Chapter 425

Evelyn's brows knitted together. The words tasted like honey-laced poison, the sickly sweetness barely masking the bitter deception beneath.

Silence stretched between them.

Neither spoke.

Nathan was the first to break the tension, clearing his throat abruptly. "I think that's enough for tonight. Goodnight."

"Wait, you—"

The line went dead before Evelyn could finish.

What the hell just happened? She stared at the darkened screen, fingers tightening around her phone.

On the other end, Nathan exhaled sharply, his pulse hammering. His palms were damp, his throat parched.

Eyes closed, he muttered under his breath, "People who leave don't stay. But the ones who haunt my thoughts? That's a different kind of trouble."

Vivian Prescott remained comatose after the devastating accident.

Cassandra Blackwood had learned from the doctors that the chances of Vivian ever waking were nearly nonexistent.

Luck was on her side.

Otherwise, Cassandra would have had a much harder time covering up the fact that she had bribed Vivian for insider details about the Monarch Grand Hotels contract.

Even so, Cassandra was making no progress with Isabella Laurent.

Isabella had made it clear—she wouldn’t sign with Blackwood Hotel unless Nathan was directly involved. Worse, Isabella’s team was already scouting other luxury hotels, meaning Blackwood wasn’t even guaranteed as a backup option.

That afternoon, Cassandra stormed into the Montgomery estate.

While she fumed, Isabelle Montgomery remained perfectly composed, sipping her afternoon tea with practiced elegance.

"Do you have a plan to secure Isabella’s signature?" Cassandra demanded.

Isabelle set her cup down. "She demanded Blackwood Industries and Monarch Group present her with a rare gem, didn’t she? Nathan’s been chasing after Alexa’s pieces, but even his trip abroad didn’t land him one."

A flicker of something unreadable passed through Isabelle’s eyes.

"That’s exactly why Evelyn won her over at the wedding with that brooch," Cassandra spat, frustration boiling over. "If I just had one of Alexa’s pieces, this wouldn’t be an issue!"

"You do," Isabelle said smoothly.

Cassandra froze. "What?"

Isabelle arched a brow. "Who said you don’t own one?"

Cassandra’s pulse jumped. "Isabelle, what are you saying? Did you—"

"Alexa’s a ghost. No one’s seen her face. No one’s even sure if she’s real." Isabelle leaned in, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "So why not have a replica made?"

Cassandra recoiled. "A fake? You want me to hand Isabella a counterfeit?"

Isabelle smirked. "Who’s going to know? Even experts struggle to authenticate paintings at auctions, let alone gemstones. The only person who could call you out is Alexa herself."

She paused, then added, "I studied in Valmont. There’s a jeweler there—an old apprentice of Alexa’s. He could recreate one of her designs for you. Once Isabella sees it, she’ll sign without hesitation."

Cassandra hesitated.

But time was running out.

Sometimes, you had to gamble.