Chapter 265

Alexander raced toward the cemetery plot where he'd glimpsed the fleeting white figure. His pulse hammered violently against his ribs.

'Evelyn!'

'Could that really be you, Evelyn?'

The name echoed through his mind like a desperate prayer. This wasn't some alcohol-induced hallucination - he was certain.

Yet when he reached the gravesite, only cold marble greeted him.

Perhaps his exhausted mind had conjured the vision.

Ice flooded his veins.

Was grief finally driving him mad?

Alexander's shoulders slumped. As he turned to leave, a wisp of smoke caught his attention from a neighboring plot.

His steps quickened.

Henry Whitmore's grave stood adorned with fresh white lilies, a single candle still flickering.

Proof. Someone had been here recently.

Who besides Evelyn would visit her grandfather's resting place?

Alexander's breath hitched. He spun toward the cemetery gates, heart pounding.

Through the golden haze of sunset, a sleek black sedan pulled onto the main road.

Tires screeched as Alexander gave chase, foot heavy on the accelerator.

Hope and dread warred in his chest. Each passing mile stretched his nerves tighter.

When he finally overtook the vehicle, his world shattered.

Only a middle-aged man sat behind the wheel.

The crushing disappointment left him hollow.

'She's gone.'

'Alexander Blackwood, you killed her with your own hands.'

'Stop this madness.'

Yet the question remained - who else would pay respects to Henry Whitmore?

And why had the witness described a woman?

Vivian Prescott stepped into her penthouse just as Sebastian returned with little Amelia.

"Daddy!" The toddler launched herself at Vivian, covering her face with sticky kisses.

For a moment, the pain in Vivian's chest eased as she breathed in her daughter's strawberry-scented hair.

Then Ethan's hollow eyes flashed through her mind. That poor, disturbed child. Would Victoria even bother getting him help? Would Alexander?

"You're miles away." Sebastian's voice broke her reverie.

Vivian met his obsidian gaze. "Alexander asked me today if I liked him."

Sebastian froze mid-motion, his coat half-off. Sunset painted his sharp features in molten gold.

"Sounds like he's developing feelings."

A bitter laugh escaped Vivian's lips. "Same face, same soul. When I loved him desperately, he treated me like garbage. Now..."

She trailed off, the irony too painful to voice.

Yet satisfaction curled in her stomach at Alexander's growing attachment.

The silence stretched until Sebastian murmured, "Human nature, I suppose. We only value what we can't have."

Perhaps.

Things gained too easily become worthless.

No one treasures what comes cheap.

'That's why you let me die, isn't it? Because I made myself worthless to you.'

"Vivian." Sebastian's voice was feather-soft.

He never used her old name. That name belonged to the broken woman in the grave. Vivian Prescott had risen from her ashes.