Chapter 61

Evelyn Sinclair felt her breath catch when Sebastian Hart turned serious.

His intense gaze held a magnetism that threatened to pull her under.

Three years ago, he'd been nothing but a reckless playboy. Now, he carried himself with a quiet authority that unsettled her.

She forced a laugh, desperate to mask her reaction. "Since when did you become so smooth, Sebastian?"

He stepped back with an easy grin. "Only for you, darling. No one else gets this version of me."

"Please," Evelyn rolled her eyes. "With your reputation? I bet you've got women lining up around the block just to hear you whisper sweet nothings."

Sebastian's expression turned unexpectedly solemn. "Those rumors were never real. You know that."

The sincerity in his voice made her chest tighten.

"Thanks for the distraction," she said quickly, "but I should rest." She couldn't risk falling for another charming liar—especially not her oldest friend.

When Sebastian wasn't flashing that wicked smile, he radiated a dangerous allure. A walking temptation.

Evelyn turned away abruptly, spotting the emerald pipe on the coffee table. Her lips curled as she picked it up, examining the Blackwood family heirloom with cold amusement.

With deliberate carelessness, she tossed it aside like trash before retreating to her bedroom. Old Man Blackwood would have an aneurysm if he saw how she treated his precious artifact.

She woke at 10 PM to a message from Alexander Sterling: [Handling overseas business. Will be gone three days. Mind the fort.]

Evelyn blinked at her phone. Since when did her overprotective brother trust her with the company?

[You realize I might burn the place down, right?] she typed back, adding a string of laughing emojis.

His reply came instantly: [Just don't bankrupt us. Everything else is fixable.]

Chuckling, Evelyn remembered the pipe. She sprang from bed, snapping a perfectly angled photo before posting it with the caption: [Found this trinket at a flea market. Thoughts?]

Within minutes, Isabella Montgomery and Sebastian had shared her post, ensuring it reached Nathan Blackwood's inner circle. Let them all see how little she valued their precious heirloom.

By morning, her phone buzzed with Isabella's excited call. "Someone offered sixty million for that 'flea market find' of yours!"

Evelyn laughed. "Double its worth overnight? How flattering."

"Guess who's behind the highest bid?" Isabella's voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. "Tristan Whitmore—acting on Nathan's orders. The Blackwoods are desperate."

"Predictable," Evelyn smirked. "As if I'd sell it back to them."

After the call, she surveyed her garage—a glittering showroom of luxury vehicles courtesy of her father. The understated gray Porsche stood out among the flashier options.

Her choice made, she slid behind the wheel just as Archibald called from Sterling Manor.

"Miss Sinclair, shall I send a driver?"

"No need," she purred, turning the ignition. The engine roared to life like a challenge. Today promised to be interesting.