Chapter 483

Evelyn noticed the shock in Lillian's eyes and realized she had no clue about the pregnancy.

She mentally kicked herself. Why did I have to blurt that out?

What if this ruins everything between Lillian and Dominic?

Evelyn leaned back on the couch, taking Lillian's delicate hand in hers. "The baby was completely unplanned. None of us expected Bernadette to pull such a stunt before the wedding. But don't worry—the Blackwood family has more than enough resources. One more child won't make a difference. The staff and I will handle everything so it doesn’t interfere with your life together."

She spoke so dismissively of Bernadette that she conveniently forgot she’d done the same thing—using a pregnancy to force her way into the family.

Reginald Blackwood coughed sharply at her words.

Evelyn immediately fell silent, but Lillian, still reeling, didn’t catch the exchange.

The news of Bernadette’s pregnancy felt like a knife twisting in Lillian’s chest.

Yet she forced a smile, feigning grace. "You’re too kind, Aunt Evelyn. Any woman would be lucky to marry Dominic. I adore children—they’re sweet, innocent, and bring so much joy to a home. The more, the merrier!"

"What a wonderful girl. Genevieve raised you well. You’re just like her," Evelyn said approvingly, though her tone carried a hidden edge.

To Evelyn, Lillian was perfect—beautiful, poised, generous. She even brought thoughtful gifts. A far cry from that scheming Bernadette.

Lillian demurred, "You flatter me, Aunt Evelyn. I’m nothing compared to Mother. She’s a true lady. I still have so much to learn."

The mention of Genevieve made Evelyn’s expression darken.

She remembered Genevieve in their youth—radiant, kind, effortlessly elegant. Men flocked to her, heirs and politicians alike, while Evelyn struggled to keep their attention.

Then Jonathan Prescott, the handsome son of a high-ranking official, fell for Genevieve at first sight and never looked back.

Meanwhile, Evelyn became a revolving door for wealthy men who used her and discarded her. The humiliation festered.

That’s why she did what she did.

Now, seeing Genevieve raise another woman’s daughter as her own while her biological child was ridiculed and reduced to a broodmare for her son?

Poetic justice.

With a smirk, Evelyn said, "Yes, your mother certainly raised an exceptional daughter."

Lillian knew Evelyn and Genevieve had once been close, but their friendship had mysteriously soured.

She’d hoped to mend bridges, but Evelyn’s reaction told her to drop the subject.

Glancing at the clock, she stood. "Aunt Evelyn, I’m afraid I have an engagement. Reginald, I’ll visit again soon."

"Stay a little longer," Evelyn urged, gripping her wrist. "Dominic will be home any minute—let him drive you."

Under normal circumstances, Lillian would’ve waited. But she had urgent business.

"Another time. It’s getting late."

"Next time, call ahead. I’ll send a car for you," Evelyn said, admiring the bracelet Lillian had gifted her.

Reginald wished her a safe trip before retreating upstairs.

Lillian sped away in her luxury car, dialing a number as she merged onto the highway.

Ten minutes later, she hung up, her eyes glinting with malice.

How dare Bernadette carry Dominic’s child?

She thinks a baby will secure her place?

Let’s see if she lives long enough to deliver it.

Meanwhile, in the secluded mansion Dominic had purchased, Bernadette was under virtual house arrest.

The scandal at the engagement party and Dominic’s overprotectiveness had forced her into hiding.

The estate was lavish—gardens, fountains, even a private waterfall. Security was impenetrable. Her twins visited often, but after weeks of isolation, boredom gnawed at her.

That morning, as she helped Alexander and Isabella with homework, her aunt Gwendolyn called.

Reginald Sinclair was ill and asking for her.

Guilt twisted Bernadette’s stomach. She’d only called her grandfather and aunt sporadically to reassure them.

Now, without waiting for Dominic, she texted him and had her assigned driver rush her to the Sinclair estate.

Lillian had been unraveling for days.

Overnight, her scandals had exploded across every major news outlet—tantrums on set, stunt doubles, green-screen fraud.

But worse?

Her orphanage past—how she’d framed Scarlett, her desperate attempts to bury her origins.

Her pristine image was crumbling.

She begged her father to suppress the stories, but they resurfaced faster than he could squash them.

Whoever was behind this wasn’t afraid of Jonathan Prescott.

Then, the private investigator finally called.

A slow, venomous smile spread across Lillian’s face as she hung up.

Found you, Bernadette.

This time, she wouldn’t come back.