Chapter 13

The grand foyer of the Sterling mansion was just as opulent as she remembered—gleaming marble floors, towering chandeliers, and the faint scent of expensive perfume lingering in the air.

But the moment she stepped inside, the atmosphere shifted.

Victor Sterling stood at the top of the staircase, his face twisted in fury. "What the hell was that?"

Evelyn tilted her head, feigning innocence. "Oh? Was the doorbell broken?"

His face darkened. "You insolent—"

Before he could finish, Diana Prescott—Victor's wife—appeared beside him, her lips pressed into a thin line. "Evelyn. Must you always cause a scene?"

Evelyn's smile didn't reach her eyes. "Only when I'm not welcome at my own home."

Lila Sinclair, Victor and Diana's daughter, sauntered into view, her smirk dripping with condescension. "Oh, please. You were never really part of this family."

Evelyn's fingers twitched, but she kept her voice steady. "Funny. I seem to recall my name is still on the inheritance documents."

Victor's expression darkened further. "Enough. You're here because I allowed it. Now, sit down. We have matters to discuss."

Evelyn crossed her arms. "By all means. Let's discuss."

But as she followed them into the sitting room, she already knew—this wasn't a conversation.

It was a battlefield.

Ignoring the stunned butler, Evelyn Hartley tossed the sledgehammer aside with a careless flick of her wrist and strode into the Sterling mansion like she owned it—because, in her mind, she still did.

Inside, Victor Sterling was already storming toward the commotion, his face dark with irritation. "What the hell is going on out here?" He froze mid-step when his gaze landed on Evelyn.

His eyes widened.

She had changed.

The butler scrambled in after her, pointing an accusatory finger. "Mr. Sterling! She—she smashed the door open with a hammer!"

From deeper in the house, a woman's voice rose in alarm. "Victor? What was that noise?" Moments later, Grace Monroe rushed into the foyer, her hand flying to her mouth at the sight of her daughter. "Evelyn? Is that really you?"

The butler gaped, unable to reconcile the poised, striking woman before him with the Evelyn he remembered—the one who had left three years ago, broken and defeated.

"Evelyn!" Victor snapped, finally regaining his composure. "You can't just barge in here and start destroying property! Have you lost your damn mind?"

Evelyn's lips curled into a cool, mocking smile. "I tried the passcode. Repeatedly. It kept rejecting me." She tilted her head, her voice dripping with false sweetness. "Funny, isn't it? This is my home. I couldn’t have forgotten the code. The lock must be defective. A little adjustment seemed necessary."

Victor's jaw clenched.

He had changed the code deliberately—his way of telling her she was no longer welcome after she fled the country three years ago, refusing to admit her so-called crimes. The audacity of her breaking in like this sent fury boiling through his veins.

His face darkened, veins standing out on his forehead as he leveled a glare at her. "Evelyn. On your knees. Now."

For a heartbeat, Evelyn went still, her expression chilling.

Grace gasped, rushing forward to grab her daughter’s arm. "Evelyn, please—just apologize! Don’t make this worse!"

Evelyn shook her off, her gaze never leaving Victor’s. "I won’t apologize for something I didn’t do."

She had sworn, from the very beginning, that she hadn’t stolen the missing money. That she hadn’t pushed her half-sister, Lila Sinclair, down the stairs. But no one had believed her.

Victor’s face twisted with rage. "Enough! You will face the consequences of your actions today!"

His voice thundered through the foyer. "Someone bring me the brass rod!"

At those words, Evelyn’s fists clenched at her sides, her nails biting into her palms.

Grace let out a desperate cry. "No! Victor, please—!"

But Evelyn didn’t flinch. She stood tall, her voice icy. "I said no."

Victor’s fury burned hotter. "You don’t get to refuse!"

Evelyn met his glare, unflinching. "Watch me."