Chapter 220

Dominic studied Evelyn's face, searching for any flicker of emotion.

His childhood had been marked by absence - no father, a mother who'd abandoned him to an orphanage. Though she'd visited occasionally, young Dominic had carried unanswered questions like stones in his pockets.

'Who is my father?'

'Why doesn't he want me?'

'Does anyone want me?'

That hollow ache of abandonment fueled his determination to pour unconditional love onto Evelyn.

Yet he knew no affection could replace what only parents could give.

Evelyn had never known her mother.

Like Alexander across the table and Isabella beside her, she'd spent years longing for a mother's embrace. A dream that remained unfulfilled, even when she became a mother herself...

Alexander sat primly beside his father, fork poised with perfect manners. His solemn gaze lifted to study Miss Sinclair opposite him, realizing with childlike clarity that she shared their motherless state.

Sylvia pressed her lips together, absorbing Evelyn's revelation. Her pulse had raced during the questioning - desperate for answers yet fearing she'd overstepped. The confirmation that Evelyn had never met her mother sent conflicting waves through her.

"Why haven't you met her?" Sylvia pressed, leaning forward.

Evelyn's hand froze mid-air, a spoonful of food hovering near Isabella's lips. The personal probing felt intrusive.

"I didn't realize you'd taken up gossip, Aunt Sylvia," Dominic interjected smoothly, drawing protective boundaries.

Evelyn shot him a grateful look. No one enjoyed having wounds prodded by strangers.

Unfazed, Sylvia turned earnest eyes to Dominic. "You know I've severed ties with your mother. Finding someone she despises... naturally I'd take interest."

The "someone" being Beatrice Lockwood's nemesis - Evelyn Sinclair.

"Here, sweetheart," Evelyn murmured, offering Isabella another bite of garlic-roasted broccoli.

Isabella chewed thoughtfully, concern shimmering in her wide eyes. She longed to comfort Miss Sinclair but hesitated with so many watching eyes.

Evelyn understood Sylvia's meaning perfectly. Beatrice didn't merely dislike her - she loathed her with venomous intensity.

"Visit anytime, Evelyn," Sylvia said suddenly, reaching to clasp her hand. "I'll cook whatever you crave. And if Beatrice troubles you, come to me."

Evelyn stared blankly at their joined hands as Sylvia gave an affectionate pat.

Recognizing Dominic's silent warning, Sylvia rose gracefully. "Enjoy your meal. I've overstayed my welcome." With a playful wink at Dominic's stern expression, she teased, "Relax, I'm not stealing your bride-to-be."

"Bride?" Alexander gasped.

His head swiveled between Dominic and Evelyn, cheeks flushing pink. "Miss Sinclair, are you marrying Daddy?"

Isabella turned hopeful eyes upward.

Evelyn tightened her embrace instinctively as Isabella whispered, "Please be our mommy. We could be a proper family..."

Dominic's intense gaze locked onto Evelyn, fork suspended mid-air.

Her grip on Isabella's small hand tightened unconsciously.

She yearned for this - to wake each morning to Alexander's serious eyes and Isabella's giggles. To mend the years stolen from them...

Outside, a black Mercedes purred to life.

Dominic's sharp gaze tracked Sylvia's departure.

Across town, Sylvia settled into the leather seat, extracting her phone. The screen illuminated with "Lillian Prescott."

Lillian stood outside her trailer on a forested film set. "Aunt Sylvia? What's wrong?"

Hearing that sweet voice, Sylvia felt a pang for Genevieve - bereft of her biological child yet blessed with this devoted adopted daughter.

"I need to discuss your mother's past. A favor too. Not suitable for phones. Are you available?"

Lillian halted, causing her assistant Sophia to nearly collide with her.

"I'll send my location. Filming all afternoon, but you're welcome here."

"Perfect." Sylvia ended the call.

As she shared coordinates, Lillian puzzled over Sylvia's sudden interest in her mother's history.

The crew bustled around the woodland set. With an hour until Sylvia's arrival, Lillian shed her coat and moved toward makeup chairs, trailed by attendants.

Sophia clutched the discarded coat, eyeing the camera equipment with poorly concealed ambition. She wondered when Lillian would make proper introductions to industry elites.

Noticing the chill, Sophia decided waiting outside wasn't worth pneumonia. She'd find somewhere warm to bide her time.