Chapter 161

Alexander Blackwood's expression turned icy at Evelyn Sinclair's words.

His lips pressed into a tight line as he suddenly reached for her chin.

Evelyn hadn't anticipated the move, but she swiftly evaded his grasp. "Mr. Blackwood," she said coolly, "you have a fiancée. Show some restraint."

His gaze remained sharp, piercing through her. "If you're really not her, then prove it. Show me your left chest."

He would never forget the small mole on Evelyn's fair skin—a tiny mark that had once captivated him.

Her face darkened.

"Are you serious?" she scoffed. "You expect me to bare myself to you? Let go."

His grip tightened slightly. "Is it guilt that stops you? Evelyn, why aren’t you dead?"

Why didn’t you come back if you were alive?

Why do I still exist in your thoughts? Do you wish I had stayed buried?

A bitter smile curved her lips. "Mr. Blackwood, you're delusional. My name is Vivian Prescott. I am not your late wife, Evelyn Sinclair. Release me, or I’ll call the authorities."

Just then, a sleek car pulled up beside them. The window rolled down, revealing a woman's curious face.

"Vivian! I heard you won the auction—congrats! Who’s this?" Her gaze flicked to Alexander’s hand still gripping Evelyn’s wrist. "Why is he holding you?"

Alexander found the woman’s tone grating.

Evelyn remained composed. "This is Alexander Blackwood, CEO of Blackwood Enterprises and heir to the most powerful family in Willowbrook."

The woman snorted. "Oh, him? What’s his excuse for manhandling you?"

Evelyn smirked. "He thinks I resemble his deceased ex-wife."

"Please," the woman scoffed. "Doppelgängers exist. Mr. Blackwood, if you're trying to flirt, get in line. Half the city’s men are already waiting for Vivian."

Alexander’s expression darkened further, his obsidian eyes never leaving Evelyn’s face.

Seizing the distraction, she pulled free and slipped into the car.

The moment her wrist left his grasp, an unsettling emptiness settled in his chest.

"Until next time, Mr. Blackwood."

She flashed him a final, enigmatic smile before the window rolled up, sealing her away.

As the car disappeared into the night, Evelyn exhaled, smoothing a strand of hair from her forehead.

Alexander stood motionless, the darkness swallowing his silhouette.

Same face. Same voice.

But she insisted she wasn’t Evelyn.

His frown deepened.

His pulse steadied.

No, she couldn’t be.

Evelyn had never looked at him with such sharp, knowing eyes. She had never smiled like that—like she held every secret in the world.

She had been simple. Devoted.

His chest tightened again.

Victoria Lancaster finally found him, breathless. "Alexander! Who was that woman—?"

He ignored her, striding away without a word.

That night, he called Lucas Grant. "Dig up everything on Vivian Prescott. I want it by morning."

Sleep eluded him. Only the faint scent of lavender from his aromatherapy diffuser lulled him into restless slumber.

At dawn, he stormed into his office. Lucas handed him the file, his expression uneasy.

"Sir… this woman…" He hesitated. "She looks exactly like Evelyn Sinclair. Your late wife."