Chapter 132

Only Eleanor maintained her composure, discreetly sending for Harold to join them.

The revelation that Evelyn had married Alexander left both Ethan and Eleanor visibly unsettled.

Eleanor's thoughts churned. Evelyn was meant to be my son's wife. Now she stands as my equal? How revolting!

Harold had seldom involved himself in the affairs of the younger generation.

But Alexander was his youngest son.

Marriage was no trivial matter. The fact that Alexander had kept this hidden only confirmed Eleanor's suspicion—Harold would never approve!

Moments later, Harold was wheeled into the room by an attendant.

On his way, the servant had briefed him on the situation.

Eleanor spoke first. "Harold, Alexander and Evelyn are married. Does this make any sense to you?"

Harold ignored her, his sharp gaze locking onto Alexander instead. "Is this true?"

The air thickened with tension.

Alexander met his father's stare unflinchingly. "It is."

A heavy silence followed.

Evelyn's fingers tightened around Alexander's arm, her pulse racing.

Harold's expression darkened. "You kept this from your own family?"

Alexander remained composed. "There were reasons."

Eleanor scoffed. "Reasons? Or shame?"

Evelyn stiffened, but before she could speak, Harold raised a hand, silencing the room.

His voice was low, dangerous. "Explain."

Alexander exhaled. "It wasn't meant to be permanent at first."

Evelyn's breath hitched.

Harold's knuckles whitened on the armrests of his wheelchair. "You toyed with marriage?"

Alexander shook his head. "No. It became real."

Eleanor's lips curled in disgust. "Convenient."

Harold studied them both, his gaze unreadable. Then, without warning, he turned to Evelyn.

"And you? What do you have to say?"

Evelyn lifted her chin. "I stand by my choice."

A beat passed.

Then Harold did something no one expected.

He laughed.

A dry, humorless sound that sent chills down Eleanor's spine.

"Well then," he said, his voice dripping with irony. "Welcome to the family, Evelyn."

The words hung in the air like a guillotine's blade.

No one moved.

No one breathed.

Because everyone knew—this wasn't acceptance.

It was a declaration of war.

Alexander responded with a detached "Indeed."

Harold's piercing gaze shifted as he commanded, "Bring your wife to me."

Evelyn froze, her eyes widening at the family patriarch.

Her mind raced with the scandalous rumors - three marriages, a notorious mistress, four sons each born to different women. The entire Whitmore dynasty's dysfunction stemmed from this one man's reckless past.

If not for Harold's philandering ways and the fractured family it created, the Whitmores wouldn't be this divided now.

Steeling herself, Evelyn approached the imposing figure. "Hello... Harold," she murmured hesitantly.

The room collectively gasped at her audacity.

Eleanor's perfectly sculpted brows knitted together in displeasure.

Vanessa looked like she'd been slapped, while Ethan's hands balled into white-knuckled fists.

The disrespect was staggering. They all addressed him as "Grandfather," yet this newcomer dared use his given name so casually.

Vanessa's face flushed crimson with barely contained fury.

She burned with indignation, yet knew her position granted her no right to object. The power dynamics had shifted in that single moment, and everyone felt it.

The grand hall fell into stunned silence.

Eleanor Caldwell's fingers dug into her clutch purse, her manicured nails leaving crescent marks on the leather. She wanted to protest—needed to protest—but the weight of tradition stifled her voice.

Ethan Caldwell stood rigid beside her, his jaw clenched so tight it ached. Evelyn Carter? Alexander Whitmore's wife? The thought was absurd. Unacceptable.

All eyes turned to Harold Aniston, the family patriarch, waiting for his reaction.

Then—

A chuckle broke the tension.

Harold's weathered face crinkled with amusement as he leaned forward in his wheelchair. "What was that you called me, dear? Say it again."

Evelyn blinked, uncertain. She glanced at Alexander, who gave an almost imperceptible nod.

"Harold?" she repeated carefully.

The old man's smile deepened. With deliberate slowness, he retrieved a velvet box from beneath his lap blanket. The emerald-green case glittered under the chandeliers, its diamond-encrusted edges throwing prismatic sparks across the marble floor.

"Come here, child," he said, beckoning. "This belongs to you now."

A collective inhale swept through the Aniston relatives. Grace Caldwell's wineglass slipped from her fingers, shattering on the floor.

Evelyn hesitated, but Alexander's hand at the small of her back urged her forward. As she accepted the box, she caught the flicker of something dark in Vanessa Hart's eyes—something that looked dangerously like recognition.

The box clicked open.

Inside lay not jewelry, but a tarnished silver key atop aged parchment. The moment Evelyn's fingers brushed it, Harold's grip tightened around her wrist.

"Welcome to the family," he murmured, too low for others to hear. "Let's see if you survive it."

Grace's voice cut through the room like a knife. "Grandfather, is that really the Whitmore family's pearl heirloom? You're giving it to Evelyn?"

Her mind reeled. Have they all lost their senses?

Evelyn acting entitled was one thing. But Alexander following her lead? And now Grandfather Harold was casually handing over a priceless family treasure?

Every single woman in the Whitmore family is more deserving than Evelyn!

Harold's sharp gaze pinned Grace in place. "Did you just call her Evelyn?" His voice was dangerously low. "You will address her as Mrs. Whitmore."

The air in the room turned frigid.

Grace clenched her fists, her nails biting into her palms.

Across from her, Evelyn sat perfectly composed, her fingers lightly tracing the pearls now resting around her wrist. A small, knowing smile played at the corners of her lips.

Alexander's arm draped protectively over Evelyn's shoulders as he shot Grace a warning look.

The message was clear—challenge Evelyn again, and there would be consequences.

Grace swallowed hard, the weight of the moment pressing down on her.

This wasn't just about a bracelet.

It was about power.

And Evelyn had just been handed far too much of it.