Chapter 250

Maxwell was Evelyn's legal husband. He should have been in Dominic's position, doing what Dominic was doing.

What a cruel joke fate had played on him.

Maxwell approached Robert's casket, his chest burning with injustice. "I'm sorry we never met while you were alive. I'm Maxwell, your son-in-law. It's unfortunate Evelyn and I couldn't have our wedding before your passing. But I promise you this—I'll give her the grandest ceremony the world has ever seen. She will be my wife, and mine alone. Your grandchildren will want for nothing under my care."

He turned to glare at Dominic, whose eyes flashed with barely contained fury.

'Let him have this moment.'

Maxwell took petty satisfaction in seeing Dominic seethe silently.

But the sight of Evelyn collapsing into Dominic's arms reignited the fire in his veins.

'Control yourself.'

He massaged his temples, forcing calm into his voice.

Now wasn't the time for outbursts. Not when Evelyn's grief made her brittle as glass. One wrong move and she'd shatter—and blame him for it.

Evelyn's whisper cut through the funeral parlor. "You suffered so much, Father. Victoria and Sophia treated you like their personal ATM... I'll never forgive them for manipulating you. But I swear on your memory—they'll pay for what they did."

The security footage played in her mind—those venomous women provoking her dying father, hungry for their inheritance.

She'd watched helplessly as the light left his eyes.

Now she'd make sure Victoria and Sophia regretted ever crossing her.

Dominic had arranged everything—the funeral would be held at the Sinclair estate.

Maxwell had wanted the Tanner mansion, but Evelyn's icy words stopped him cold.

"Buy an urn if you want to host a funeral," she'd said. "You'll never lay a finger on my father's ashes."

Her fragility was a facade. Beneath it lay a spine of steel.

He'd surrendered—for now.

'Let her grieve. Our reckoning will come later.'

Black wreaths draped the Sinclair home. The air hung thick with sorrow.

Robert's portrait watched over the mourners, his gentle smile forever frozen in time.

Evelyn knelt before it, veiled in black. Only the tremble of her shoulders betrayed her silent weeping.

The twins stood vigil beside her, small hands clutching her sleeves.

Gwendolyn Sinclair dabbed her eyes. She'd never gotten to reconcile with her brother.

Dominic moved through the crowd with effortless authority, his black armband gleaming. Guests whispered behind their hands—why was the Blackwood heir playing host for an employee's funeral? And why were his children clinging to the grieving woman?

Businessmen seized the chance to curry favor, their condolences laced with calculation.

Across the room, Maxwell worked the crowd as the bereaved son-in-law.

Two rivals guarding one widow—the tension between them crackled like live wires.

Abigail Thornton and Gregory Peterson paid their respects quietly. Olivia Kensington arrived moments later, her wreath trembling in her hands.

"I'm so sorry," Olivia murmured, squeezing Evelyn's shoulder. "Uncle Robert loved you so much. He'd want you to be strong."

Evelyn lifted her tear-streaked face. Her gaze found Dominic commanding the room, then dropped to her children's worried faces.

She wasn't alone.

As long as she had them, she could endure anything.

In the shadows, Beatrice Lockwood removed her sunglasses. Her cold stare bored into Robert's portrait.

At last, the stain on her past was gone.

Only one obstacle remained.

Her eyes narrowed on Evelyn.

That girl would never be good enough for her son.

With a regal toss of her head, Beatrice swept out, her designer heels clicking like a death knell.