Chapter 132

Nathan Blackwood took the graduation album in his hands, flipping through the pages with deliberate precision.

That masked assailant from that night had moved with military precision—too similar to his own combat style. Though the man's face had been concealed, those piercing eyes had struck a chord of familiarity in Nathan's memory.

Having graduated from West Point, Nathan possessed exceptional investigative instincts. He methodically covered each cadet's face in the album with his palm, focusing solely on their eyes, comparing them to the haunting gaze burned into his mind.

After what felt like an eternity, Nathan suddenly shot to his feet, his expression electrified. Oliver Sinclair startled at the abrupt movement.

"Mr. Blackwood, did you find something?"

"It's him."

The photograph depicted a striking young man in full military dress, his sharp jawline accentuated by the uniform's crisp lines. Thick brows framed intense, knowing eyes—eyes that held secrets.

Beneath the image read the name: Maxwell Kingsley.

Evelyn Carter. Maxwell Kingsley.

Of course he called her 'baby sis.'

Nathan's lips curled faintly. He remembered Maxwell vividly—they had been rivals at the academy, constantly neck-and-neck in every drill, every simulation. Where Nathan excelled in strategy, Maxwell countered with uncanny adaptability.

After graduation, Maxwell had vanished without a trace.

A thrill shot through Nathan—not from uncovering his attacker's identity, but from peeling back the layers of Evelyn's enigmatic past.

Yet, he knew frustratingly little about Maxwell. Military records were sealed tighter than vaults.

But one truth settled in his chest like a weight: Maxwell was her brother. Not a lover.

The relief was instantaneous.

A sharp knock interrupted his thoughts.

Oliver opened the door, his posture stiffening at the sight of their visitor.

"Mr. Winslow."

Theodore Winslow stood framed in the doorway, an exquisitely wrapped gift basket in hand. His smile was polished, diplomatic. "Ms. Carter sent me to check on Mr. Blackwood's condition. Has he been discharged?"

"Come in," Nathan answered coolly.

Oliver stepped aside reluctantly.

Theodore set the basket on the table with deliberate care. "Ms. Carter predicted you'd recover swiftly. It seems she was correct."

"Just you?" Nathan's gaze flicked past him toward the empty hallway, his jaw tightening.

"Ms. Carter is occupied with Monarch Group affairs. As her personal secretary, I handle such matters on her behalf."

Theodore's tone was smooth, but the unspoken jab lingered—she couldn’t be bothered.

Nathan's expression darkened. "I don’t need hollow gestures. Take it back."

Theodore didn’t flinch. "Ms. Carter’s instructions were clear: if you refuse it, discard it. She doesn’t reclaim gifts."

"Tell Evelyn to come herself." Nathan rose, his broad silhouette cutting against the sunlight streaming through the windows.

Theodore’s smile didn’t waver. "I’m afraid that’s impossible. She’s delegated all matters concerning you to me—including compensation. Name your terms. Within reason, of course."

"I said," Nathan enunciated slowly, "I want to see her."

"No."

"Then get out."

Oliver stepped forward, bristling. "You’re here to provoke him, aren’t you?"

Theodore’s smirk was answer enough.

Nathan’s voice dropped to a dangerous timbre. "Relay this to Evelyn: if she doesn’t tell me who that attacker was, this isn’t over."

Theodore’s eyes glinted. "Blackwood Industries’ legal team is formidable, but Monarch Group’s holds its own. If you sue your ex-wife on the eve of your wedding, Sebastian Kingsley won’t stand idle."

A beat of silence.

Then Theodore added, almost gently, "Litigation should be a last resort, Mr. Blackwood. Surely you know that."

With a curt bow, he turned to leave—then paused. "One last thing. Ms. Carter wishes to know: was it you who orchestrated Cassandra’s press conference?"

Nathan’s reply was ice. "That’s none of your concern."

Theodore’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. "Very well. Good day."

The door clicked shut.

Oliver exhaled sharply. "That man didn’t come to visit. He came to taunt you."

Nathan’s fingers curled into fists. "Have him followed. I want every move he makes reported to me."

Oliver nodded, already reaching for his phone.

Nathan stared at the gift basket, his mind racing.

This wasn’t just about Maxwell anymore.

It was about her.