Chapter 30
The morning sun cast golden rays through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Evelyn Sinclair’s penthouse, illuminating the sleek modern furnishings. She stood by the window, sipping her coffee, when her phone buzzed with an urgent message from Tristan Gallagher.
“Ms. Sinclair, there’s been a development. Vanessa Delacroix is at Whitmore Holdings—she’s demanding to see you.”
Evelyn’s grip tightened around her cup. Vanessa had always been a shadow lurking in the corners of her life, ever since Sebastian Blackwood had re-entered it. Setting the coffee down, she grabbed her blazer and strode toward the door.
The elevator doors slid open to reveal the polished lobby of Whitmore Holdings. Employees whispered as Evelyn passed, their gazes flickering between her and the woman seated elegantly in the waiting area—Vanessa Delacroix, dressed in a fitted Chanel suit, her crimson lips curved into a practiced smile.
“Evelyn,” Vanessa greeted, rising gracefully. “How lovely to see you again.”
Evelyn didn’t return the smile. “What do you want, Vanessa?”
Vanessa’s eyes glinted with something sharp beneath their honeyed warmth. “I thought we should talk. Woman to woman.”
Evelyn crossed her arms. “About what?”
“About Sebastian, of course.” Vanessa stepped closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “You see, I know things about him—things you don’t. And if you care about him at all, you’ll hear me out.”
Evelyn’s pulse quickened, but she kept her expression neutral. “You have five minutes.”
Vanessa smirked, as if she’d already won. “Let’s take this somewhere more private.”
The moment they stepped into the empty conference room, Vanessa’s demeanor shifted. The sweetness evaporated, replaced by cold calculation.
“Sebastian isn’t who you think he is,” she said, her voice dripping with faux concern. “He has secrets—dangerous ones. And if you keep pushing your way into his life, you’ll regret it.”
Evelyn arched a brow. “Is that a threat?”
Vanessa laughed softly. “A warning, darling. For your own good.” She reached into her purse and slid a photograph across the table.
Evelyn’s breath hitched.
The image showed Sebastian standing in a dimly lit alley, his expression unreadable, while a man lay motionless at his feet.
“What is this?” Evelyn demanded.
Vanessa leaned in. “Proof that the man you love is capable of far worse than you imagine.”
Before Evelyn could respond, the door burst open.
Sebastian Blackwood stood there, his stormy gaze locked onto Vanessa. “What the hell are you doing here?”
Vanessa’s mask slipped for just a second—fear flickering in her eyes—before she regained her composure. “Just catching up with an old friend.”
Sebastian’s jaw tightened. “Get out.”
Vanessa hesitated, then smirked at Evelyn. “Think about what I said.”
As she sauntered out, the tension in the room thickened.
Sebastian turned to Evelyn, his voice rough. “Don’t listen to a word she says.”
Evelyn held up the photograph. “Then explain this.”
His expression darkened.
And for the first time, Evelyn wondered—had she truly known him at all?
Sebastian returned to Blackwood Manor, soaked to the bone. Beatrice rushed over with a towel, but he dismissed her with a wave.
His expression was stormy as he ascended the stairs.
“W-What happened? Did someone upset him?” Beatrice asked, concern lacing her voice.
“You should give him space. He’s just been played for a fool,” Nathaniel replied grimly.
“What? But he’s always so sharp! How could he fall for a scam? Should we call the authorities?” Beatrice gasped.
Nathaniel shook his head. “It’s complicated. The police wouldn’t be able to help. At least justice was served.”
“I warned him ages ago to install that anti-fraud app. But no, he never listens. Now look at him—completely humiliated.”
Nathaniel smirked bitterly. Sebastian had finally met his match. If it had just been about money, it wouldn’t have stung so badly. But the deception had targeted his pride.
Sebastian trudged upstairs, his face ashen, his usual commanding presence diminished.
“Mr. Blackwood, Ms. Delacroix is here. Mr. Alistair is waiting for you in the study,” a maid informed him softly.
His jaw tightened as he strode toward his father’s study.
“Sebastian, you’re back!” Vanessa rushed to him, throwing her arms around him as if he were a lifeline.
But he didn’t return the embrace. His usual warmth was absent, replaced by a chilling detachment.
“Sebastian, how did it go? Did you meet Ms. Sinclair?” Alistair demanded, his tone sharp.
As the chairman of Blackwood Enterprises, Alistair rarely involved himself in minor affairs. But Isabella had been relentless, pressing him daily to intervene.
“Sebastian will protect Vanessa and her family. He cares for her deeply. If he personally speaks to Ms. Sinclair, Whitmore Holdings wouldn’t dare refuse. Blackwood Enterprises isn’t some small-time company—crossing us would be disastrous for their expansion in Faircrest,” Isabella sneered, linking arms with her husband.
It was the same tactic she’d used for decades—praising Sebastian to the skies, raising expectations impossibly high, then using his inevitable shortcomings to drive a wedge between father and son.
“Father, Isabella, this ends now.” Sebastian’s voice was hollow.
“What do you mean?” Alistair’s brows furrowed.
“I won’t lift another finger for Delacroix Group. That’s final.” Without another word, he turned and left, leaving them stunned in his wake.
“A-Alistair, he can’t be serious!” Isabella’s smile froze, panic creeping into her voice.
Alistair’s expression darkened, but he remained silent.
Sebastian returned to his room, still dripping wet. His mind was too consumed to bother changing. Alyssa—no, Evelyn—had outmaneuvered him completely.
Why wouldn’t you face me yourself, Evelyn Whitmore? Are you hiding something? Or do you think I’m beneath your notice? The questions gnawed at him.
“All our orders are canceled! The inventory will rot, and we can’t pay the workers! We’ll be ruined!” Vanessa shrieked, her usual poise shattered.
“It’s late. I’ll have Nathaniel take you home,” Sebastian said wearily.
“Sebastian, what happened? What changed your mind? Tell me!”
He had no energy left to explain. What could he even say? That her brother had brought this upon himself?
Then he noticed it.
The box—the one containing the suit—was gone. It should have been on his nightstand.
He pushed Vanessa aside and tore through the room. “Beatrice!” he barked.
She hurried in. “Yes, Mr. Blackwood?”
“Where is the box from my nightstand? The one with the suit inside.” His voice was sharp with urgency.
