Chapter 135

The sleek Rolls-Royce glided through the ornate iron gates of Willow Creek Estate, its tires crunching lightly over the gravel driveway.

From the moment the car entered the grounds, servants scattered like excited birds, their voices carrying the news through the sprawling mansion.

"Ms. Evelyn is back!"

As Evelyn Carter and Sebastian Kingsley stepped out of the car, the head butler, Frederick Hollis, stood at attention with a line of staff flanking the grand entrance. They bowed in perfect unison.

"Welcome home, Ms. Evelyn!"

"May you be blessed with health and happiness, Ms. Evelyn!"

Evelyn pressed a hand to her forehead, amused. If only immortality were that easy.

"Evelyn! Finally!"

She turned to see Lillian Hartwell, her father’s second wife, and another woman sprinting toward her. The second woman—Sophia Kingsley—was dressed in a sleek purple satin blouse with a bow-tied silk scarf, paired with wide-leg trousers. Tall and effortlessly elegant, she moved like a runway model.

"Aunt Lillian, Aunt Sophia."

Evelyn grinned and embraced them both.

Sebastian watched the scene with a quiet smile, though his chest tightened with unspoken emotions.

The Kingsley family was the most powerful dynasty in Fairhaven, but their household dynamics were anything but simple. Every time Harrison Kingsley brought home a new wife, chaos followed—especially with Sophia, who was barely eight years older than Sebastian himself.

It was why Evelyn had followed her brother Maxwell’s lead and left home years ago, joining Doctors Without Borders and wandering the world.

But over time, the genuine warmth of her stepmothers had chipped away at Evelyn’s icy resentment. Sebastian had shared countless stories about them, slowly mending the rift between Evelyn and the women who had, in their own way, tried to love her.

Besides, if Evelyn was going to blame anyone, it should be Harrison.

"Evelyn, you’ve gotten thinner!" Sophia, a former martial artist, never minced words. She shot Sebastian an accusing look. "Sebastian, if you’re too busy to take care of her properly, just send her home. We’ll fatten her up like a prize pig! You promised she’d be well-fed, but she looks like a greyhound now. This is unacceptable!"

Sebastian sighed, torn between laughter and exasperation. "You’re right, Aunt Sophia. My apologies."

Evelyn chuckled. "Aunt Sophia, you know I have a fast metabolism. I eat like a horse but never gain weight."

Once bitter enemies, Evelyn and Sophia now treated each other like sisters. "Sebastian takes good care of me. He even lent me his chief secretary, Theodore. You know how skilled Theo is in the kitchen—he can prepare fish a dozen different ways. I’m hardly neglected."

Sophia scoffed. "I don’t believe it!"

She pinched Evelyn’s cheek lightly. "Can Theodore possibly outdo Camille? Your Aunt Camille started prepping ingredients the moment she heard you were coming home. She’s been in the kitchen all day, not even stopping for water. Harrison says she’s treating this like a state banquet—no, better than a state banquet!"

"I told Aunt Camille to keep it simple. It’s just a family dinner—what matters is being together."

Lillian sighed, shaking her head fondly. "We offered to help, but she refused. Said she couldn’t trust anyone else’s cooking."

"Because she definitely can’t trust Aunt Sophia," Evelyn teased. "Four burnt pots, three fire alarms, and two exploded stoves? No wonder Aunt Camille banned her from the kitchen."

"Hey! I thought we were friends!" Sophia lunged playfully, fingers aiming for Evelyn’s ribs.

"We are!" Evelyn laughed, dodging.

Their banter was effortless, like lifelong friends rather than former rivals.

Thinking of Camille made Evelyn recall her years with Nathan Blackwood.

For three years, she had tiptoed around, terrified of displeasing him, of giving the Blackwoods any reason to reject her.

In just three years, she had become a shadow of herself. How had Camille endured twenty?

Women shouldn’t diminish themselves for men, Evelyn thought. We should be bold, unbreakable, radiant. To cage ourselves in gilded mediocrity is the greatest waste of all.

Her stepmothers looped arms with her, guiding her toward the villa.

The night air was crisp, the estate bathed in quiet elegance.

Outside Willow Creek, hidden in the shadows, Nathan’s Maybach idled silently.

Oliver Sinclair opened the car door, and Nathan stepped out, his gaze fixed on the Kingsley residence.

"I’ve heard rumors about Harrison Kingsley’s obsession with classical architecture—how he’s collected mansions across the country. Seeing it in person, I realize the rumors didn’t do it justice."

Oliver studied the intricate estate, awe coloring his voice. "It’s like a royal palace. Even Cliffside Manor pales in comparison."