Chapter 191

Evelyn Sinclair and Natalie Beaumont returned to the grand ballroom. The crowd had resumed their mingling, laughter and champagne flowing freely.

The earlier confrontation might as well have never happened.

Now that Evelyn's true identity was known, no one dared pressure her into drinking. Polite smiles and distant pleasantries were exchanged, but everyone kept a respectful distance.

Exhaustion crept in. Evelyn slipped away to a secluded balcony, craving solitude. The night air was crisp, the city lights shimmering like scattered diamonds across the bay.

A delicate floral scent drifted from the gardens below. Just as she began to relax, footsteps interrupted her peace.

"Evelyn? What are you doing out here?"

Tristan Whitmore's voice made her shoulders tense. Her tranquil expression hardened into icy disdain.

"Do I require your permission to exist in a space, Tristan? Unless you'd like to explain why you're stalking me?"

He winced but pressed on. "That's not— Look, about the watch... Why didn't you give it to Nathan? He waited all night at his birthday gala. The poor guy—"

A humorless laugh escaped her lips. "When did I ever say that watch was for Nathan Blackwood? Are you delusional? Did someone drop you on your head as a child?"

Her thoughts burned sharper. Tristan Whitmore, when will you people grasp reality? Why would I attend a stranger's party? Buy gifts for a man I despise? How much clearer must I be?

Tristan opened his mouth—then froze. His eyes widened at something behind Evelyn. Shock and dread flashed across his face. Oh hell.

"Hate?" The new voice turned Evelyn's blood to ice. She whirled to find Nathan emerging from the floor-length drapes beside her. How long had he been standing there?

His gaze was unreadable, voice deceptively calm. Evelyn forced herself not to flinch.

"I assumed my feelings were obvious, Mr. Blackwood. Clearly, you need everything spelled out." No point in pretense now.

Tristan coughed awkwardly and practically fled. This conversation was his personal nightmare.

Nathan's eyes never left Evelyn's profile. Each word from her lips was a fresh wound. Hate me? Of course she does. I've given her every reason.

The balcony was their private battleground now. No eavesdroppers would dare. Nathan's smile was bitter.

"Nothing I do will ever earn your forgiveness, will it?"

Evelyn studied him, unnerved by the sorrow in his eyes. A trick of the light. Nathan Blackwood doesn't mourn me.

"Mr. Blackwood, we'll never be friends. You're not seeking forgiveness for me—you're seeking absolution for yourself." Her laugh was arctic. "But why should I ease your conscience? If you're truly remorseful, you should suffer as I did. Did you think one apology could erase three years of hell?"

She wanted him broken. Wanted him to drown in regret. This wasn't some amicable separation—it was war.

Nathan's jaw clenched. The apology dying on his tongue tasted like ash. When he finally spoke, his voice was raw.

"Evelyn... I lost the ring. I'm so sorry." That ring was the first thread I pulled in unraveling your life.

The words hit like a physical blow. Evelyn's face went deathly pale before twisting into something vicious.

"Oh, I know." Her smile could have frozen the bay below. "You didn't lose it. You threw it away."