Chapter 11

The morning sun cast golden streaks across Evelyn Sinclair's penthouse as she paced nervously by the floor-to-ceiling windows. Her fingers trembled slightly around the steaming mug of Earl Grey, its bergamot scent doing little to calm her racing thoughts.

Nathan Blackwood's text from last night still burned in her mind: "We need to talk. Tomorrow. 10 AM."

No emojis. No warmth. Just five words that had stolen her sleep.

Her assistant Lillian Graves bustled in, balancing a tablet and a fresh croissant. "The car's ready downstairs," she announced, then hesitated. "You look like you've seen a ghost, Evelyn."

Evelyn forced a laugh that sounded hollow even to her own ears. "Just pre-meeting jitters." She checked her Cartier watch—9:47 AM. Thirteen minutes until potential heartbreak.

The elevator ride to the lobby felt like descending into an abyss. Through the tinted windows of her town car, Manhattan blurred into streaks of gray and steel. Every red light stretched into eternity.

At precisely 10:02 AM, Evelyn pushed open the heavy oak door of The Penrose Club's private lounge. Nathan sat silhouetted against the fireplace, his broad shoulders tense beneath a charcoal Tom Ford suit. The flames cast flickering shadows across his chiseled jawline.

"You're late," he said without turning.

Evelyn's Louboutins clicked against the parquet as she approached. "Traffic on Park Avenue." A weak excuse. They both knew she'd been stalling.

Nathan finally turned, his stormy blue eyes locking onto hers. In his hand glinted something that made Evelyn's breath catch—a velvet ring box, open to reveal a pear-cut diamond that could blind a small nation.

"Alexander Quirk would have given you a speech," Nathan said quietly. "But I'm not him." He snapped the box shut. "This isn't a proposal."

Evelyn's knees nearly buckled. "Then what—"

"It's collateral." Nathan's thumb traced the box's edge. "For when I destroy Victoria Hayes."

Outside, a sudden downpour lashed against the windows. Somewhere in the distance, thunder growled like a waking beast.

Evelyn realized two things simultaneously: First, Nathan had discovered Victoria's embezzlement scheme. Second—and far more terrifying—he intended to use her as bait.

The diamond's facets caught the firelight as Nathan pressed the box into her palm. His fingers lingered just a heartbeat too long. "Do you trust me, Evelyn?"

A loaded question. The kind that could either save them or burn everything to the ground.

Somewhere in the club's depths, a clock chimed ten-fifteen. The witching hour had arrived.

Sophia's knees buckled, her vision swimming as darkness threatened to consume her. She clutched the edge of the table, barely keeping herself upright.

Margaret, her expression twisted with fury, steadied her daughter.

Across the room, Richard's veins pulsed visibly at his temples. His aura was lethal—like a dethroned king ready to tear apart the usurper who dared touch what was his. With a single glance, his assistant, Alfred, understood and swiftly exited the room.

Nathan, the new king, had already pulled out his phone, issuing commands in a low, dangerous voice.

The Prescott family remained oblivious to the storm about to break over them.

Daniel, seeing the Blackwoods' refusal to back down, turned his glare on Sophia. His voice dripped with condescension. "Are you really going to blow this out of proportion? Since when did you become so unreasonable?"

Sophia lifted her head slowly. Her bloodshot eyes, filled with devastation, sent an unexpected pang through Daniel’s chest.

"Why?"

The word was a whisper, laced with betrayal. She had believed he married her out of obligation—because he couldn’t have his true love and needed someone to raise his child. But now she knew the truth. He had been with his mistress all along.

Why hadn’t he just divorced her? Why string her along, then blame her for everything? How could he stand there, so shamelessly righteous?

Daniel scoffed. "What do you mean, why? Fine. If you can’t accept him, we won’t adopt him. I’ll send him back tomorrow."

That night, Sophia’s defiance had unsettled him. He thought conceding might regain control.

But Sophia saw right through him. The illusion of the perfect man she once admired had shattered, revealing the coward beneath.

Evelyn, meanwhile, was seething. She knew Sophia and the others had heard the truth, but she couldn’t outright expose Daniel—not without revealing her own secret. So, she twisted the knife another way.

"Send him back? Earlier, you claimed his mother was missing. Yet now, you seem very familiar with her whereabouts. Have you been seeing her all this time? Maybe we should investigate—see if you’ve been meeting her behind Sophia’s back. Surely, you don’t expect her to raise your affair baby while you play happy family elsewhere?"

Daniel’s pupils flickered. Panic edged into his voice. "How dare you slander me? My mother was right—you have no decency!"

Nathan’s voice cut through like a blade. "Shut up."

Two words. Quiet, yet devastating. They struck Daniel like a physical blow, leaving him momentarily paralyzed.

If not for the need to keep Evelyn’s ability hidden, they would have torn him apart already.

Evelyn smirked, pointing at Liam. "Look at your son’s face before you deny it."

Children couldn’t lie as well as adults. When Evelyn’s accusation hit its mark, Liam paled.

Before Daniel could react, Margaret pressed, "Sweetheart, tell us the truth. Have you met your father before? Good boys don’t lie."

Liam couldn’t hold back. He tugged Daniel’s sleeve, pleading, "Dad, let’s go home. Mom is—"

Daniel’s breath hitched. In his panic, he jerked his arm away—too harshly. His hand struck Liam’s cheek with a sharp crack.

The boy tumbled off the couch, a red handprint blooming across his face.

Chaos erupted.

Evelyn gasped, pulling Liam toward her, shielding him. Sophia’s heart ached at the sight. Despite everything, she couldn’t bear to see him hurt. She gathered him into her arms, soothing him with gentle strokes.

Liam’s guilt deepened. Sophia was kind—so kind—and his parents had used her. The weight of it crushed him.

Finally, he whispered, "My parents… they’ve always been together. They told me I was a secret. That the only way I could have a normal life was if you adopted me. I didn’t understand… but I knew it was wrong."

Before Daniel could respond, Nathan slammed his phone onto the table. A video call played—Adriana, bound to a chair, screaming as masked men surrounded her.

"Mom!" Liam shrieked.

Daniel’s face drained of color as a voice reported, "Mr. Blackwood, we’ve found their shared apartment. Documents, photos—proof they’ve been living together for years."

Daniel staggered back—just as a whip sliced through the air.

CRACK.

A bloody welt split his cheek. He howled, collapsing as the whip struck again and again.

Richard, usually composed, had snapped. His daughter had been humiliated, deceived—and he would make Daniel pay.

Paula rushed forward, wailing. Liam threw himself in front of his father, sobbing. "Please, stop! Don’t hurt him!"

Richard finally stilled, chest heaving.

Daniel lay broken, his body a map of lash marks.

Then Sophia spoke—her voice raw, broken, but resolute.

"Daniel Prescott… I want a divorce."