Chapter 318

Victoria Lancaster had hired private investigators to monitor Alexander Blackwood's villa all night.

The moment she learned Evelyn Sinclair had spent the entire night in Alexander's bedroom, her blood boiled with fury.

She had gone to such lengths to eliminate Evelyn three years ago—only for a near-perfect doppelgänger to appear out of nowhere.

And worse, this woman was far more cunning than Evelyn had ever been.

Victoria stood before her vanity, glaring at the unhealed scar marring her cheek.

The sight of it only deepened her resentment.

She had exhausted every trick in the book, yet Alexander only grew more distant.

She knew her only hope was to cling to the "Little Lillian" act—the one thing that still tied him to her.

First, she needed to fix this scar.

As she brooded, an irritating itch flared on the small of her back.

She scratched absently, but the sensation worsened.

Frowning, she twisted to examine the spot in the mirror—a patch of inflamed red skin.

To impersonate Evelyn and pass as the Montgomery heiress, she had gotten a fake butterfly birthmark tattooed there.

But in her haste, she had chosen a cheap parlor.

Now, three years later, the ink had faded, and the tattoo had triggered an allergic reaction.

Victoria clawed at it furiously, her frustration mounting—

Until the sound of the door opening startled her.

"Victoria? Are you in there?" Eleanor Kingsley's voice drifted closer.

Victoria yanked her dress down and stepped out, forcing a composed expression.

"Mother," she murmured, though her eyes betrayed her distress.

Eleanor sighed, patting her shoulder. "Darling, don't dwell on unpleasant things. None of this is your fault."

Victoria bit her lip, feigning heartbreak. "Vivian Prescott sent those thugs to humiliate me, and Alexander won’t even punish her! How could he protect her like this? It’s unbearable!"

"I won’t let this go," Eleanor vowed. "Alexander is just confused. The manager at D.W. just called—he personally ordered an evening gown. In your size!"

Victoria's eyes widened. "For me?"

Eleanor beamed. "Old Master Blackwood’s 80th birthday is on the 10th. He must be planning to take you as his date!"

"Really?" Victoria gasped, her earlier rage dissolving into giddy anticipation.

Eleanor nodded. "Of course! You’ve been together for years, given him a son. He’s just throwing a tantrum—but you’ve always been the one he loves most."

Victoria’s confidence surged.

It made perfect sense.

"Focus on healing," Eleanor urged. "Everything else will fall into place."

Victoria nodded eagerly, her mind already spinning with visions of herself in that gown, radiant on Alexander’s arm, the envy of every guest.

She wouldn’t waste this chance—she’d announce their engagement publicly.

Her mood lifted, Victoria rushed to the salon the moment her scar scabbed over.

After laser treatments and layers of foundation, the mark vanished.

The day before the birthday gala, D.W.’s assistant confirmed Alexander had collected the gown himself.

The photo they sent made her breath catch—the design was exquisite, tailored to perfection.

She ached to wear it immediately.

But as night fell, Alexander never called.

She dialed his number repeatedly—no answer.

Frantic, she stormed to his villa, but he wasn’t there.

Her investigators came up empty.

By dawn, dark circles shadowed her heavily made-up eyes as she arrived at Blackwood Estate with Eleanor.

Guests milled about, laughter filling the gardens.

Victoria scanned the crowd—no sign of Alexander.

When Margaret Blackwood appeared, Victoria rushed over.

Margaret looked puzzled. "Alexander called this morning. He said he’s bringing someone special to meet us. I assumed he meant you—but if not you, then who?"

Eleanor frowned.

Victoria’s stomach dropped.

A terrible premonition slithered through her.

Then—commotion at the gates.

Her head snapped up.

And what she saw shattered her.

Rage exploded in her chest, choking her.