“Evangeline, let’s have a real conversation,” Poppy called out, her smile sharp as a
blade.
Evangeline caught the malice behind that smile and didn’t slow down. “There’s nothing left for us to discuss,” she replied coolly, walking straight past Poppy without a glance.
Poppy didn’t seem bothered by her coldness. Instead, she pressed on, “I heard from Flora you went to the old house today. So, you must have known all along that Mrs. Fawkes planned to give you those shares, didn’t you?”
She leaned in, her eyes brimming with contempt. “You endured five years of humiliation, pretended to be so in love with Soren, but it was all about the Fawkes fortune, wasn’t it?”
Her tone was silky, coaxing, baiting Evangeline to slip and incriminate herself. One wrong word, and Poppy would use it to stir up trouble.
The business partners of Fawkes Enterprises were already skeptical. If Poppy succeeded, they’d surely pressure Mrs. Fawkes to revoke her will for the sake of their own interests. Mrs. Fawkes never listened to her family alone, but if the family and their partners joined forces? She would have no choice but to reconsider.
There was still room to turn things around.
Emboldened, Poppy pressed further. “What’s the matter, Evangeline? Can’t admit your
own schemes?”
Evangeline stopped, finally facing her. “The issue of the shares is between me and the Fawkes family. It’s none of your business, so don’t trouble yourself.”
“So, you’re admitting it?” Poppy pounced.
Evangeline shot her a sidelong glance, voice dry and calm. “I thought you’d be happy, honestly.”
“After all, I stepped aside and gave you the spot as Mrs. Fawkes. I even handed Soren to you, just like you wanted. Yet here you are, not only ungrateful, but chasing me down over the Fawkes fortune.”
She looked Poppy up and down, a mocking smile curling her lips. “Or what, Poppy? Are you with Soren for the money, not love?”
16.25
Chapter 212
“You–you’re twisting things!” Poppy stammered, flustered.
Evangeline just laughed quietly. This was exactly the reaction she expected.
Poppy always liked to play the saint–above money, indifferent to privilege. Everyone believed she didn’t care about wealth. But Evangeline knew better. For years, Soren had wired Poppy thirty thousand dollars every month, paid her rent overseas, even covered her vacations. Whenever Poppy wanted something, she’d find a way to let Soren know, and he’d make sure she got the money.
Evangeline had only discovered the truth while tidying Soren’s study–she’d found the bills herself.
Soren was more generous with Poppy, his mistress, than he ever was with Evangeline, his wife.
The day she couldn’t take it anymore, she slammed the bills down in front of Soren. He’d looked at her with pure disdain, dismissing her anger as jealousy over trivial money. To him, her outrage was petty and vulgar–he accused her of invading his privacy, and in a fit of rage, cut off her credit cards to teach her a lesson.
That was the day Evangeline finally understood just how crucial it was to hold her own finances.
Poppy hadn’t expected to be turned on so suddenly. Her lips pressed into a thin line, her hand at her side fidgeting.
The gold–leafed walls caught the light, gleaming like a mirror. In that reflection, Evangeline spotted the recording screen open on Poppy’s phone.
She let out a soft, amused breath, not bothering to call her out. Instead, she offered a gentle warning. “Soren doesn’t like wives who play too many games. If you’re going to keep pretending, do it right. Otherwise, when the mask slips, it’ll be embarrassing for everyone.”
“You-” Poppy’s face went pale with anger.
She followed Evangeline’s gaze, finally realizing the phone in her hand was exposed, and hurriedly hid it behind her back.
Evangeline ignored her and stepped into the elevator.
The hotel’s underground parking garage was enormous, and Evangeline, never much
for directions, had to wander for a while before she finally spotted her car.
She reached for the door, but a strange sense of unease crept over her.
2/3
16:25
Chapter 212
Ever since leaving the lobby, she’d felt it–a steady gaze, watching her from somewhere in the shadows.
The Lockridges.
The atmosphere was heavy, a suffocating silence settling over the grand house.
A handful of bodyguards in tailored suits stood rigidly outside the door, terrified into utter stillness.
As Finn pushed open the door, he found Arabella Lockridge standing in the center of the living room. Her striking features were cold and unyielding, and in her hand she gripped a long black riding crop.
Crack.
The moment Finn stepped in, Arabella snapped the crop down hard against the glass coffee table in front of her.
The table shattered instantly, shards scattering across the polished floor.
Finn flinched in surprise.
But he knew Arabella too well–she was putting on a show, not really meaning to hurt him, just reminding him who was in charge.
Pretending not to notice the broken glass, Finn strode forward with a disarming smile. “Who could’ve upset my beautiful sister like this? You know, you could hurt your hand swinging that thing. Why don’t you put it down and tell me who’s bothering you? I’ll make sure they regret it.”
He reached out, aiming to take the crop from her.
But Arabella flicked her wrist sharply, sending the crop smacking against the floor with a piercing crack.
“Kneel.”
Finn knew better than to argue. In one smooth motion, he dropped to his knees, no hesitation, no fuss.
His effortless compliance both exasperated and amused Arabella.
She raised the crop, but in the end only tapped him lightly with it, more symbolic than punitive. “Are you with Evangeline now?” she demanded.
Finn nodded.
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16:25
C
