Chapter 133

In the executive office of Monarch Grand Hotels, Evelyn Carter was supposed to be buried in paperwork. Instead, she was engrossed in a video game, her fingers flying across the controller.

On the screen, her character—a chainsaw-wielding butcher—chased down terrified survivors.

A half-empty beer bottle and a box of crispy fried chicken sat on her desk. Gaming snacks were her guilty pleasure.

To Evelyn, life’s simplest joys were irreplaceable: summer barbecues, winter cheese fondue, and greasy fried chicken paired with pixelated victories.

Her mind drifted to her marriage with Nathan Blackwood. For three years, she had endured her smoke allergy, masking up to prepare gourmet meals for him.

She had hoped to win his heart the way Camille Kingsley had won Harrison’s—through culinary mastery.

So, she secretly enrolled in Crestview’s most prestigious culinary institute. She was the only woman in her class.

By graduation, her skills surpassed even her instructor’s. He begged her to stay as his protégé, convinced she could become a world-renowned chef.

Yet, Nathan barely noticed.

He rarely dined at home, and when he did, he offered no praise.

How many crushed hopes could one endure? Evelyn had suffered silently for three years.

She viciously bit into another piece of fried chicken, pretending it was Nathan’s throat.

At least now, she was free.

If time travel existed, she’d reclaim every wasted moment spent loving him and instead cherish her family—Harrison, Sebastian, Dominic, and Maxwell.

A knock interrupted her thoughts. Theodore Winslow entered.

"Ms. Carter, I delivered the gift and relayed your message."

Evelyn’s expression remained cool. "He refused a private settlement?"

Theodore nodded. "He insists you hand over Maxwell. Otherwise, no deal."

She scoffed. "The audacity. As if he can dictate terms."

Exiting the game, she lounged back, beer in one hand, chicken in the other. "I checked the scene. No surveillance footage. He has no proof Maxwell assaulted him. Even if he sues, he’ll lose."

The Kingsleys were fiercely protective. No one harmed their own without consequences.

Theodore hesitated. "But Nathan suspects something. When I visited, I saw the military academy’s yearbook on his nightstand. He’s digging."

Evelyn’s eyes narrowed.

"It doesn’t matter. The academy encrypted Maxwell’s records. He’s never appeared in Monarch Group’s public events. Nathan can search all he wants—he’ll die of exhaustion before finding anything."

Yara Brown had given birth to quadruplets. Sebastian and Dominic took their father’s surname, while Donovan and Maxwell inherited hers.

Sebastian and Dominic were identical. Donovan and Maxwell, fraternal.

A perfect cover.

"What about the press conference?" Evelyn asked.

Theodore grimaced. "He called it a Blackwood family matter and said we had no right to interfere. Glared at me like I owed him a fortune."

Evelyn smirked. "I know Nathan. He’s a scoundrel in love but rigidly principled otherwise. If he denied it, he’d say so outright. His evasion confirms it."

Theodore gaped. "Why sabotage his own family’s reputation? He’s the CEO of Blackwood Industries!"

A memory flashed—Nathan pulling her into a bruising kiss. Heat rushed to her cheeks.

She tossed the chicken bone into the trash with perfect aim.

"Who knows? Maybe he’s developed a neurodegenerative disorder I missed in our three years of marriage."