Chapter 212

The morning sun cast golden rays through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Evelyn Sinclair’s penthouse, illuminating the sleek modern furnishings. She stood by the window, her fingers tracing the rim of her coffee cup absently. The city below was already alive with movement, but her mind was elsewhere—on the man who had occupied her thoughts far too often lately.

Nathan Blackwood.

Just the thought of his name sent a shiver down her spine.

Her phone buzzed on the marble countertop, snapping her out of her reverie. It was a message from Lillian Graves, her ever-efficient assistant.

"Meeting with Preston Whitmore in an hour. He wants to discuss the script changes for the new project. Also, don’t forget—dinner with the investors tonight."

Evelyn sighed. The relentless pace of her career left little room for personal distractions, yet Nathan had somehow carved out a space in her mind that refused to be ignored.

She set her cup down and strode toward her closet, her fingers brushing over designer dresses before settling on a fitted navy-blue dress that accentuated her curves. If she had to face another day of negotiations and power plays, she might as well look the part.

Across town, Nathan sat in his office, his gaze fixed on the financial reports in front of him. But the numbers blurred as his thoughts drifted back to Evelyn—her sharp wit, the way her eyes darkened when she was annoyed, the rare, unguarded laughter that slipped out when she thought no one was listening.

A knock at the door interrupted his musings.

"Come in," he called, straightening in his chair.

Marcus Donovan stepped inside, his expression unreadable. "We have a problem."

Nathan arched a brow. "What now?"

"Victoria Hayes is making moves behind the scenes. She’s been in contact with Donovan Sharpe, trying to sway him to her side before the board meeting next week."

Nathan’s jaw tightened. Victoria had always been a thorn in his side, but this was a direct challenge. If she succeeded in turning key players against him, the entire merger could collapse.

"Set up a meeting with Sharpe," Nathan said, his voice low and controlled. "I’ll handle this myself."

Marcus nodded and turned to leave, but hesitated at the door. "And Evelyn Sinclair?"

Nathan’s fingers stilled on the desk. "What about her?"

"Rumors are circulating that she might be considering an offer from Holloway Media. If she signs with them, it could complicate things for us."

A muscle ticked in Nathan’s jaw. The thought of Evelyn aligning with Vincent Holloway—a man with a reputation as ruthless as his own—sent a surge of possessiveness through him.

"I’ll deal with it," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Marcus left, and Nathan exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. The game was getting more complicated, and Evelyn was at the center of it all.

He reached for his phone, scrolling through his contacts before stopping at her name. His thumb hovered over the screen.

Then, with a decisive tap, he sent the message.

"We need to talk. Tonight."

Evelyn’s phone lit up with the notification as she stepped out of her meeting with Preston. She read Nathan’s message, her pulse quickening.

She shouldn’t respond. She knew she shouldn’t.

But her fingers moved before she could stop them.

"Where?"

The reply came instantly.

"My penthouse. 8 PM."

Evelyn bit her lip. This was dangerous. Every interaction with Nathan was like playing with fire—exhilarating, intoxicating, and bound to leave her burned.

Yet she couldn’t bring herself to refuse.

"Fine."

She slipped her phone back into her purse, her mind already racing with possibilities. Whatever Nathan wanted, it wouldn’t be simple.

And she was ready for the challenge.

The bizarre incident naturally provoked a mix of disgusted gasps and astonished whispers around the table.

Evelyn Sinclair spoke with such animated enthusiasm that she effortlessly commanded everyone’s attention.

Oddly enough, Daniel Wright and Grayson Hart kept shifting uncomfortably in their seats, their eyes darting toward Mason Hunter. Hadn’t Mason mentioned something about borrowing money earlier? Could this really be just a coincidence?

By now, Mason was drowning in unease. It wasn’t that he thought Evelyn was deliberately mocking him—no, something far worse gnawed at him. If Evelyn had heard about Violet Carter borrowing money despite not being close to her… then could it actually be true?

"I heard she landed a major client today, which saved her from a desperate situation. This must be the place," Evelyn mused before turning to Mason with feigned innocence. "Oh, did your sister-in-law specifically request her? Did she happen to watch my show, admire my makeup, and approve of Violet’s skills? Well, I really owe her one."

Evelyn wasn’t one to play favorites. If she was going to expose Mason, she’d drag Claire Morgan down with him.

Mason’s face cycled through a spectrum of colors, his expression twisting like a storm.

Right. Claire sought Violet out, and now Violet’s at this gathering. Could everything really be this coincidental? His gut churned with suspicion.

"Yes, Claire probably brought Violet here to introduce her to more connections," Evelyn continued sweetly. "Her husband’s useless, so she has to rely on her own efforts to make money."

"I’ll go introduce myself later," Vivian Grant chimed in eagerly. "I’ll keep the poor girl busy so she can forget about that leech."

Beatrice Holloway nodded in agreement, already planning to cozy up to Violet.

Mason’s fists clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white, humiliation burning through him.

Finally, curiosity got the better of Daniel. "Do you know her?"

Grayson’s brows shot up. "Your face just went through five emotions. Don’t tell me Violet is actually your girlfriend."

The table fell dead silent.

All eyes locked onto Mason as his gaze flickered—yet he didn’t deny it. Slowly, realization dawned on everyone, their expressions morphing into shock.

The air thickened with awkward tension. Those who had just been trashing the "freeloader" now glanced at Evelyn, unsure how to react.

Evelyn pressed a hand to her lips, barely suppressing a laugh before widening her eyes in mock surprise.

"It’s you? No wonder everyone’s been saying Violet’s boyfriend is a parasite. So it’s been you all along—pretending to be broke to test her while living off her, huh?"

Her words struck like lightning. What had seemed like a harmless test now felt like a brutal exposure. And at this table? Loyalties ran deep—everyone naturally sided with their own.

The moment both parties recognized each other, the entire dynamic shifted. Every pair of eyes at the table burned with silent judgment as they stared at Mason Hunter.

Violet Carter's arrival had shattered the fragile peace.

Mason's face turned ghostly pale, his lips pressed into a tight line. His gaze remained locked onto Violet's retreating figure, as if trying to decipher some hidden message in her posture.

The tension grew so thick that Lucas Thornton cleared his throat loudly, desperately attempting to redirect the conversation.

"Wait—does Claire know Violet too? What's her role in all this?"

His clumsy intervention only made things worse.

An uncomfortable silence descended over the group. Vivian Grant was the only one still unaware of the complicated history between Claire Morgan and Mason.

Marcus Prescott, prioritizing honesty over loyalty, leaned toward Vivian and whispered the explosive truth.

Vivian's shocked gasp nearly turned into a scream.

"Are we certain Violet was invited here as a genuine recommendation?" Beatrice Holloway asked coolly. Such arrangements weren't unusual among elite circles—but coming from a supposed friend? That stung differently.

Before anyone could respond, the approaching footsteps made heads turn.

Violet was being escorted directly toward their table.

Murmurs broke out among the group.

In the charged silence, an anonymous voice cut through:

"Mason, are you absolutely sure Violet recognizes you? If you're wrong about this, the moment she reaches this table—"

Mason hadn't taken his eyes off Violet, but she kept her head stubbornly lowered, denying him even a glimpse of her expression.

His mind raced with possibilities. If Violet knew his identity yet came anyway... was this deliberate? Had she orchestrated this encounter?

But that taunting voice shattered his hopeful theories. A sudden, visceral fear gripped him—the sensation of stepping off a cliff's edge with no safety net.

Before he could compose himself, Violet finally looked up.

Their eyes met.

Mason's breath caught, his entire body tensing. But Violet's gaze slid away as quickly as it had found him, dismissing him entirely.

The group's attention volleyed between them, the air crackling with unspoken questions. Whispers erupted like wildfire.

"Did she notice you? Yet she didn't even flinch. She must've been expecting this."

"I thought she'd make a scene right then and there."

"Were you just going to stand there like a spectator at some cheap drama?"

The whispers died as Violet Carter approached their circle.

Mason Hunter's glare could've burned holes through Violet, who refused to meet his gaze. His fingers twitched around his champagne flute, the simmering irritation threatening to boil over.

Questions churned in his mind like a storm: Why had she borrowed money from his family? Why show up at his parents' estate only to ignore his existence? That deliberate avoidance—was it silent reproach or some twisted game?

The frustration gnawing at him stemmed from something deeper, something he couldn't—wouldn't—name.

Across the room, Evelyn Sinclair studied Claire Morgan with barely concealed disgust. The woman's twisted logic never failed to astound.

So this was the grand plan—forcing Violet and Mason into some awkward reunion? Judging by Violet's rigid posture, any reconciliation seemed unlikely.

Just as Evelyn pieced together the scheme, Claire's saccharine voice cut through her thoughts.

"Evelyn! How lovely you could join us." Claire's smile didn't reach her eyes. "I heard Violet here used to be your personal makeup artist. We thought you might... verify her credentials."

What?

Violet had regained some composure, though her smile remained strained. "Ms. Sinclair," she greeted, fingers tightening around her clutch. The title tasted foreign—too intimate for their current dynamic.

Evelyn's mind raced. Why would Claire announce Violet's former employment to these vultures? The implication hung heavy—they doubted Violet's qualifications. But why?

With practiced ease, Evelyn's lips curved into a dazzling smile. "Violet! No wonder Claire's contour looks semi-decent today—I should've known you were behind it."

The crowd blinked in unison. Had Evelyn Sinclair just... complimented Claire Morgan?

Even Claire faltered, wondering if the champagne had impaired her hearing.

Nearby, the Blackwoods nearly choked on their drinks.

As tensions mounted, Richard and Margaret remained diplomatically distant, but the younger guests had no such reservations. Wineglasses in hand, they inched closer—human vultures circling impending carnage.

Violet Carter remained unfazed by the venomous glare Mason Hunter directed at her. Turning to her circle of friends, she remarked with a smirk, "See? Every penny was well spent."

Yet, the expressions among her companions varied—some skeptical, others calculating.

Luna Morgan suddenly spoke up, her voice dripping with feigned concern. "I still find the charges outrageous. Just because we're wealthy doesn't mean we're fools. Mrs. Carter, how much does she charge you for makeup?"

The question instantly drained the color from Violet’s face.

Evelyn Sinclair, caught off guard by the sudden turn of events, quickly consulted her system.

Good grief, my brain feels like it’s shrunk to a raisin. Your little scheme has left me utterly drained.

The Blackwoods: What? She’s just asking about the price. How is that mentally exhausting? Even an assistant makeup artist earns over ten grand per episode, right?

So Claire Morgan had already informed Luna about Violet’s identity. Since Luna was infatuated with Mason, she wouldn’t tolerate their relationship continuing. She was even more ruthless than Claire in forcing them apart. Naturally, she wanted to publicly humiliate Violet and tarnish her reputation—hence this two-faced act. Even though Evelyn had hired Violet at an exorbitant rate of two hundred thousand to help her through financial struggles, they were now weaponizing that price against her. If Evelyn revealed the standard rate, everyone would assume Violet was exploiting the wealthy, treating them like cash cows. They’d brand her as unethical, driven solely by greed. Once this scandal went public, the Hunters would never accept her.

The Blackwoods: No wonder they insisted on Violet coming down. This was a damn trap all along.

A muscle twitched in Nathan Blackwood’s jaw. Honestly, if this kind of scheme were used to secure Ethan Carter’s business empire…

Perhaps their main goal was to embarrass Violet in front of the Hunters, but if they succeeded, they’d also destroy her reputation in the makeup industry. Word would spread, and no wealthy client—no matter how desperate—would hire her again. Even her work with A-list celebrities would be jeopardized. This could annihilate her entire career. They were downright vicious.

The Blackwoods: Vicious? They’re not just vicious—they don’t even see Violet as human. What did she ever do to deserve this? She’s the victim here!

Nathan let out a cold chuckle. His gaze flickered to Evelyn, concern flickering in his eyes—only to find her lips curving into a sly smile.

Don’t blame me. If you’re using me to hurt others, I’ll bite back.

Nathan: My wife is absolutely adorable.

"Can you ask around if you’re unsure?" Luna snapped, clearly impatient with Evelyn’s silence. She wanted this resolved—fast.

Violet’s face had paled further. She understood exactly what was happening, but she was powerless. The charges were real. At this moment, she should have turned to Mason for help—but she didn’t. She didn’t even think of him.

Mason had been watching Violet the entire time. Though he didn’t grasp the full picture, he sensed her distress. He expected her to seek his help. Even if it was just a silent plea—

The tension in the room was palpable. If Violet had just looked at Mason with those pleading eyes of hers, he would have caved instantly—offering her an escape route without hesitation.

Yet, the entire time, Violet stubbornly avoided his gaze.

A soft, knowing chuckle broke the silence.

"Oh, now I remember—it was three hundred thousand per episode," Seraphina remarked casually, her lips curving into a sly smile.

The statement sent shockwaves through the group.

Violet’s head snapped toward her, only to find Seraphina smirking at her with an air of triumph.

Their friends exchanged bewildered glances. Had they misheard? Misunderstood?

"Wait… are rates really that high now?" one of them blurted out.

"So two hundred thousand is considered normal here?" another muttered in disbelief.

"Damn, has my makeup artist been severely undercharging me all this time?"

The rest of the table remained blissfully oblivious, completely missing the underlying tension of the conversation.