Chapter 613

The first rays of dawn slipped through the curtains, painting golden stripes across Evelyn Sinclair's face.

She groaned, pressing a hand to her throbbing temple. The remnants of last night's wine still fogged her mind.

Evelyn forced her eyes open, blinking against the harsh morning light. Her designer dress was wrinkled but intact.

"Thank God," she muttered. At least she'd made it back to bed without incident.

After a quick shower, her phone buzzed violently on the nightstand. Dominic Kingsley's name flashed on the screen.

"Mr. Kingsley," she answered, voice still rough from sleep. "Calling at this hour - business or pleasure?"

"Ms. Sinclair..." Dominic hesitated. "Nathan Blackwood just fired Cassandra Blake and Giselle Fontaine. Who should we get to replace them?"

The words hit Evelyn like a bucket of ice water.

"What?" Her grip tightened on the phone. "Why would he—"

"Your guess is as good as mine," Dominic interrupted. "Maybe ask the great Mr. Blackwood himself?"

Evelyn ended the call without another word.

She dressed in record time, storming toward Nathan's suite at the end of the hall. The usually bustling hotel corridor stood eerily quiet.

Just as she raised her hand to knock, the door swung open.

Harrison, Nathan's ever-present assistant, greeted her with a polite nod. "Good morning, Ms. Sinclair."

"Harrison." Evelyn forced her voice steady.

"You're looking well this morning," Harrison observed, studying her face.

Evelyn frowned. "Shouldn't I be?"

Harrison exhaled in apparent relief. "Mr. Blackwood is expecting you."

The odd exchange lingered in Evelyn's mind as she stepped inside. What game was Nathan playing now?

Her thoughts scattered when she saw the scene before her.

Nathan lounged on the sofa, his tailored suit accentuating his powerful frame. But it was the woman kneeling on the floor that stole Evelyn's breath.

Cassandra Blake - once glamorous, now broken. Her designer dress was torn, face streaked with blood and tears.

The air turned to ice.

Cassandra lunged toward Evelyn with a choked sob, crawling like a wounded animal. Her hands - twisted at unnatural angles - left smears of blood on the carpet.

"Please," Cassandra begged, pressing her forehead to Evelyn's shoes. "I'll do anything."

Evelyn's stomach turned. The woman's fingers hung limp, clearly broken beyond repair.

Nathan hadn't just fired them.

He'd destroyed them.