Chapter 437

"What the hell are you saying?" Nathan Blackwood's brow furrowed, his expression darkening as he stared at her in disbelief.

She was being utterly irrational.

"Stay away from me." Evelyn Carter's voice was ice. "I don't need your kindness. Not even a little."

She clenched her teeth against the sharp pain in her stomach, forcing herself to stand despite the dizziness threatening to pull her under. Her face was ghostly pale, but her eyes burned with defiance. "Is it because Victoria Sterling left you? Now that she's gone, you're desperate to redirect your affections somewhere else?" Her lips curled into a bitter smirk. "I'm not your consolation prize, Nathan. You might be willing to settle, but I refuse to lower my standards for you."

Nathan's fist tightened, his knuckles turning white. Humiliation and fury coiled inside him, his vision tinged red.

All he had done was offer her a damn cupcake.

He had seen her wincing in pain, her stomach growling from hunger, and he'd thought—what? That a simple gesture would ease her suffering?

How naïve.

She had twisted his intentions, weaponizing them against him with venomous precision.

Evelyn slipped into her heels, spine straight as steel, and strode away without another glance.

Nathan stared at the crushed cupcake in his palm, his chest constricting as he watched her retreating figure.

The Evelyn he once knew—the one who used to smile at him like sunlight breaking through clouds—was gone.

Their failed marriage had left scars too deep to heal.

To her, he was no longer a lover, but a battlefield ghost. A reminder of trauma she couldn’t escape. Every kindness he offered was met with suspicion, every attempt at reconciliation met with hostility.

His lips trembled as he crushed the cupcake further, the sweetness turning to dust between his fingers.

He had ruined everything.

The grand hall buzzed with anticipation, the charity auction still minutes away from beginning.

Two titans of their respective industries—Isabella Wang, the reigning queen of entertainment, and Vivienne Laurent, the formidable editor-in-chief of Éclat magazine—stood as the undisputed stars of the evening. Reporters swarmed them, cameras flashing relentlessly.

Penelope Whitmore had already disappeared into the crowd, schmoozing with the other elite socialites, while Cassandra Blackwood and Isabelle Montgomery pursued their own agendas.

Cassandra wanted a photo with Isabella Wang—another trophy for her collection. After all, she had been the one to secure the deal with the superstar. A little media attention would only solidify her reputation.

Isabelle, on the other hand, had her sights set on Vivienne Laurent. A photo with the fashion icon would elevate her status in the industry, opening doors for her future endeavors.

"Ms. Wang!" Cassandra beamed, spotting the actress wearing the gown she had gifted her. "You look absolutely stunning tonight! I’m so honored you chose to wear it."

The reporters closed in, microphones thrust forward, cameras clicking nonstop.

"Of course," Isabella replied smoothly, though her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. "It’s an Alexa original, after all."

She didn’t particularly like Cassandra’s shallow demeanor, but business was business. The Blackwoods were handling her wedding, and she couldn’t afford to be rude.

So she draped an arm around Cassandra’s waist, flashing a practiced smile for the cameras.

Cassandra nearly squealed in delight.

"Ms. Wang!" a reporter called out. "Will you be bidding tonight, or are you donating an item for the auction?"

Isabella’s lips curved. "I’ll be donating a piece of jewelry."

"Oh? Can you give us a hint about what it might be?"

"That," she said with a playful wink, "is a surprise."

Meanwhile, Isabelle was mustering her courage to approach Vivienne Laurent.

She waited until the editor finished her interview, then darted forward.

"Ms. Laurent!"

Vivienne paused, turning slowly. Her sharp gaze assessed Isabelle from behind her sunglasses, unimpressed.

The girl was drowning in an ill-fitting evening gown—this season’s couture, yes, but completely wrong for her frame and coloring.

Tasteless.

"Ms. Laurent," Isabelle gushed, her round face flushed. "I’ve been a fan of Éclat since I was a child! You’re such an inspiration—"

"Since you were a child?" Vivienne arched a brow. "How old do you think I am?"

Isabelle blanched. "N-no! That’s not what I meant! I just—I admire you so much—"

But before she could finish, Vivienne had already brushed past her, her attention snagged by someone else entirely.

Isabelle spun around—and froze.

Vivienne was striding toward Evelyn Carter, her entire demeanor shifting.

"Ms. Carter!" she called, her voice warm. "I’ve been waiting for you."

The way she smiled at Evelyn—like they were old friends—sent a ripple of shock through the room.