Chapter 116

Could this get any more ridiculous? Gossip was one thing, but these absurd nicknames were crossing the line! First, she was dubbed "The Slapping Queen," then "The Censor," and now this?

Evelyn Sinclair was beyond exasperated. Fuming, she vented to her new manager, Isabelle Laurent.

Isabelle, ever the pragmatist, shot back, "This is golden publicity! Organic hype like this is priceless—pure positive exposure." To drive her point home, she even liked and replied to one of the trending comments.

Grumbling, Evelyn downed the rest of her iced latte in one go.

A quiet chuckle came from beside her.

Evelyn’s glare snapped toward the source.

Nathan Blackwood immediately feigned deep concentration on his tablet, as if he hadn’t made a sound.

"Really?"

Clearing his throat, Nathan reasoned, "Isabelle’s crafting an image for you. This reputation means no one will dare mess with you—or try shady deals. It’s strategic."

Evelyn blinked. "Wait, seriously?"

Nathan nodded. "She’s also leveraging this to solidify the agency’s credibility. Future artists under your label will inherit that trust, making fan acquisition and collaborations smoother. Win-win."

Evelyn pointed at herself incredulously. She wasn’t thrilled about being branded as some sort of industry vigilante.

After a pause, Nathan added, "If you’re uncomfortable, tell Isabelle directly. If she can’t adjust the narrative, I’ll step in."

"Can I really do that?"

"Of course. No one forces you into roles you dislike." His tone left no room for doubt.

Caught off guard by his firmness, Evelyn reconsidered.

Honestly, it was amusing—just not when she was the punchline.

By afternoon, the online frenzy took a surreal turn.

Fans of scandal-ridden celebrities began demanding their idols "prove their innocence" under Evelyn’s scrutiny. The audacity!

Predictably, those with skeletons in their closets turtled up, sparking a wave of hilarious exposes.

Evelyn spent hours cackling at her phone until Nathan, unable to focus, exiled her from his meeting.

"You’re distracting," he muttered, shoving files into her hands. "Organize these. And don’t touch my emails unless it’s urgent."

Left alone in his office, Evelyn humored herself with minor tasks—sorting contracts, typing notes, even handling Nathan’s messages.

Post the Victoria Hayes incident, Nathan had locked down his devices tighter than Fort Knox. Yet here Evelyn was, granted full access.

Oh, Victoria would combust if she knew.

Grinning, Evelyn tidied up—until an email notification popped up.

Unknown Sender:

"Nate, I’m returning in two weeks. Let’s meet?"

Her finger froze mid-click.

Cassandra. Nathan’s first love.

Evelyn recoiled like the email was radioactive. Why did I open this?!

Later, while ordering tea at the hotel lounge, Evelyn was recognized and offered a tab.

Then a voice purred behind her:

"Evelyn Sinclair. What a coincidence."

Five impeccably dressed women lounged nearby, jewels glinting, sipping tea with an air of bored superiority. The speaker—Ruth Aguilar, wife of veteran actor Gordon Gonzales—smirked from the center.

Their paths had barely crossed before, as Ruth was too busy policing her husband around Rebecca Yancey, the industry’s notorious "Cleopatra."

Evelyn’s eyes sparkled with mischief. She approached, polite but poised.

Ruth didn’t rise. "Ladies, meet Evelyn Jeannet."

The group offered frosty nods, clearly dismissing her as some director’s kept woman.

Oh, this is rich. Evelyn bit her lip. Without Julian Blackwood’s name attached, they assumed she was a nobody.

Just as she turned to leave, Ruth dropped the bomb:

"Sit. We need your help."

Evelyn arched a brow. "Oh?"

Ruth’s smile turned razor-sharp. "You’re the ‘Justice Enforcer,’ aren’t you? In the next episode, we want Rebecca destroyed. That homewrecker deserves ruin."