Chapter 71

The grand ballroom of the Blackwood estate shimmered under the glow of a thousand crystal chandeliers. Evelyn Sinclair adjusted her Venetian mask, the delicate silver filigree catching the light as she scanned the room. The masquerade was in full swing—aristocrats and socialites twirled across the marble floor, their laughter mingling with the orchestra’s waltz.

Nathan Blackwood stood near the balcony doors, his dark suit accentuating his broad shoulders. His mask, a sleek black half-face piece, did little to hide the intensity of his gaze as it locked onto Evelyn. She felt her pulse quicken.

Why is he watching me like that?

Victoria Hayes, ever the serpent in silk, slithered up beside him, her crimson gown a stark contrast to Evelyn’s ivory dress. She whispered something in Nathan’s ear, and his jaw tightened. Evelyn’s fingers curled into her palms.

Serena Whitmore appeared at her side, handing her a flute of champagne. "Don’t let her get to you," she murmured. "Victoria thrives on attention."

Evelyn took a sip, the bubbles sharp on her tongue. "I’m not here for drama. I just need to speak with Nathan."

Serena smirked. "Good luck with that. He’s been dodging you all evening."

Before Evelyn could retort, the music shifted—a haunting violin solo that silenced the crowd. Nathan stepped forward, his voice cutting through the hush.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he announced, "tonight isn’t just a masquerade. It’s a game."

Murmurs rippled through the room.

"By midnight, one of you will unmask a truth that changes everything." His eyes flicked to Evelyn. "Choose wisely."

The orchestra swelled, and the guests erupted into excited chatter. Evelyn’s stomach twisted.

What truth?

Victoria’s laugh rang out, sharp as broken glass. "Oh, this should be fun."

Evelyn exhaled slowly. The clock struck eleven.

One hour left.

One hour before the masks came off—and the lies with them.

Maxwell Thornton leaned forward, his voice dripping with false sympathy. "If not for those unfortunate circumstances four years ago, you and Vanessa might have been together already. Why torture yourself with denial now?"

A shadow of unease flickered across Harrison Montgomery's face. "I would never betray Natalie. Not in a million years."

"But the court of public opinion disagrees," Maxwell countered smoothly. "The leaked footage paints a very different picture. If we don't control the narrative, both your reputation and Vanessa's career will be ruined."

Harrison remained stubbornly silent, his jaw clenched.

Seeing his resistance, Maxwell switched tactics. "Even if we position Vanessa as the villain, claiming you were merely mentoring a junior colleague, it won't be enough. People will still accuse you of impropriety. Your sponsorships are already pulling out, Harrison. The studio's stock is plummeting. No amount of righteous indignation will fix that."

"I've done nothing wrong," Harrison ground out, his knuckles whitening around his phone.

Maxwell's smile turned razor-sharp. "Innocent or not, perception is everything. The only way out is to make her the villain."

"A divorce is out of the question," Harrison snapped.

"Then what's your brilliant solution?" Maxwell threw up his hands. "That video has destroyed Vanessa's credibility. If we do nothing, she'll be crucified. She's already attempted suicide once—are you prepared to watch her try again? Or have you forgotten the debt you owe her?"

Harrison flinched as if struck. The memory of Vanessa's tear-streaked face, her trembling hands clutching a bottle of pills, sent a cold spike through his chest.

Maxwell pressed his advantage. "Natalie isn't as blameless as you think."

Harrison's head jerked up. "What are you implying?"

"Those 'hospital' photos of her looking frail?" Maxwell's smirk was venomous. "Convenient timing, don't you think? She knew you'd drop everything to rush to her side—abandoning Vanessa when she needed you most. And now, mysteriously, she's unreachable?"

A slow, sickening realization dawned in Harrison's eyes. Natalie had played him.

Maxwell leaned in, his voice a silken whisper. "She's manipulating public sympathy to force your hand. If she truly loved you, would she sabotage your career like this?"

Harrison's phone buzzed. Natalie's name flashed on the screen.

Maxwell's grin widened. "Tell her it's over. A temporary divorce—just until the scandal blows over. She's a nobody; the backlash won't touch her. But if you protect her now, you lose everything."

Harrison answered the call. Natalie's voice, usually so warm, was ice.

"I know what you're planning," she said, each word a shard of glass. "If you think I'll play the villain to save your mistress, you're delusional. I'd rather die."

The line went dead.

Harrison stared at the darkened screen, his pulse roaring in his ears.

Across the room, Maxwell exhaled sharply. "Then we do it the hard way."

Within the hour, Harrison's PR team released Natalie's medical records—a pristine report stamped "HEALTHY" in bold green letters. The date had been carefully cropped out.

The internet erupted.

"Pathetic," scoffed Sophia Blackwood, scrolling through the trending topics. "They're really trying to gaslight the world into thinking she faked an illness?"

Nathan Blackwood frowned at Evelyn Sinclair's phone. "That's last year's report. No timestamp. They're banking on people not noticing."

Evelyn's fingers tightened around her device. The cruelty of it stole her breath. Harrison wasn't just betraying Natalie—he was erasing her.

And somewhere, alone in a hospital room, Natalie Whitaker was finally realizing:

Her fairytale love story had always been a lie.