Chapter 434

The atmosphere turned icy in an instant. William Sterling, who had been searching his pockets for his wallet, froze mid-motion.

His eyes darted to Preston Sinclair's face, which had darkened like a gathering storm. Preston's usually composed features were strained as he fought back visible irritation.

A muscle twitched in Preston's jaw. The typically unshakable businessman's mask began to crack.

"Daddy, I want my inheritance now!" Little Oliver whined, twisting his small body in an exaggerated pout. His adorable face made it impossible for Preston to discipline him.

Preston inhaled sharply. This is my flesh and blood, he reminded himself. I must be patient. He forced his voice into something resembling calm. "Now?" he asked quietly.

Oliver nodded with grave seriousness. "I can only be with my Muse after I get my inheritance!" The child's logic was flawless - the sooner the better. For his beloved Muse, he'd gladly trade his father without hesitation.

Preston's stormy gaze remained fixed on his son's cherubic face. Every ounce of his self-control was being tested.

"Then I'll... expedite matters," Preston ground out between clenched teeth. Oliver's face lit up. "When? Today? Tomorrow?" He began counting on tiny fingers.

Preston shut his eyes, taking another deep breath. His patience snapped. With dangerous precision, he grabbed Oliver by the collar of his shirt.

The motion suggested he might toss the boy like a basketball. William intervened hastily, "Children say the darndest things..."

Preston's expression smoothed into something resembling civility. "My apologies, Chairman Sterling," he said with forced politeness. "I've just remembered urgent business matters requiring my attention."

Without waiting for a response, Preston marched off with Oliver dangling from his grip, the picture of aristocratic disdain.

"Aaaah! Daddy! I need to kiss my Muse goodbye!" Oliver's protests echoed across the deck.

Evelyn Sinclair stood frozen, watching the bizarre scene unfold. Before she could react, Nathan Blackwood seized her wrist. "Don't," he murmured. "Consider what we discussed."

His voice carried uncharacteristic vulnerability. Nathan knew William Sterling wouldn't let his youngest daughter remain unmarried forever. Political alliances would be made.

And he intended to position himself as the prime candidate. Who else could possibly measure up? Even knowing Preston wasn't competition, seeing Evelyn laugh with him had set Nathan's teeth on edge.

Evelyn glanced down at Nathan's restraining hand, then chuckled darkly. "Mr. Blackwood, marital alliances are about compatibility, nothing more. And you?" She smiled sweetly. "I don't make the same mistake twice."

She leaned closer, emphasizing each word. "My tastes have... evolved since my sheltered days. The things - and people - I once found appealing no longer interest me."

"Nathan" came out strangled, as if she'd physically wounded him. Evelyn gently pushed his wheelchair back. "Don't fret. I'll care for you until you recover - I owe you that much for saving my life. But feelings?" She shook her head. "Those can't be manufactured."

The proud Nathan Blackwood had never felt so utterly defeated. No matter his efforts, Evelyn remained just beyond reach. Bitterness, longing, and helpless rage left him speechless.

What recourse did he have? Throwing a tantrum would only prove her point. His knuckles whitened on the wheelchair's arms. Veins stood out along his temples, eyes burning with unshed emotion.