Chapter 414

Her lips curved into a radiant smile, her sharp eyes sparkling like constellations in the night sky.

After ending the call, Alexander rose from his seat and approached Evelyn. "Vivian, William and Eleanor Kingsley have invited us to dinner tonight."

Evelyn paused mid-motion as she arranged his lunch. "Why the sudden invitation?"

"They have a request," Alexander explained, his gaze steady. "They're hoping for your help."

He relayed the details of the unusual demand, watching her reaction carefully.

Evelyn turned, her delicate fingers tugging playfully at his tie. A mischievous, alluring grin danced on her lips.

"Since it's you asking, I'll agree."

Alexander's pulse quickened as he admired the brilliance in her eyes.

The evening sun cast golden fragments of light through the trees as they arrived at the Kingsley estate, hand in hand.

Eleanor and William had been waiting. The moment Evelyn's face came into view, their expressions softened with longing and bittersweet joy.

This face—identical to their lost daughter's—was both a comfort and a torment.

"Miss Prescott, Mr. Blackwood, please sit." Eleanor greeted them warmly, her gaze lingering on Evelyn. "You grow more beautiful each time I see you. I apologize for imposing on you tonight."

"Just call me Vivian," Evelyn replied smoothly, though irony twisted in her chest.

Once, she had stood before them with this same face—only to be met with cruelty.

Human hearts were fickle. Human nature, unpredictable.

In the kitchen, Beatrice Caldwell stiffened at the sound of guests arriving. Peering out, she froze.

Her?

Rage ignited in her veins. "This is the 'esteemed guest' Madam spoke of? That wretched woman isn't fit to lick my Sophia's shoes!"

Clenching her jaw, she forced a smile and carried out a steaming bowl of soup.

"Miss Prescott," she said sweetly, "I owe you an apology for mistaking you before. I hope you can forgive me."

Evelyn arched a brow, her demeanor shifting to icy arrogance. "You again? Why are you still employed here, Mrs. Kingsley? After nearly causing your mistress to bleed to death?"

Beatrice's face darkened.

"Beatrice has served our family for decades," Eleanor said gently. "We've moved past that incident."

"Kindness is often exploited," Evelyn countered coolly, eyeing the soup. "Did she prepare this? I won't drink it. Who knows what she might have slipped inside?"

Beatrice's hands trembled. "I'll return to the kitchen," she muttered before storming off.

Evelyn watched her go, then stood.

Alexander frowned. "Vivian—"

But she was already striding toward the kitchen.

Inside, Beatrice slammed a knife into a slab of meat, her voice a venomous hiss.

"Evelyn, you vile creature! Vivian Prescott? Don't make me laugh! You're Evelyn Sinclair! You murdered my Sophia and still walk free? I'll make you pay—"

"Such hatred," Evelyn's voice cut through the air as she stepped inside. "I had no idea you despised me this much."

Beatrice whirled, knife in hand, eyes blazing. "Evelyn! You think I'd believe this act? You're her! You killed Miss Sophia! You deserve to burn in hell!"

Evelyn smirked, crossing her arms. Her stance was cold, regal. Unshaken.

"Sharp eyes. You're right—I'm not Vivian." She leaned in, her whisper lethal. "I'm Evelyn Sinclair."