“No matter what the truth is, that’s not an excuse for lying to me.”
Soren fixed Liam with a cold, unflinching stare.
“And that video at the birthday dinner–that was your doing, wasn’t it?” he pressed.
Liam wilted under his gaze. “I was just trying to help you and Poppy,” he muttered, “I thought if I pushed things along, you two might get back together sooner.”
Who could have guessed the marriage would end anyway?
Now the old lady was using her shares to pressure Soren into a reconciliation, catching them both off guard.
Just goes to show–there’s no substitute for experience.
But that wasn’t the worst of it.
What truly stunned him was-
Liam clutched his aching cheek, voice trembling. “Soren, you’re not really going to abandon Poppy and get back with Evangeline, are you?”
A flicker of something dark passed through Soren’s eyes, but just as quickly, his expression returned to its usual calm.
He released Liam and stood up, his voice icy. “This is my business. I don’t need anyone meddling. If you ever deceive me again, you won’t get off so easily.”
With that, Soren turned and strode out, not sparing Liam another glance.
Liam stared after him, frozen, mouth agape in shock.
Just moments ago, he’d been certain Soren would never even consider reconciling with Evangeline. But the look in Soren’s eyes had left him shaken and uncertain.
A chill crept through him.
Was it possible that Evangeline’s scheme had actually worked this time?
Outside the hospital, Gregory sat behind the wheel, watching as Soren emerged into the night.
Tall and imposing, Soren looked shrouded in the darkness–cold and utterly alone.
Gregory had never seen him like this before.
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Chapter 217
Soren had always come across as decisive, confident, and unyielding–a man who commanded every room. But now, he seemed adrift, like a lone boat lost at sea, searching for direction.
Once Soren climbed into the car, he didn’t say a word.
The silence inside was suffocating.
Gregory shifted uneasily in his seat.
Tonight, of all nights, the drive back to the manor felt endless. What should have taken fifteen minutes dragged on, the minutes stretching into what felt like an hour.
By the time they pulled up outside the estate, Gregory’s palms were slick with sweat.
“Mr. Fawkes, we’ve arrived,” he said quietly.
It was as if Soren was pulled from some distant thought; he turned and fixed Gregory with a cool gaze. “Gregory, how long have you worked for me?”
Gregory pressed his lips together. “I joined Fawkes Enterprises right after college, when I was twenty. I’m twenty–six now.”
“Six years,” Soren echoed, his tone biting. “Six years is plenty of time to forget the rules of being a personal assistant.”
Gregory’s heart skipped a beat. “I’m sorry, Mr. Fawkes.”
“I’ll pick up my own paycheck from accounting tomorrow.”
He’d known the moment he chose to side with Liam and keep secrets from Soren, his
career was over.
Soren despised betrayal–and he never forgave it.
After Gregory spoke, Soren just stared out the window, his fingers tapping lightly against the leather seat.
He said nothing more, but Gregory understood.
Unbuckling his seatbelt, Gregory opened the car door. Just as he was about to get out, he hesitated, glancing back at Soren with a pang of regret.
He remembered his first year at Fawkes Enterprises–an intern at the mercy of his own department, constantly bullied and overworked. Every morning, he’d be sent to fetch breakfast and coffee for colleagues, left to do all the unpleasant chores, and always the one to take the blame when things went wrong.
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The pay was good, and with his mother desperately ill, he’d swallowed his pride and endured.
But then Soren found out. Not only had he promoted Gregory to personal assistant, he’d advanced him enough money to pay for his mother’s surgery.
The business world might call Soren cold–blooded, but Gregory knew better. Beneath the icy exterior, Soren had a softer heart than anyone.
He sighed inwardly, then climbed out of the car.
His foot had barely touched the ground when Soren’s voice called out behind him, calm but resolute: “I’m giving you a chance to make this right.”
Meanwhile, after leaving the dinner, Evangeline drove aimlessly through the city center, circling block after block.
She didn’t head home until the sensation of being watched had finally faded.
Back in her apartment, she stood behind the bedroom curtains, peering down at the
street.
Nothing suspicious. Just like every other night.
She could hear the sounds of life all around her–an argument between lovers, a child crying, the muffled drone of a TV, the clatter of pots and pans in someone’s kitchen, a family laughing together somewhere down the hall.
Still, an uneasy feeling gnawed at her, as if she were standing in the calm before a
storm.
After half an hour, convinced no one was trailing her, Evangeline picked up the phone and called Old Mrs. Fawkes.
The housekeeper answered, just as she had at the dinner party, and told her the old lady was exhausted and resting.
With no choice but to accept it, Evangeline ended the call.
No sooner had she hung up than her phone rang again.
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