Chapter 24

The grand ballroom shimmered under crystal chandeliers as Evelyn Sinclair adjusted her Venetian mask. Across the crowded masquerade, Nathan Blackwood stood like a dark sentinel, his emerald eyes tracking her every move through the slits of his black domino mask.

"Stop fidgeting," Lillian Graves whispered, adjusting the sapphire pins in Evelyn's upswept hair. "You look exquisite. Like moonlight given form."

Evelyn's fingers trembled against her champagne flute. "He's watching me again."

"Of course he is," Serena Whitmore materialized at her elbow, her ruby mask catching the light. "You're the only woman here not throwing yourself at the Blackwood heir."

The orchestra swelled into a waltz just as Nathan began cutting through the crowd with predatory grace. Evelyn's breath hitched when his gloved hand captured hers.

"May I have this dance, Miss Sinclair?" His voice was velvet over steel.

Before she could refuse, Nathan swept her onto the dance floor. The heat of his palm at her waist burned through layers of silk. "You've been avoiding me since Paris."

Evelyn's mask slipped slightly as she tilted her head. "And you've been stalking me since New York."

His lips curved beneath the mask. "Coincidence."

"Six countries worth of coincidence?"

The music crescendoed as Nathan spun her into a shadowed alcove. "I have a proposition for you."

Behind them, Victoria Hayes's crimson gown flashed like a warning signal. Evelyn stiffened. "Your secretary seems distressed."

Nathan didn't turn. "She's irrelevant." His fingers traced the edge of Evelyn's mask. "I need you to pretend to be my fiancée for the season."

Evelyn's laugh was sharp as broken crystal. "You're joking."

"Dead serious." His thumb brushed her jaw. "My father's will stipulates I must marry by year's end or lose controlling shares. You need protection from your stepmother's schemes. Mutual benefit."

The scent of his bergamot cologne wrapped around her as the clock struck midnight. Somewhere in the mansion, a glass shattered. Evelyn's pulse raced—not from fear, but from the dangerous glint in Nathan's eyes.

"Give me one good reason," she challenged.

Nathan's mouth hovered inches from hers. "Because you want to say yes."

A commotion erupted near the terrace doors. Margaret Blackwood's voice cut through the murmurs. "Alexander! What is the meaning of this?"

Nathan's grip tightened. "Decision time, darling. The wolves are at the door."

Evelyn's fingers curled into his lapels. "Three conditions."

"Name them."

"First, no real marriage. Second, I choose our public appearances. Third—" Her words died as Vincent Holloway staggered into view, blood dripping from his nose.

Nathan's body shielded hers instinctively. "Third?"

Evelyn met his gaze squarely. "You tell me what really happened in Monte Carlo."

The clock struck its final chime as Nathan's smile turned feral. "Welcome to the game, fiancée."

The penthouse was eerily silent when Evelyn Sinclair stepped inside, her heels clicking against the marble floor like a ticking time bomb. The air smelled faintly of Nathan Blackwood's cologne—that intoxicating blend of sandalwood and spice that used to make her heart race. Now, it only made her stomach churn.

How did we get here?

She traced her fingers along the back of the leather sofa where they'd shared so many late-night conversations, whispered confessions, and stolen kisses. The memories burned like acid in her throat.

Victoria Hayes' smug face flashed in her mind—the way she'd smirked when she dropped the bombshell at the charity gala. "Did Nathan ever tell you about our little arrangement?"

Evelyn's hands trembled as she pulled out her phone. One text. That's all it would take.

To: Nathan Blackwood

We're done.

She hesitated, thumb hovering over the send button. A part of her still wanted to hear his explanation, to believe there was some misunderstanding. But the rational part—the part that had spent sleepless nights piecing together his lies—knew better.

The elevator dinged.

Her pulse spiked. He's home.

Nathan strode in, his tailored suit immaculate as always, but his usually composed expression was fractured. "Evelyn, we need to talk—"

"Save it." She held up her phone, the unsent message glaring between them. "I know everything."

His jaw tightened. "Whatever Victoria told you—"

"Is backed by evidence." She swiped open her tablet, revealing a series of damning emails and transaction records. "Three months. That's how long you've been funneling company funds to her offshore accounts."

The color drained from his face.

Evelyn took a shaky breath. "I trusted you with my company, my heart... and you used both."

Nathan reached for her, but she stepped back, the distance between them suddenly insurmountable.

"Get out," she whispered. "Or I'll call security."

For a heartbeat, he looked like he might argue. Then his shoulders slumped in defeat. As the elevator doors closed behind him, Evelyn finally let the tears fall.

Her phone buzzed.

Unknown Number: You made the right choice. But this isn't over.

Evelyn frowned. Before she could respond, her assistant Lillian Graves burst in, face pale.

"Evelyn—turn on the news."

The screen flashed with a breaking news banner: Blackwood Industries Under Investigation for Fraud.

And just like that, the game changed.

As Celeste speaking, she drew a shuddering breath before continuing. "I stand by every word and can back it all with proof. I won't take blame for things I didn't do, nor will I let others steal credit for my achievements."

The room erupted in gasps. The revelations were simply too explosive.

The entire industry's perception of the twin sisters—both the praise and scorn—had been built upon those carefully constructed lies. If the truth came out, their reputations would be completely reversed.

"Why would you endure this for so long? Don't you realize how badly this has damaged your image?" someone from the crowd blurted out, unable to contain their shock.

Celeste's laugh was hollow, edged with years of pent-up bitterness. Even she couldn't explain how she'd fallen so deep into this twisted farce.

Perhaps the illusion of a perfect family had been too seductive. Or maybe the loneliness had gnawed at her until she became a willing participant in her own tragedy.

This wasn't her story to bear.

Now, reclaiming her voice, she was finally cutting ties with the Blackwoods.

"Maybe I was just a fool," she murmured.

All eyes swiveled toward the trio—Edward, Penelope, and Isabelle—who stood frozen under the weight of sudden scrutiny. The whispers and judgmental stares were relentless.

Edward's face darkened. "We're family! How could you humiliate us like this?"

Penelope clutched Isabelle's trembling shoulders. "Look what you've done to your sister! Those were just childish mistakes! Do you really think any family with multiple children can be perfectly fair?"

Celeste's smile turned razor-sharp. "Oh, I used to believe that lie too."

The Quirk family exchanged knowing glances. Poor girl—she'd been drowning in the delusion of familial love. Had they not pushed her to the brink, she might have kept sacrificing herself forever. Thank heavens she'd finally awakened.

Nathan Blackwood's relatives nodded in approval. Given recent events, Celeste had proven herself both brilliant and compassionate. They wouldn't let this family drag her down again.

What a pity certain people were too blind to recognize the gem they'd discarded.

The members of the Blackwood family turned their attention toward Julian in silent unison.

At that moment, Julian could only stare at Celeste in stunned silence. His expression was a pitiful mix of shock and devastation.

Richard and Margaret exchanged a glance, sensing this was the perfect opportunity to address certain matters.

Margaret spoke first, her voice firm. "That's an unfair statement, Mrs. Cowell. Our family has four children, and while we may not achieve absolute fairness, we strive for balance. I've never witnessed such blatant favoritism toward one child."

The Cowells hadn't expected the Blackwoods to intervene, and panic rippled through them. The engagement hadn't even been finalized yet.

"No, it's just that our daughter is too headstrong—"

Isabelle burst into tears, turning desperately to Julian. "Julian, do you think I'm a terrible person too? I'm not! I can explain everything! I never realized how much this meant to my sister! I know it's my fault, but I didn't mean to hurt her!"

"Then answer me this," Julian cut in before his mother could respond. "Were you really the one who saved me that day?"

The question sent a shockwave through the Cowell family. They hadn't anticipated him bringing this up now.

The onlookers watched with rapt attention. After all, the entire reason for switching the engagement had been based on that supposed act of heroism.

Celeste, who had remained composed until now, stiffened in disbelief. She turned to her family, her eyes wide with realization.

She had never known the truth.

Because of that fabricated debt, Celeste had been forced to surrender her engagement without protest. Though she was never one to back down, this deception had left her powerless.

Now, hearing that Isabelle had stolen her credit yet again, fury ignited within her.

"It was you… all of you!" Celeste's voice trembled with betrayal. "I was delirious with fever—I couldn’t remember! And you lied to me? Just so your precious Isabelle could take what was mine? How could you do this?"

The Cowells' expressions shifted uncomfortably. There was no excuse for this. How could they admit they had schemed to give their eldest daughter’s fiancé to the younger one simply because they favored her more?

They had kept it hidden from Celeste, never expecting the truth to surface.

But now, with so much exposed, they couldn’t twist the facts. Their past deception hadn’t been flawless—if the Blackwoods investigated, the evidence would be undeniable. They had never imagined being caught, so they hadn’t bothered to cover their tracks.

And now, their lies were unraveling before everyone’s eyes.

The tension in the room was suffocating. No one dared to speak, their breaths shallow as if afraid to disturb the storm brewing before them.

"It was me, not my sister! Julian, you have to believe me!" Isabelle's voice trembled, her eyes wide with desperation. Seeing the skepticism in Julian's gaze, she clutched at straws. "I—I can’t remember clearly! I was ill back then! And you told me—you said you liked me, that it had nothing to do with the past!"

A flicker of crimson flashed in Julian's eyes, his voice colder than winter frost. "Then tell me—was it you I fell for? Or just the mask you wore?"

Isabelle paled, tears cascading down her cheeks like a broken dam. But Julian had no patience left for her theatrics. His gaze shifted to Celeste—only for her to turn away, her expression unreadable.

The truth had been laid bare, yet it meant nothing to her now. If anything, it only deepened her disgust for the three people who had betrayed her.

Julian’s chest tightened painfully as Celeste deliberately avoided his eyes. It felt like something precious had slipped through his fingers, lost forever.

Vincent Holloway’s mind reeled in chaos. "What the hell is going on?!" he roared, jabbing a finger at the Cowells. "Someone better explain! Which one of your daughters was with me for those three months? Who’s responsible for my child’s death? I won’t be made a fool of!"

Before Edward and Penelope could gather their wits, Celeste turned to Vincent, her voice steady. "After everything I’ve said, can’t you figure it out?"

Vincent’s gaze snapped from Celeste to Isabelle. In a flash, he lunged, grabbing Isabelle’s wrist. "Was it you? From May to July, you were in my bed almost every night. If it wasn’t you, then where the hell were you?"

Isabelle shrieked, scrambling behind her parents. "It wasn’t me! I was home! I swear!"

Edward and Penelope exchanged a panicked glance before Edward blurted, "Isabelle was home the entire time! We can vouch for her!"

Vincent’s eyes narrowed, flicking back to Celeste.

The room buzzed with disbelief. Who could have imagined parents would go this far to sacrifice one daughter for another?

Celeste’s stare was glacial, freezing the air around her.

"False statements?" she echoed, her voice dripping with venom. "You want me to take the blame for her? Again?"

Penelope stepped forward, gripping Celeste’s wrist. "Enough! If you have grievances, air them at home! Must you drag your sister down with you?"

Celeste laughed—a hollow, broken sound. "Ah, yes. Because defending myself is ‘talking back.’ Because not surrendering everything to Isabelle is ‘hurting her.’"

Julian’s chest ached as memories flooded him—each one an arrow piercing his heart.

"Reckless?" Celeste’s voice was steel. "I don’t need your forgiveness. Or your compensation. All I want is the truth."

Edward paled. "Celeste—"

She cut him off, turning to Vincent. "I’ll go to any hospital with you. Let them examine me. Let’s see if I’ve ever had a miscarriage."

Silence.

Then—uproar.

Isabelle gaped, horrified. She never expected Celeste to go this far.

Vincent’s gaze locked onto Isabelle like a predator scenting blood.

"You’ve lost your mind!" Edward shouted. "We won’t allow this!"

Penelope sobbed. "How could you humiliate yourself like this?"

Celeste’s lips curled. Humiliation? No. This was liberation.

"Since I’m so worthless in your eyes," she said, voice steady, "from this moment on, I sever all ties with you. I am no longer a Cowell. And I want nothing to do with any of you."

The words hung in the air—final, irrevocable.

The Cowells stared, stunned.

But Celeste was already walking away, her back straight, her heart finally free.