Chapter 253

The moment Sebastian's words echoed through the grand hall, a wave of murmurs swept through the crowd.

Victoria's breath hitched. The smug confidence that had been plastered on her face moments ago froze into something brittle.

A video?

What video?

What is Sebastian talking about?

Did someone actually record me planting that bracelet on Evelyn that night?

No. Impossible.

If he had proof, he would’ve exposed me long ago.

Her racing thoughts steadied her nerves. She forced a composed smile, tilting her chin up.

"Sebastian, lies won’t hold up under scrutiny. I’ve done nothing wrong, so I have nothing to fear from whatever fabricated footage you’re about to show."

"Victoria, I believe you!" Eleanor clutched her daughter’s hand, her gaze brimming with unwavering faith.

Sebastian’s lips curled into a cold smirk. "Let’s see if you’ll still be so bold after this."

Victoria’s pulse stuttered.

With a sharp gesture, Sebastian signaled his assistant. The lights dimmed, and the massive LED screen flickered to life.

The footage was crisp, damning.

Three years ago, Evelyn had rushed into Blackwood Estate, her face pale, her clothes disheveled. The moment she stepped inside, Beatrice Harrington—then a haughty socialite—collided with her.

Beatrice didn’t just bump into Evelyn. She shoved her, then pointed an accusatory finger, her shrill voice ringing out.

Evelyn, visibly unwell, didn’t retaliate.

Then came the moment that shattered the room into stunned silence.

Beatrice grabbed Evelyn, screeching about a stolen bracelet.

And there—clear as day—Victoria slipped the very bracelet into Evelyn’s coat pocket.

The way she then "discovered" it, feigning shock and betrayal, was nothing short of theatrical.

Evelyn’s desperate protests fell on deaf ears.

The crowd had branded her a thief.

Even now, watching it again, Evelyn felt the sting of humiliation, the weight of injustice.

But more than that—vindication.

The lights returned. Evelyn lifted her chin, her gaze locking onto Victoria’s ashen face.

"So this is the Evelyn Sinclair who supposedly looked just like me," she mused, voice dripping with mock sympathy. "How tragic, to be betrayed by her own sister."

Victoria’s fingers twitched, her composure cracking.

"Miss Lancaster," Evelyn continued, tilting her head, "your performance was truly Oscar-worthy. Everyone else in that video? Mere extras compared to you."

Victoria’s jaw clenched.

Beatrice, ever the opportunist, gasped dramatically. "Victoria! Why would you frame an innocent woman? And using me? I never did anything to you!"

The whispers grew louder.

"That woman was Mr. Blackwood’s ex-wife?"

"I was there that night. I thought she was guilty."

"Victoria Lancaster, the perfect socialite, pulling this?"

"She looks so delicate. Who knew she had such venom in her?"

Victoria couldn’t take it anymore. "That video is fake!" she cried, her voice trembling. "That’s not Evelyn! It’s Vivian! I swear on my life, I would never do something so vile!"

Tears welled in her eyes—crocodile tears.

She turned, burying her face in Eleanor’s shoulder.

But the damage was done.

The truth was out.