Chapter 393

Evelyn froze for a heartbeat before a serene smile curved her lips.

"You must be mistaken about me, Grandfather Blackwood. How could I possibly be Evelyn Sinclair?"

The light in Henry Blackwood's aged eyes dimmed slightly, but his gaze remained sharp. "I won't force you to admit it if you don't wish to, Evelyn."

"I truly am not Evelyn, Grandfather." She denied with practiced ease. "Why would I marry a man who despises me if I were her? I learned long ago that throwing myself into fire only leaves me burned."

The old man stiffened, his white brows knitting tightly. "You're truly marrying Alexander?"

Evelyn nodded without hesitation. "Yes. And I'm carrying his child."

Henry's gaze dropped to her still-flat stomach. His lips pressed into a thin line, but he said nothing more.

"Grandfather. Vivian." Alexander's deep voice cut through the tension as he approached. "Why are you standing by the bathroom?"

Evelyn turned to him with a practiced smile. "I happened to run into Grandfather. We were just talking. He even joked that I might be Evelyn Sinclair."

A shadow flickered across Alexander's face—subtle, fleeting—before he schooled his expression. He took Evelyn's hand in his, his touch warm. "Vivian does resemble Evelyn, Grandfather, but I assure you, they are not the same person."

The weight of his words settled over Evelyn like a balm.

He didn't doubt her.

His fingers laced with hers, firm yet gentle.

"I've decided to marry Vivian," Alexander declared. "The wedding will be in two weeks. That's why I brought her here—to formally introduce her to the family."

Henry hesitated, his gaze shifting between them before he sighed. "This is your sin to bear, Alexander. And your punishment."

Evelyn fell silent, the meaning clear. She prayed Alexander wouldn't dwell on it.

Just then, a maid approached to announce dinner.

Henry excused himself, claiming no appetite, and retreated upstairs. Only four remained at the table—Evelyn, Alexander, Margaret Blackwood, and Winston.

Though Margaret's disdain was palpable, she held her tongue with Alexander present.

"I heard you're the lead designer at Lady Belle, Miss Prescott. Impressive for someone so young," Winston remarked.

Evelyn smiled modestly, glancing at Alexander. "It's nothing compared to what Alexander has achieved."

"True. He was running a multinational corporation while still in university. Few can match him," Margaret interjected, her tone dripping with pride—and something sharper. "You must have worked very hard to get close to him. What else could you be after but his status?"

Alexander's hands stilled mid-motion, a half-peeled shrimp poised between his fingers.

Sensing his displeasure, Margaret quickly changed the subject. "The borscht should be ready. I'll check on it."

She rose abruptly, unable to withstand the icy aura radiating from her son.

Alexander placed the peeled shrimp on Evelyn's plate, his voice softening. "My mother loves to cook. Borscht is her specialty. Have some—it's good for you."

Evelyn nodded, her smile sweet. But as she stared at the shrimp, irony twisted inside her.

You never imagined you'd be peeling shrimp for the woman you hate, did you, Alexander?

I remember waiting for you every night—a table full of food, hoping you'd come home. Instead, you held that wretched woman in your arms while I rotted in the shadows.

Just then, Margaret returned, a maid trailing behind with a steaming pot of soup.