Chapter 155

The morning sun streamed through the curtains, casting golden streaks across Evelyn Sinclair’s bedroom. She stretched lazily, her mind already buzzing with anticipation. Today was one of those rare days when she could indulge in her guilty pleasure—eavesdropping on the unfiltered thoughts of those around her.

With a smirk, Evelyn sipped her coffee, letting the bitter warmth wake her fully. Her psychic ability had always been a double-edged sword, but moments like these made it worth the chaos. She tuned into the mental chatter around her, filtering through the mundane until she struck gold.

"Oh my God, did Nathan Blackwood really just text me at 2 AM?" Victoria Hayes’s shrill inner voice pierced Evelyn’s mind like a needle. The secretary’s giddy excitement was almost nauseating. "He said he couldn’t sleep without thinking about me. Take that, Evelyn!"

Evelyn nearly choked on her coffee. Oh, please. Nathan wouldn’t send a late-night text unless it was a business emergency—or if he’d been drugged. She dug deeper, curiosity piqued.

Victoria’s mental monologue continued, dripping with delusion. "Once I’m Mrs. Blackwood, I’ll fire that insufferable assistant of his. Lillian Graves has always been too cozy with Evelyn anyway."

Evelyn rolled her eyes so hard it hurt. The audacity.

Then, another voice cut in—smooth, amused, and unmistakably Nathan’s. "Victoria’s delusions are almost entertaining. If only she knew I only keep her around because she’s predictable."

Evelyn’s lips twitched. Of course. Nathan’s mind was a fortress, but when he wanted to be heard, he made sure of it. A silent message, just for her.

She switched channels, landing on Serena Whitmore’s frantic brainstorming. "If I can just get Evelyn to sign that endorsement deal, maybe the studio will finally greenlight her series. But she’s so damn picky!"

Evelyn sighed. Serena meant well, but she worried too much.

Then—bam. A new voice, sharp and venomous. "Evelyn thinks she’s untouchable. But everyone has a weakness. And I will find hers."

Evelyn’s blood ran cold. The voice was unfamiliar, laced with quiet fury. Before she could pinpoint the source, the connection snapped, leaving her with a gnawing unease.

Who the hell was that?

Her phone buzzed. A text from Nathan: "Stop snooping and get dressed. We have a problem."

Evelyn groaned. Of course he knew.

And just like that, her morning of gossip turned into the start of another mess.

Gabriel and Vivienne had once been the golden couple, adored by everyone who knew them. Their breakup, never publicly explained, led most to assume it was due to the overbearing influence of Claire, Gabriel's notoriously meddlesome mother. The general consensus was that Vivienne had walked away, unwilling to navigate the complexities of such a controlling family dynamic.

Recently, however, after witnessing the surprisingly warm exchanges between Claire and Vivienne on the show, whispers of a possible reconciliation had begun to spread among their friends and fans alike.

Some time ago, Gabriel had reconnected with the production team of the show, hoping to use their platform to stage a grand marriage proposal. Since his appearance was only meant to announce the theme—not for a live broadcast—the production team agreed, eager for the positive buzz it might bring to their program.

At the time, My Acting Skill was mired in controversy despite its soaring popularity, and the director and producer were desperate for a smooth, drama-free finale.

Everyone involved in the production—except the one person who mattered—was informed of Gabriel’s plan to avoid any potential disruption to the show’s carefully curated atmosphere.

"So, Mrs. Harrison knew about this? She actually agreed?" Isabelle asked, skepticism lacing her voice.

Preston nodded. "Yes. She seemed serious, but she didn’t object."

Julian and Genevieve, overhearing the conversation, exchanged knowing glances.

Damn. No opposition? Mrs. Harrison must have warmed up to Vivienne and is open to her becoming part of the family. She didn’t outright reject the proposal, but she clearly thought it was premature—Gabriel hadn’t even fixed things with Vivienne yet. Still, seeing her son take initiative, she chose not to stand in his way.

Gotta admit, Mrs. Harrison is sharp. Proposing under these circumstances isn’t just bold—it’s downright delusional!

Julian and Genevieve shared the same thought. They couldn’t fathom why Gabriel would even consider proposing when they hadn’t reconciled. Did he really think Vivienne would say yes? Was he living in a fantasy?

But hey, I’m curious to see what Gabriel’s got planned. Let’s see what’s going on in that head of his.

Julian and Genevieve barely suppressed their laughter.

The excitement in the air was palpable as they made their way to the stage, surrounded by eager onlookers buzzing with speculation.

Isabelle, however, seemed less than thrilled, sighing heavily.

"What’s wrong, Isabelle?" Evelyn asked, noticing her subdued mood.

"I was thinking about poaching Vivienne," Isabelle admitted, her expression thoughtful.

"Really? Even though she has her own agency?" Julian blurted out, surprised.

"That amateur operation?" Isabelle Laurent scoffed, her manicured nails tapping against her champagne flute. "No offense to mom-and-pop agencies, but let's be realistic here."

She leaned forward, her designer dress whispering against the leather couch. "Vivienne signed with Silver Screen Studios right after graduating—courtesy of her professor's connections. They had a five-year development plan that could've made her A-list by thirty." Isabelle's lips twisted. "But then her uncle and mother swooped in, treating acting like some seasonal fruit stand. 'Cash in while you're young!' they said. Convinced her to ditch professional management for some backyard talent agency."

"She's practically a marionette," Julian Blackwood observed dryly. "No way you'll change her mind when family's pulling the strings."

"Thought so too at first." Isabelle's eyes gleamed like polished onyx. "Then remember her tax audit scandal?" The room murmured recognition. "Here's the thing—Vivienne plays the dutiful daughter, but there's steel beneath that smile. She tolerates their meddling... until she doesn't."

A slow smile spread across Isabelle's face. "This reality show? That's her rebellion. Notice she's barely booked anything else this year? First time in her career she's not chasing paychecks. The family leash is slipping." She snapped her fingers. "That's when we strike. She'll realize she needs real management—not relatives playing agent."

Isabelle sat back, radiating the satisfaction of a chessmaster spotting checkmate three moves ahead.

Vivienne fascinated her. Twenty-six years old with more range than actresses twice her age. Their interactions on set confirmed it—this wasn't some fame-hungry influencer. The girl burned for the craft. With Vivienne and Seraphina Delacroix under her wing? Isabelle could practically hear the Emmy speeches already.

"Seems you've got quite the soft spot for Vivienne," Genevieve remarked, swirling her cocktail.

"For talent with drive? Always." Isabelle's gaze flicked meaningfully toward Evelyn Sinclair. "Give me someone who'll crawl through broken glass for a role over nepo babies any day."

Evelyn stiffened. Was that dig meant for her?

Julian and Genevieve exchanged amused glances. They knew Isabelle was already drafting press releases about Evelyn—the heiress who traded boardrooms for backlots, whose real-life Cinderella story (complete with obscenely handsome husband) would send TMZ into a frenzy.

Isabelle couldn't resist adding, "Seraphina's been with us a week and already booked two Chanel campaigns." Her pointed look at Evelyn said the rest: Meanwhile, some people are still getting lost on the way to set.

The dazzling lights of Hollywood never sleep—constant filming, endless endorsements... It seemed the harder you worked, the more rewards came your way...

#QueenOfHustle

No matter how skillfully you cracked that invisible whip, I wouldn't budge. Because my philosophy was simple: gain without the pain! When Evelyn made this bold but silent declaration, Julian and Genevieve finally burst into laughter.

"What's so funny?" Isabelle asked, eyebrows knitting together in confusion.

Evelyn threw a curious glance over her shoulder, prompting Julian to quickly divert the conversation. "Weren't you determined to poach Vivienne earlier? Changed your mind?"

Isabelle sighed, "It's not that I don't want to. But if today's proposal succeeds, Vivienne will have Mrs. Harrison's backing. She won't need to seek outside collaborations."

At this, Evelyn and the others exchanged knowing smiles.

"What?" Isabelle looked between them, utterly bewildered.

Unable to contain herself any longer, Genevieve blurted, "Vivienne would never agree to it."

"How could you possibly know that?"

Evelyn was genuinely surprised—this was information she'd assumed only she possessed.

Flustered, Genevieve turned to Julian for help. With reluctant amusement, he explained, "Marcus just sent me an... interesting tidbit."

"What?" Both Isabelle and Evelyn leaned in, curiosity piqued.

Julian's lips twisted wryly. "Apparently, Gabriel has a severe gambling addiction. He even borrowed ten million from Vivienne and never repaid it. That's likely the real reason they split."

Isabelle's jaw dropped at the revelation, rendered speechless.

Evelyn nodded slowly. Secrets had a way of surfacing. If Marcus knew, it was only a matter of time before others found out. What if Claudia discovered the truth? Would she connect it to her missing pearl necklace? The thought was both nauseating and absurd. When I see Gabriel later, I might not be able to stop my gaze from... wandering south.

Julian and Genevieve recoiled in horror at her train of thought. Please, for the love of god, don't put that image in our heads!

As they entered the grand hall, their attention was immediately drawn to the stage where spotlights illuminated a sharply dressed man orchestrating the crowd's movements.

Their gazes inadvertently drifted downward, landing precisely where they shouldn't have, as they caught sight of the man's... posterior while he directed the decorators.