Chapter 8

The morning sun cast golden rays through Evelyn Sinclair's penthouse windows, painting the sleek modern furniture in warm hues. She stood by the floor-to-ceiling glass, sipping her espresso, her mind still replaying last night's encounter with Nathan Blackwood.

That man is infuriatingly charming.

Her phone buzzed—Victoria Hayes, her ever-efficient yet subtly scheming secretary.

"Ms. Sinclair, your 10 AM meeting with Preston Whitmore has been moved up. He insists on discussing the script changes immediately."

Evelyn sighed. Preston, the acclaimed director, was known for his last-minute demands. She typed a quick reply.

"Tell him I'll be there in twenty."

As she grabbed her blazer, her assistant, Lillian Graves, rushed in, holding a tabloid.

"You might want to see this."

The headline screamed:

"Nathan Blackwood Spotted Leaving Actress Seraphina Delacroix's Hotel at Dawn!"

Evelyn's grip tightened on the paper. Seraphina—the rising star with a reputation for seducing powerful men.

Of course.

She tossed the tabloid aside. "I don’t care about his personal life."

Lillian raised a brow. "You sure? Because your jaw just clenched hard enough to crack a walnut."

Evelyn shot her a glare. "Focus on the meeting."

The studio was abuzz when she arrived. Preston, a man with salt-and-pepper hair and sharp eyes, waved her over.

"Evelyn! We need to talk about the third act. The chemistry between the leads isn’t translating on screen."

She crossed her arms. "What do you suggest?"

Preston smirked. "More intimate scenes. Raw tension. The audience wants to feel it."

Before she could respond, a deep voice cut in.

"Then maybe you should cast actors who don’t need a script to fake chemistry."

Nathan.

Dressed in a tailored navy suit, he leaned against the doorframe, his smirk mirroring Preston’s.

Evelyn’s pulse spiked. Unbelievable.

Preston chuckled. "Speaking of which—Nathan, perfect timing. Let’s run the balcony scene. Evelyn, you’re up."

Nathan’s gaze locked onto hers, challenging. "Unless you’re too busy?"

Her nails dug into her palms. "Bring it on, Blackwood."

As they took their positions, the air between them crackled—half hostility, half something far more dangerous.

Nathan stepped closer, his voice dropping to a whisper only she could hear.

"Still pretending you don’t care about my hotel visits?"

Her breath hitched. "Still pretending you’re not trying to provoke me?"

His grin was pure sin. "Who’s pretending?"

Preston’s voice boomed. "Action!"

And just like that, the lines between script and reality blurred.

Holy Moly

At last, they reached the heart of the matter. Daniel masked his irritation, his voice steady but cold. "His name is Liam. Sophia and I are planning to adopt him. From this moment forward, he will be our son. Liam, this is your Uncle Nathan and Aunt Evelyn. Say hello."

Just as Liam rose hesitantly to greet them, Richard cut in sharply, his expression dark. "Hold on. We haven't discussed this yet."

Liam's face paled, and he sank back into his seat, shoulders hunched.

Margaret, her heart aching for the boy, suggested gently, "Perhaps Liam should go play outside."

Adult matters shouldn’t be aired in front of a child.

"It’s fine," Daniel dismissed, indifferent to the boy’s distress.

Richard, barely containing his fury, finally snapped. "Let me be blunt. Sophia is only thirty—she’s still young enough to have children. You bring this boy home and announce an adoption without even consulting us? Is this how the Prescotts operate?"

Beatrice interjected smoothly, "You can’t blame us. After Sophia’s complications during her first delivery, the doctors said conceiving again would be difficult. We can’t afford to wait indefinitely..."

Nine years ago, Sophia had suffered a stillbirth and had struggled to conceive since. The Blackwoods, however, believed modern medicine could still offer hope. They hadn’t expected the Prescotts to show up with an adopted child in tow.

Sophia’s eyes welled with tears.

Are they that desperate? Is Daniel on his deathbed, the Prescott lineage hanging by a thread?

Evelyn, idly spearing a piece of fruit, scoffed internally.

The Blackwoods, barely restraining their outrage, nearly laughed at the absurdity. Even Sophia, emotional as she was, fell silent.

Nathan cleared his throat, squeezing Evelyn’s arm. "Dinner’s almost ready. Save room."

Then, turning to Daniel, he asked pointedly, "What’s the rush? Even if you’ve given up hope, why choose a child his age?"

Evelyn set her fork down, impressed. Damn, Nathan nailed it.

Nathan blinked. Wait—there’s actually something fishy here?

Richard and Margaret exchanged startled glances. What?

Sophia shuddered, staring at Evelyn in shock.

Before Daniel could respond, Nathan pressed, "What’s so special about this boy? Why him?"

Beatrice and Daniel stiffened. The older woman forced a dry chuckle. "He’s nine, and he bears a resemblance to Daniel and Sophia. It felt like fate, so..."

Richard and Margaret scrutinized Liam. He does look like them.

Sophia only grew more upset, tears spilling over.

For some reason, Liam ducked his head further, guilt radiating off him.

Evelyn’s mind raced. Holy moly! Liam is Daniel’s biological son! Sophia didn’t give birth to him—which means he’s Daniel’s love child! And now he’s forcing Sophia to raise him? The audacity! The sheer shamelessness!

The Blackwoods gaped, stunned, their eyes darting between Beatrice, Daniel, and Liam.

Sophia, bewildered, stared at Evelyn. How does she know?

They’d pressured Sophia to hide the truth, framing it as an adoption and warning her against revealing Liam’s origins. They’d claimed the Blackwoods would cause a rift if they found out. As if that weren’t enough, they’d gaslit Sophia into believing her infertility was her own fault—that they had to secure the Prescott bloodline. Seriously, who do they think they are? Royalty? Evelyn fumed. And Sophia actually bought this? Good grief. What did she do to deserve this?

The Blackwoods were speechless, their eyes nearly bulging out of their sockets.

Sophia, heartbroken, choked back a sob.

Nathan’s face turned to stone as the truth sank in.

Is she really that hungry?

But watching her devour her food while absorbing the drama made his own stomach growl. He picked up his fork.

Better deal with this on a full stomach.

The tension was so thick no one noticed Nathan and Evelyn eating like this was just another dinner.

Beatrice’s smile soured, while Daniel, though seething, didn’t dare confront the Blackwoods. Instead, he turned on Sophia. "Sophia, you agreed to this, didn’t you?"

"Surely you won’t turn away my only grandson?" Beatrice added, laying on the guilt.

"Enough," Richard snapped, fury boiling over. "Sophia, whatever you decide, we support you. No one gets to bully you!"

Daniel and Beatrice faltered.

"Dad, I..." Sophia panicked, glancing at Liam.

Though Liam had been well-behaved, and Daniel’s indifference to the boy gave her some relief, she couldn’t shake her discomfort. Any other child, maybe—but not this one.

Not when his name, Liam, echoed Adriana, Daniel’s ex.

"Sophia!" Daniel’s voice held a warning edge.

Sophia flinched, looking to her parents. "I don’t know what to do! Mom, Dad, what do you think?"

Margaret and Richard exchanged disappointed glances. Sophia had always been kind, but never weak. How had marriage reduced her to this?

Nathan set his fork down with a sigh, ready to intervene. This boy isn’t becoming family.

Before he could speak, Evelyn’s mental roar nearly deafened him. Dmn it! Why is she hesitating? They’re humiliating her! Why hasn’t she filed for divorce yet? What’s she waiting for?!*