Chapter 48

The morning sun cast golden rays through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Evelyn Sinclair’s penthouse, illuminating the scattered scripts on her coffee table. She traced her fingers over the bold title of her latest project—Whispers of the Heart—a romance drama that had already sparked buzz in Hollywood.

Her phone buzzed. A message from Nathan Blackwood lit up the screen.

"Breakfast at The Velvet Rose? I have something to discuss."

Evelyn’s pulse quickened. Nathan had been distant since their last argument, his usual warmth replaced by clipped conversations and guarded glances. She typed a quick reply.

"Be there in twenty."

The Velvet Rose was an upscale café tucked between high-end boutiques, its marble tables and crystal chandeliers a favorite among the elite. Nathan sat at their usual corner booth, his dark hair slightly tousled, his sharp jawline accentuated by the morning light.

Evelyn slid into the seat across from him. "You look tired."

He exhaled, rubbing his temple. "Long night."

She studied him—the tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers drummed restlessly against the table. "What’s going on?"

Nathan hesitated, then met her gaze. "Victoria Hayes is pushing for a last-minute script change."

Evelyn stiffened. Victoria, Nathan’s cunning secretary, had been a thorn in her side since day one. "What kind of change?"

"More screen time for Seraphina Delacroix."

Evelyn’s grip tightened around her coffee cup. Seraphina—a second-tier actress with connections—had been angling for a bigger role since filming began. "That wasn’t part of the deal."

Nathan’s expression darkened. "I know. But the studio’s backing her."

A cold knot formed in Evelyn’s stomach. This wasn’t just about the script. It was a power play—one that threatened to derail everything she’d worked for.

She leaned forward, voice low. "You promised me creative control."

His eyes flickered with something unreadable. "Things are complicated."

"Then uncomplicate them."

The air between them crackled with unspoken tension. Nathan opened his mouth to respond when his phone rang. He glanced at the screen, jaw tightening. "I have to take this."

Evelyn watched as he stepped outside, his broad frame silhouetted against the glass doors. Something was wrong. Worse than she thought.

Her assistant, Lillian Graves, texted her:

"Just got word. Seraphina’s been seen leaving the studio head’s office. Twice."

Evelyn’s blood ran cold.

This wasn’t just a script change.

This was a war.

And she wasn’t about to lose.

Evelyn Sinclair hadn’t anticipated Genevieve’s stubbornness to persist even now. Staring at her sister-in-law in disbelief, she exhaled sharply. "Are you truly willing to throw away your future—your gift—for a man who won’t even stand by his promises?"

Genevieve’s chin lifted defiantly, though tears streaked her cheeks. "Talent doesn’t vanish just because I stay. I can achieve greatness here—I don’t need to leave the country to prove myself!"

Sophia Blackwood’s eyes narrowed. "Tell me, Genevieve—have you picked up a brush at all these past weeks?"

A flush of shame darkened Genevieve’s face.

Beatrice Holloway, the renowned professor, sighed. "Genevieve, talent alone isn’t enough. It demands cultivation—time, resources, sacrifice. I thought you understood that."

Evelyn bit back a scoff. Oh, the old Genevieve did. But this version? She’s parroting Damian’s empty reassurances like gospel.

Genevieve’s fists clenched. "You don’t understand! Dominic—Damian—loves me. He believes in me!"

Nathan’s mother, Margaret, pinched the bridge of her nose. "And what has he sacrificed for you?"

"Everything!" Genevieve’s voice cracked. "He swallowed his pride to reconcile after what happened—that’s love!"

The room fell into stunned silence.

Beatrice, desperate to defuse the tension, leaned forward. "Genevieve, love shouldn’t cost you your dreams. The right person would never ask you to dim your light."

"But he’s not asking! I’m choosing this!"

Evelyn’s patience snapped. "Pfft. Julian moved countries for the woman he loved—twice—without demanding she abandon her ambitions. That’s love. What you’re describing? That’s control."

Genevieve whirled on her. "You’ve always looked down on us! Just because your relationship is perfect—"

"Enough!" Sophia’s voice cut like ice. "We’re done here."

The car ride home was suffocating. Genevieve fled to her room the moment they arrived, slamming the door.

Margaret’s hands trembled. "I should confiscate her phone. Cut her off from that boy."

Sophia shook her head. "It won’t help. She’s in too deep."

Evelyn retreated to her balcony, the night air crisp. A crumpled paper—gold-edged, like an application form—landed at her feet.

She picked it up, heart sinking. The scholarship.

From the adjacent balcony, Genevieve’s muffled sobs drifted through the dark.

Evelyn closed her eyes. God help her.