Chapter 125

The moment Evelyn heard it was a confidential script, unease prickled at her skin.

After all, Seraphina had once taunted, "If you cast me, aren’t you afraid your precious show will implode?"

Not to mention the tension still lingering from their past clashes.

Evelyn’s gut twisted with worry—what if Team A-List’s performance was designed to expose Grayson?

During the final rehearsal, she couldn’t resist cornering Preston Whitmore and Donovan Sharpe.

"Mrs. Hart, we genuinely don’t know," Donovan said, exasperated. "Even if there are rehearsal clips, they’re heavily edited. We see barely anything."

Preston, ever the purist, scoffed. "Why the concern? Your husband’s reputation is spotless. Team A-List claims to stand for justice—why would they target him?"

Evelyn’s nails dug into her palms. "Justice? Please. This industry runs on power plays. What if they’re just silencing competition under the guise of morality? Their past targets were convenient scapegoats. Who’s to say they won’t fabricate lies next?"

The men exchanged glances. Her paranoia wasn’t entirely unfounded—Team A-List’s crusade did seem too idealistic for Hollywood’s cutthroat arena.

"If they come for us, I need ammunition to defend my husband," Evelyn pressed. "Just a small favor—"

"We’re not omniscient," Donovan cut in. "We can’t help you."

Evelyn’s smile turned icy. "Then what about inserting our footage during their segment? A… counter-narrative."

Preston recoiled. "Absolutely not. We won’t sabotage our own show with staged scandals."

"They’re not staged," she hissed. "They’re reenactments of facts."

Donovan’s patience snapped. "We’ve indulged you enough. Tampering with the broadcast is non-negotiable."

Fury ignited in Evelyn’s chest. Desperation loosened her tongue. "Or is this refusal because you’re both sleeping with Seraphina?"

Silence.

The directors stared, aghast. Evelyn instantly regretted her words—too far, even for her. Mumbling an apology, she fled.

Outside, she nearly collided with a group of staffers. Humiliation burned her cheeks as she stormed off, only to spot a familiar figure.

Marcus jogged over, feigning concern. "Aunt Evelyn, any progress?"

Her jaw clenched. "Weren’t you supposed to watch Grayson and that witch?"

Marcus smirked. "Rehearsal break. She slithered off. But honestly, what’s the point? Their ‘scripted’ flirting might as well be foreplay. The way she looks at him—disgusting."

Evelyn’s vision tinged red. If Seraphina were here, she’d claw her eyes out.

Marcus sighed theatrically. "Uncle Grayson owes everything to you. Our family would’ve starved without your backing. And now he dares mention divorce? Over her?" He squeezed Evelyn’s shoulder. "We’ll disown him before we betray you."

The loyalty soothed her. "There won’t be a divorce."

Marcus’s eyes gleamed. He launched into sycophantic praises, painting himself as her devoted ally. Evelyn preened—childless, she’d doted on Grayson’s nephews. Marcus’s sudden acting career? Her doing.

"You’re a good boy," she cooed. "Unlike the others, you see her for the trash she is."

A shadow crossed Marcus’s face. "She tried seducing me. Made my skin crawl."

Evelyn beamed. "Exactly. Filthy creature."

Meanwhile, in a bathroom stall, Evelyn Sinclair’s legs had gone numb from eavesdropping.

"Netizens are betting Team A-List will expose her next. But since she’s sleeping with Preston and Donovan, they might chicken out."

Evelyn stifled a groan. Peeking through the door, she recognized Preston’s assistants—bold, gossiping about their bosses.

"Serves her right. Sleeping her way to the top? Disgusting."

"Think it was separate… or a threesome? I saw her enter the greenroom with both. An hour later, she had that post-coital glow."

Cackling, the women left.

Evelyn stepped out—and froze.

Seraphina stood at the mirror, eyes red-rimmed, slapping her cheeks. Forcing a smile, she practiced it until it looked effortless. Then, chin high, she strode out.

Evelyn whistled low. Damn. The acting’s too good.

Outside, Lillian Graves intercepted her. "Ms. Sinclair, Isabelle sent me. You’re needed."

Evelyn assumed it was about skipping rehearsal—until she realized Preston wanted an emergency meeting.

Her pulse jumped. Perfect. Time to stir the pot.

Across the room, Julian and Genevieve Blackwood caught her manic grin.

They didn’t know what she’d overheard… but trouble was brewing.

"Oh, this’ll be delicious," Evelyn thought. "Loose lips sink ships—and I’ve got the torpedo."

Julian and Genevieve exchanged glances. Whatever Evelyn was plotting, someone’s reputation was about to implode.