Chapter 888

Seraphina couldn't bring herself to abandon the success that was finally within her grasp.

Evelyn hesitated, then nodded. "Fine. I'll do it."

It wasn't a complicated request.

Seraphina exhaled in relief, gratitude softening her expression. "Thank you, Ms. Sinclair. I truly appreciate this."

Evelyn recalled Preston's words and suddenly looked up. "You swear you've never harmed the child?"

Seraphina blinked, startled. "Of course not. I'm barely home a few weeks a year—when would I even have the chance?"

Evelyn gave a slow nod. "I'll contact you once arrangements are made."

If she dug deeper, the blame would likely fall on Vincent or the nanny. Not Seraphina.

The actress stood, smoothing her dress with a satisfied smile. "Perfect. I'll prepare on my end." She paused, then added with saccharine sweetness, "And Ms. Sinclair, I do hope you find love soon. Every woman deserves a beautiful child of her own."

Evelyn's fingers tightened around her pen. That alone nearly made her rescind the offer.

Seraphina left, smug. She hadn’t just chosen Evelyn for her connections—she knew Sterling Enterprises' involvement would make Vincent think twice before interfering.

He wants his son to live while my daughter had to die? Over my dead body.

Minutes later, Bennett returned.

"President, the stolen prototype was recovered from Damian Reeves' residence. Legal has filed charges, and HR is processing his termination."

Evelyn tapped her desk. "Check something else—does Vincent Caldwell really have a son with leukemia?"

Bennett paused. "Confirmed. Mr. Sinclair's investigation verified it."

So Seraphina hadn’t lied.

"Understood."

Bennett cleared his throat. "Mr. Sinclair has been waiting outside. He asked if you're free for lunch."

Evelyn almost laughed. Seraphina barged in unannounced, while Preston waited politely. The contrast was striking.

When Preston entered, his steps were measured, his smile warm. He acknowledged Bennett before turning to her.

"I was nearby and thought I'd drop in. Lunch?"

Evelyn hesitated.

Preston, ever perceptive, added softly, "Or I could ask again tonight if now isn’t a good time."

Her lips twitched. "You're never a bother."

Dinner felt too much like a date. Lunch was safer.

She grabbed her phone and the six-figure Birkin she rarely used.

The restaurant was an upscale spot favored by executives—exorbitant prices kept the crowds thin, leaving the space serene.

The decor was modern elegance, the air scented with bespoke fragrances that cost more than most cars.

Patrons preferred the main dining area over private rooms; the ambiance was worth the lack of privacy.

While Preston parked, Evelyn settled at their table, scanning the menu.

A cloying wave of perfume hit her before the woman did.

Evelyn looked up.

A red-clad figure in stilettos loomed over her, bold makeup accentuating calculated charm. Years in business had honed Evelyn’s instincts—this woman was trouble.

"Evelyn Sinclair? I knew it was you!" The stranger beamed, leaning in aggressively.

Evelyn recoiled. "Do I know you?"

The woman laughed, too loud. "Ava York! We were classmates at Stanford—not that you’d remember. You were always busy." She flicked her hair. "And I’ve had work done since then."