Chapter 332

The truth struck like lightning—Victoria wasn't Alexander's true love.

His heart had belonged to someone else. Someone already gone.

"Are you searching for something? Need my help?" Evelyn's voice was calm, cutting through the heavy silence.

Alexander froze, as if suddenly remembering she was there.

He rose slowly, his striking features twisted with grief—raw and suffocating. But beneath it burned something darker. A feral, dangerous glint in his eyes.

Like a man terrified of losing what little he had left.

Evelyn frowned, stepping closer. "What happened?"

"I'll take you home." His voice was ice. No warmth. No emotion. Just a chilling void.

Back at the penthouse, he didn’t wait for her to enter like usual. The moment her feet touched the pavement, his car screeched away.

Evelyn watched the taillights vanish, her mind racing.

Who was buried in that grave?

Who mattered so much that its desecration nearly broke him?

Meanwhile, Alexander's car tore through Blackwood Estate's gates.

No announcement. No warning.

He stormed into the parlor like a hurricane of fury.

Victoria and Eleanor sat sipping tea, flipping through a jewelry catalog. Both startled at his sudden appearance.

"Alexander!" Victoria's face lit up, rushing to him. "You came for me?"

His gaze was arctic. "You did this."

Victoria blinked, feigning innocence. "Did what? I've been with Mother all week."

Eleanor scoffed. "Is this about Vivian again? That scheming little—"

"Silence." Alexander's lethal glare never left Victoria. "I'll ask once. Did you order the destruction at 97 Serenity Lane?"

The cemetery's address.

Victoria paled. "I don’t know what you're talking about!"

A bitter smirk curled his lips. "No confession? Fine." He turned to leave. "You have until midnight. After that? Face the consequences."

"Alexander, wait!" Victoria chased him, but he was already gone.

The grave was ruined. The urn—gone.

Even the wedding ring he'd hidden behind the tombstone had vanished.

No one hated Evelyn more than Victoria.

And now, even her ashes—his last tether to her—were stolen.

Dusk painted the villa in grays when he returned. Restless. Agonized.

The kitchen taunted him. For a second, he swore he saw Evelyn there—apron on, smiling over her shoulder. "Dinner's ready, Alexander."

Her dimples. The curve of her lips.

He reached out—

She dissolved into nothing.

Just another cruel illusion.

His vision blurred. Memories flooded back—their first meeting, her laugh, the way her eyes crinkled when she teased him.

All gone.

Then—a sound at the door.

He didn’t turn. Didn’t need to.

He’d left it open for a reason.

Victoria appeared, breathless, her resolve crumbling under his glacial stare.

She swallowed hard.

"You're right," she admitted, voice trembling. "I had her grave destroyed. That bitch Evelyn Sinclair deserved worse than death."