Chapter 48
After Evelyn finished the chocolate, she tucked the remaining bar back into Oliver’s breast pocket and gave his chest an approving pat. “You keep yourself in good shape,” she remarked with a playful grin.
Oliver’s pulse quickened, warmth creeping up his neck. At twenty-eight, he was four years her senior, but that had never stopped the flutter in his chest whenever she was near. He had grown up visiting Crestwood Manor often—his father had once been the head of Whitmore Holdings’ legal department, highly regarded by Reginald Whitmore himself.
The first time he’d laid eyes on Evelyn, she had been a vision in the sprawling gardens of Crestwood. A tiny figure in a white sundress, racing toward him on a skateboard like a summer breeze given human form. He’d blinked, half-convinced she was a daydream.
“Hey, got any candy?” she’d asked, hopping off the board and kicking it up into her hands with effortless grace.
Oliver had been so flustered he’d nearly choked on his own tongue. Damn it, she’s just a kid, he’d scolded himself—but how could anyone not be enchanted by her?
When she’d sighed and turned to leave, he’d caught her wrist on impulse, startled by how delicate it felt in his grip. “Wait,” he’d blurted, fishing out a chocolate bar. “Will this do?”
Her answering smile had been brighter than the sun. “Perfect!” She’d torn into it immediately, humming in delight after the first bite.
From that day on, Oliver never visited Crestwood without candy in his pockets. A habit that had lasted over a decade. If Evelyn wanted sweets, and he was nearby, she’d get them.
The press conference was a powder keg.
Raphael Delacroix’s face twisted with fury as he jabbed a finger at the reporter. “Let me make this crystal clear—there are no quality issues with Delacroix Group products! I stake my reputation on it!”
The journalist didn’t back down. “Then why did every Whitmore Holdings hotel nationwide pull your inventory overnight? If there’s nothing to hide, why the secrecy?” The Twitter livestream chat exploded.
“Staking his reputation? Bold move. Maybe he’s telling the truth.”
“Like his word means anything.”
“I don’t care if it’s true—I’m returning everything. Just looking at him makes my skin crawl.”
Raphael’s smirk was razor-sharp. “You want answers? Fine. Here’s the real story.” He leaned in, voice dripping with faux regret. “I do take responsibility—for trusting the wrong people. With hundreds of Elysian Home locations, oversight is impossible. But this?” He gestured to the screen behind him, where damning photos flashed—private meetings, incriminating bank transfers. “This was sabotage. Gregory Holloway, Whitmore Holdings’ own hotel manager, took bribes to swap our materials for cheap substitutes!”
The crowd erupted.
Maxwell Reeves cursed under his breath. “This slimy bastard’s dragging Whitmore Holdings into the mud!”
Sebastian Blackwood’s expression darkened to glacial.
Raphael wasn’t done. “Gregory didn’t act alone. Someone at Whitmore had to be pulling strings. Yet they threw us under the bus instead of owning their corruption!” He spread his hands, the picture of wounded outrage. “Is this how giants crush the little guys?”
The uproar grew deafening.
Maxwell’s fists clenched. “He’s turning the public against us!”
Sebastian said nothing, but his gaze could have frozen hell over.
Raphael reveled in the chaos. Let’s see your precious CEO counter this, he thought smugly. He’d planted this trap months ago—every meeting with Gregory meticulously documented, every transfer traceable. A perfect scapegoat.
Just as he opened his mouth to twist the knife deeper—
CRASH.
The doors burst open.
