Chapter 892

Evelyn Sinclair's eyes widened in surprise.

The next instant, she tipped her glass of red wine over Cassandra Blake's perfectly styled hair. The crimson liquid cascaded down in slow motion, staining the expensive fabric of Cassandra's designer dress.

Cassandra gasped as the cold liquid seeped into her skin, leaving her feeling sticky and humiliated.

Her face drained of color as she stumbled back, her lips parting in shock before twisting into fury. "Evelyn! How dare you—"

Evelyn's smile was ice-cold.

"Since you clearly know he's taken," she said, voice sharp as a blade, "what exactly are you playing at? Does it give you some sick thrill to test my patience?"

Cassandra's expression darkened, her earlier charm vanishing. Only a flicker of something unreadable remained in her gaze.

"You've got it all wrong," she protested, forcing a shaky laugh. "I would never—Preston and I were just talking. We're old classmates, that's all."

Evelyn's stare was merciless.

"Try again," she cut in. "I was the only woman in my graduating class. So tell me, where exactly did you crawl out from?"

Silence.

Cassandra had assumed that in a university as large as Stanford, no one would remember every face. Claiming to be an old classmate had seemed like the perfect cover.

"I... I must have been mistaken," she stammered. "Maybe it was another program—"

Evelyn's laugh was razor-sharp.

"With those crow's feet? You're pushing thirty-five. You'd have to have been held back a decade to be in my year, Ms. Blake."

Cassandra's mouth snapped shut.

She had severely underestimated Evelyn. No wonder Nathan Blackwood had failed to break her.

Wiping the wine from her lashes, Cassandra forced composure.

"Even if we weren't classmates, does that mean we can't be civil? Must you be so cruel?"

Evelyn's smirk deepened.

"Civil? With you?" She tilted her head. "You're mediocre in every way—looks, brains, ambition. What exactly makes you think you belong in my circle?"

Cassandra's jaw clenched.

Nearby, Preston Sinclair barely suppressed a laugh.

Evelyn stepped closer, her voice dropping to a lethal whisper.

"Who sent you?"

Cassandra's breath hitched.

She had come with a purpose, of course—but not one she could admit.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she said, backing away. "If you're going to treat me like this, then I have nothing left to say."

She turned to leave.

Evelyn's hand shot out, gripping her wrist.

With one sharp tug, she slammed Cassandra against the wall.

A dull thud echoed as Cassandra's skull connected with the marble. Pain flared.

"W-What are you doing?!" she choked out.

Evelyn leaned in, her grip tightening.

"I don't hit women," she murmured. "But I do make exceptions."

Her free hand smashed the wine glass against the wall.

The shatter made Cassandra flinch.

Evelyn pressed the jagged edge to her cheek.

Cassandra's pulse skyrocketed.

"Wait—Evelyn, stop! I'll tell you!"

Her career was on the line. A scarred face would ruin everything.

Evelyn's gaze was unrelenting.

"Talk."

The glass didn't move.