thoughts.

"Evelyn?" Lillian Graves, her ever-efficient assistant, peeked in. "Victoria Hayes is here. She says it’s urgent."

Evelyn groaned. Victoria, Nathan’s sharp-tongued secretary, was the last person she wanted to see. "Tell her I’m busy."

Lillian hesitated. "She mentioned something about… Seraphina Delacroix?"

Evelyn’s blood ran cold. Seraphina—the actress who’d been linked to Nathan years ago, before Evelyn entered the picture. The woman who still haunted tabloid columns as "the one who got away."

"Fine," Evelyn muttered, slipping into a silk robe. "Send her in."

Victoria strode in, her designer heels clicking against the marble floor. "Morning, Evelyn. Lovely to see you ignoring the press again."

Evelyn crossed her arms. "What do you want?"

Victoria smirked, tossing a glossy magazine onto the bed. The cover featured Nathan and Seraphina, their faces inches apart. "Thought you should see this before the real storm hits."

Evelyn’s nails dug into her palms. "Photos can be staged."

"True," Victoria conceded. "But can this?" She pulled out her phone and played a video—Nathan whispering something into Seraphina’s ear, her laughing, his hand lingering on her waist.

Evelyn’s stomach twisted.

Victoria leaned in, her voice dripping with faux sympathy. "He’s always had a soft spot for her. Maybe you should ask him about their history."

Evelyn forced a smile. "Thanks for the concern, but I think I’ll handle my relationship my way."

Victoria shrugged. "Suit yourself. Just don’t say I didn’t warn you."

As the door clicked shut, Evelyn exhaled sharply. She snatched her phone and dialed Nathan’s number.

It went straight to voicemail.

Of course.

She stared at the magazine cover, her mind racing. Was this just another game to test her? Or was there truth behind the rumors?

One thing was certain—she wouldn’t wait around to find out.

Grabbing her keys, she headed for the door. If Nathan wanted to play, she’d play better.

And this time, she’d make sure everyone was watching.

Mr. Brooks was utterly terrified, which explained his sudden departure abroad for medical treatment. His obsession with fathering a child had reached new heights. Now that he'd found a woman willing to bear his heir, he couldn’t risk any complications.

When the truth came to light, the Blackwood family exchanged silent glances, their thoughts clear: What throne is he trying to secure?

At this point, it seemed hopeless.

The Blackwoods didn’t dwell on it—just a postponed wedding, after all. No juicy gossip had surfaced, so their interest waned quickly.

What was intriguing, however, was Evelyn’s recent behavior. She’d been unusually busy, tight-lipped about her activities.

Only Nathan remained unsettled by it.

Then, one evening, as he stepped out of the shower, he was met with Evelyn’s radiant grin.

Her eyes sparkled with mischief, like a cat who’d just snatched the cream. With a playful smirk, she purred, "A bet is a bet, Mr. Blackwood. Shall we begin?"

Thanks to Beatrice Holloway’s decision, Evelyn had won their wager. Now, it was time to collect.

Nathan froze, caught between reluctance and resignation, but he obediently took a seat at the vanity.

He was equal parts exasperated and helpless.

"Are you absolutely certain about this?" Nathan tried one last protest. "No alternative demands?"

He’d assumed Evelyn would want something… else from him. But no—her request was far more devious.

Gleefully, she brandished her makeup kit. "I’ve prepared everything—the dress, the wig. Violet Carter even gave me lessons. I promise, I’ll turn you into a breathtaking beauty."

Oh, this was going to be glorious. Nathan’s sharp, aristocratic features would be lethal in feminine form. His childhood photos—where Margaret had once dressed him as a little princess—were proof enough. Now, Evelyn would see the full transformation firsthand. And then? She’d get very close to this stunning "lady."

Nathan’s expression was priceless—a mix of horror and reluctant amusement. He could only blame his mother for putting such ideas in Evelyn’s head.

A week ago, while flipping through the Blackwood family album, Evelyn had stumbled upon that photo—Nathan, no older than five, in a frilly dress, his hair curled like a doll’s.

He didn’t even remember wearing a skirt as a child. He did recall Julian being subjected to Margaret’s whims, though. Apparently, their mother had a thing for dressing her sons as daughters.

But this? This was entirely Evelyn’s doing.

And Nathan was not ready.

From the adjacent room, Margaret suddenly sneezed.

"Are you catching a cold?" Richard asked, glancing up from his book.

Margaret was meticulously arranging a stack of freshly developed photographs into an album. She rubbed her nose absently. "No, not at all... Oh, Richard, look at this one. The way Nathan looks at Evelyn—it could melt any mother's heart."

Richard leaned over to examine the photo. It was a recent shot taken in the living room. Evelyn and Sophia were deep in conversation, their expressions animated. Though Nathan wasn't part of their discussion, his gaze never strayed from Evelyn. The warmth in his eyes was unmistakable, even in a still image. It was as if his entire world revolved around her.

"Nathan has changed so much, all because of Evelyn," Richard mused. "Before, he barely spent time with us, let alone indulged in idle chatter. He was always buried in work, lost in his own thoughts."

"Exactly. We owe it all to Evelyn. I always knew she was his lucky charm," Margaret chuckled, carefully tucking the photo into place. Her fingers paused as she flipped to an earlier page, landing on a picture from a year ago—when the tension between the two had been palpable.

As Margaret studied Evelyn’s face across different photos, something struck her as odd. She flipped back and forth, comparing them. Though the features were identical, the expressions belonged to two entirely different people.

Her son, too, appeared transformed—once cold and distant, now hopelessly smitten. But as his mother, Margaret recognized both versions of Nathan. With Evelyn, however... Perhaps it was simply because she didn’t understand her as deeply as a mother would.

Then, her fingers brushed against the very first page, where a faded childhood photo caught her eye.

It was a rare shot of Nathan actually looking at the camera—or rather, at the person behind it.

The photo was imperfect, the top-right corner slightly obscured. It had been taken by Evelyn as a child, her first attempt with a camera. Her tiny fingers had accidentally slipped over the lens mid-shot.

The reason Evelyn had insisted on taking the photo was pure mischief. She had begged Nathan to wear one of her dresses, determined to capture the moment.

And so, there he was—dressed in a frilly blue gown, his jet-black hair tied with a matching lace ribbon. His lips were cherry-red, his teeth pearl-white. In that moment, he could’ve passed for a stunning little girl.

Evelyn had hugged him gleefully afterward, as if he were her favorite doll.

The memory sparked a mischievous thought in Margaret. She’d always harbored a secret desire to dress her son in feminine attire, but Nathan had stubbornly refused. So, she’d turned her attention to Julian instead.

Now that they were all grown up, those playful days were long gone.

Margaret sighed with regret, completely unaware that her daughter-in-law was currently having the time of her life.

In front of the vanity mirror, Nathan Blackwood sat patiently as layer after layer of makeup was applied to his face—a process that had already taken nearly an hour. His discomfort grew with each passing minute, and finally, he couldn’t hold back any longer.

“Aren’t your arms exhausted?” Nathan asked, his voice laced with concern. “If you really want me dolled up like this, we could always call in a professional makeup artist—”

“Absolutely not!” Evelyn Sinclair cut him off, her fingers still delicately blending blush across his cheekbones. “Do you really think I’d let anyone else see you like this, Mr. Blackwood? You lost the bet fair and square, but I won’t humiliate you in front of others.”

Though the situation was undeniably embarrassing, Nathan was more preoccupied with Evelyn’s well-being. She rarely wore makeup herself, let alone applied it on someone else. This was essentially a crash course in cosmetics, and while he had initially indulged her enthusiasm, the moment he noticed the slight tremble in her wrist, he had to speak up.

But before he could, her inner voice whispered through his thoughts.

Besides, how could I ever let another woman touch Nathan’s face so freely?

The words struck him like lightning. His pulse quickened, and for a moment, he was rendered speechless.

Right. Only Evelyn has that privilege.

Finally, the makeup was complete, the wig secured, and Evelyn stepped back to admire her handiwork.

Nathan opened his eyes and met her stunned gaze.

Instantly, self-consciousness prickled at him. “Is it that bad?”

Evelyn’s cheeks flushed a delicate pink, her eyes sparkling with barely contained excitement. “Hurry up and change,” she urged, nudging him toward the bed.

Nathan had already showered earlier and was wrapped in a plush bathrobe. The “women’s clothing” Evelyn had prepared for him turned out to be an elegant silk nightgown—simple yet sophisticated. The moment he slipped it on, the unfamiliar fabric made his skin prickle with discomfort. But when he reclined against the pillows, the blankets artfully concealing the broad lines of his masculine frame, the illusion was nearly flawless.

He looked like a goddess—ethereal, untouchable, a rare bloom resting atop a mountain peak.

If Isabelle Laurent were to see him now, she’d be on her knees begging him to sign a modeling contract.

No acting skills required. No professional training. His face alone was enough to captivate.

Evelyn scrambled for her phone, frantically searching for the perfect angle. Nathan, utterly clueless about posing, simply followed her directions, his expression a mix of amusement and resignation.

Ah, it doesn’t matter if he’s a man or a woman—Nathan’s beauty is simply otherworldly.

“Darling, here I come!” Evelyn giggled before tossing her phone aside and launching herself at him.