Chapter 144

This idiot always knows how to kill the mood.

Nathan didn’t even flinch at the murderous glare Oliver was giving him. "Mr. Goldmann," Oliver reported stiffly, "your father has requested an urgent video call. He says it’s important."

Nathan strode back to his office, where the screen flickered to life, revealing his father’s stern face. The elder Goldmann had clearly been waiting. The moment Nathan settled into his chair, the question came sharp and direct.

"Evelyn’s mother was a de Arma?"

Nathan’s expression remained unreadable. "Did Harrison tell you that?"

I only tasked Harrison with this investigation. Not even Oliver knows.

His father’s face darkened. "Your grandfather is returning to Zlokova in mid-June."

Nathan’s fingers stilled. "Grandfather is coming back?"

A scoff. "Did you really think he wouldn’t, after hearing about his great-grandchildren? You can’t hide this from him forever."

Nathan said nothing.

His great-grandfather’s bitter history with the Stoslo royal family had left deep scars—scars that bled into the Goldmanns’ relationship with the de Armas. His father might be indifferent, but his grandfather? Theodore Goldmann carried the old grudges like armor.

That was why Nathan hadn’t breathed a word about Evelyn’s lineage.

His father exhaled, rubbing his temple. "I’ll keep the de Arma connection quiet for now. But when your grandfather arrives next month, we’ll have to address it."

For all his faults, he’s still my father.

And after thirty years of watching me alone, he’s not about to let me scare off the mother of his grandchildren.

Nathan’s lips curved faintly. "Understood."

Oliver hovered nervously. "Mr. Goldmann… is the elder master truly coming back in June?"

"Most likely." Nathan leaned back, massaging his temples.

Compared to his father, Theodore Goldmann was a force of nature—stubborn, sharp-tongued, and impossible to please. The old man’s disdain for Stoslo’s nobility ran deep, his temper even worse than his son’s.

At this point, I’ll have to rely on the three little troublemakers to soften him up.

That same evening, Vivian Vanderbilt stepped into the private room of the Tipsy-Turvy Bistro, her dress immaculate, her smile practiced.

The moment the door closed behind her, she froze.

Lucas Laurent stood near the window, flanked by stone-faced bodyguards. But it was the woman seated at the head of the table who stole Vivian’s breath.

Lillian de Arma.

Elegant. Regal. A vision in an evening gown, her dark curls cascading over her shoulders. Her face, untouched by time, could have belonged to a woman in her twenties.

Vivian’s pulse quickened.

This is what true nobility looks like.

Lillian set down her coffee cup, the delicate clink echoing in the silence. She dabbed her lips with a napkin, then lifted her gaze. "Show me the bracelet."

Vivian snapped back to reality. With practiced grace, she slid the bracelet from her wrist and offered it.

Lillian examined the intricate gold pattern, her fingers tracing the design. A perfect match to the one she wore.

These bracelets had been a gift—one for her, the other for her sister.

"Where has your mother been all these years?" Lillian’s voice was cool, direct.

Vivian bit her lip. "She… passed away."

A beat. Then, quickly: "But she left behind a jewelry company. Viana Jewelry."

Lillian’s brow arched. "A jewelry company?"

"Yes." Vivian feigned sorrow, lowering her eyes. "But I… I lack the skill to lead it properly."

Lillian’s fingers tightened around the bracelet. Though she rarely left the estate, she kept abreast of the world’s whispers.

And Viana Jewelry was a name she knew.