Chapter 249

The woman's shrill screams pierced through the air, drawing the attention of everyone nearby.

Evelyn Sinclair lifted her gaze to meet the haughty face before her. Instantly, the memory of being falsely accused of theft resurfaced with painful clarity.

That day, after receiving her diagnosis, she had been forced to attend Margaret Blackwood's birthday party at Blackwood Estate by Alexander's orders.

The moment she stepped inside, this very woman had collided with her—then turned the tables, accusing Evelyn of bumping into her and stealing her bracelet.

Victoria Lancaster had "graciously" intervened, only to secretly slip the bracelet into Evelyn's pocket. Weak and defenseless, Evelyn had been branded a thief, humiliated despite her protests.

The worst part? When Sebastian Whitman provided proof of her innocence, Alexander had destroyed it without hesitation. His love for Victoria knew no bounds—even at Evelyn's expense.

She hadn't forgotten. This woman had called her a beggar, while Victoria had sweetly addressed her as Mrs. Harrington.

"What are you staring at? Give me back my bracelet!" Beatrice Harrington snarled, her grip tightening around Evelyn's wrist.

Evelyn's lips curved into a cold smile. "Remove your hand."

Her voice was calm, but the authority in it made Beatrice hesitate. For a second, her fingers loosened—then clenched again, defiance flashing in her eyes.

"You dare threaten me?" Beatrice scoffed, looking Evelyn up and down with disdain. "Look at you. Dressed like this, yet still stealing at a high-society event?"

She sneered. "Or did some foolish rich man take pity on you? If so, why resort to thievery?"

"Madam, you're mistaken," the manager interjected, stepping forward. "Why would Vivian steal from you? Release her at once."

Cassandra Wright, Lady Belle's head designer, rushed to Evelyn's side. "You're making baseless accusations! Do you even realize that bracelet—"

"How dare you defend her?" Beatrice cut in sharply. "Miss Lancaster witnessed the theft herself!"

Her gaze flicked to the side, where Margaret Blackwood stood. "Mrs. Blackwood, you were there too. You even begged me to spare her—said she was your maid. You must vouch for me now!"

Evelyn's blood ran cold.

So that was what Margaret had whispered to Beatrice that day.

Maid.

How laughable.

To the Blackwoods, she had never been family.

Not even a servant.

Less than nothing.

"Vivian Prescott was the Blackwoods' maid?"

"No wonder she's dressed so well now—she must have stolen from them."

"If Lady Belle hires thieves, maybe I should reconsider my patronage."

Whispers slithered through the crowd, venomous and cruel.

Evelyn's smile didn't waver.

But her eyes turned to ice.