Chapter 224

A woman from the marketing team gasped when she recognized Vanessa. "What's going on here? Is Evelyn bullying her? But Evelyn's always been so sweet!"

"I'm so sorry! I shouldn't have stolen our parents' affection all these years! Evelyn, please, just let me leave!"

Vanessa's voice trembled as she clutched her hands together. "You want me gone from the family, don't you? I'll go—just promise me you'll stop this!"

Tears streamed down her cheeks. "Evelyn, I know you have a good heart. Please, show me some mercy!"

The crowd around them fell into stunned silence, absorbing the weight of her words.

It was obvious now—Evelyn was forcing her out. That explained Vanessa's desperate pleas.

Murmurs spread like wildfire. People who had once admired Evelyn now eyed her with suspicion.

"How could she be so cruel to her own sister?" someone whispered.

Evelyn stood motionless, her expression unreadable.

She watched Vanessa's performance with icy detachment.

"Really, Vanessa?" Her voice cut through the whispers like a blade. "You're going to pull this act here?"

The tension between them crackled in the air.

Vanessa flinched but didn't back down. "I just want to make things right," she whimpered.

Evelyn's lips curled into a humorless smile.

The crowd held its breath, waiting for her next move.

No one dared to interrupt.

This wasn't just a family dispute anymore—it was a public spectacle.

And Vanessa had just turned the audience against Evelyn.

Without batting an eyelid, Evelyn pulled out her phone. "Go on, say it again. I'll record every word and send it straight to Alexander. Let him see how pathetically desperate you are to stop my performance."

Vanessa froze, her lips parting soundlessly.

Seeing her hesitation, Evelyn smirked and gave her a light, mocking tap on the shoulder. "What’s wrong? Cat got your tongue? The whole room’s watching—don’t waste this spotlight you created for yourself."

Vanessa’s bravado shattered.

She had expected public humiliation to force Evelyn into retreat, but Evelyn wasn’t playing by her rules.

Defeated, Vanessa scrambled to her feet and fled without another word.

She needed a new plan—fast.

The grand hall hummed with anticipation as Evelyn adjusted the strap of her gown, minutes away from her final performance.

Then, her phone buzzed.

A single message flashed on the screen:

[You won’t step on that stage tonight.]

The message came from an unlisted number, but Evelyn Carter’s instincts screamed it was Vanessa Hart behind it.

What twisted game was she playing now?

Refusing to give her the satisfaction of a reaction, Evelyn ignored it and tightened the strings of her cello.

A sharp knock at the door interrupted her thoughts. A staff member gestured—it was time.

She lifted her instrument and followed.

By now, the audience had sat through most of the evening’s performances. The initial buzz had dulled into restless murmurs. Small clusters of guests whispered among themselves while the emcee’s forced enthusiasm fell flat.

Then, without warning, the stage plunged into darkness. The heavy velvet curtains swept shut.

Evelyn rushed to her position, heart pounding as she settled onto the stool.

Her bow hovered above the strings—

The spotlight above her sputtered. Died.

Silence.

Even the emcee’s microphone cut out, the entire venue swallowed by an eerie blackout.

A ripple of confusion spread through the crowd.

Shapes shifted in the dark. Someone gasped.

Then—

A single, jarring note screeched from Evelyn’s cello, the sound warped and unnatural.

Her blood ran cold.

She hadn’t touched the strings.

The grand venue stretched endlessly before me, swallowing voices in its vastness. Without microphones, the air buzzed with disjointed murmurs, a symphony of confusion.

Flickering emergency lights cast eerie shadows across the space. The low hum of anxious whispers filled the dimly lit hall.

In the front row, Alexander Whitmore arched a brow, unimpressed. Beside him, Simon Graves lifted his phone, its harsh beam cutting through the darkness as he edged toward the exit.

Despite the blackout, the live stream persisted, powered by backup generators. Thousands of viewers remained glued to their screens, their disbelief pouring into the chat.

[Is this for real? A gala hosted by Titan Capital Group, and they can’t even keep the lights on?]

[Honestly, it’s the last performance anyway. Maybe the universe is telling us to log off.]

[Wasn’t Evelyn Carter supposed to play the cello? After last year’s cringe poetry reading, I had some hope. Now? Total train wreck.]

[Bet she only touched a cello for the first time yesterday.]

The comments flooded in, mocking the prestigious firm’s spectacular failure.

To make matters worse, the act before Evelyn had been a wildly popular comedian—the crowd’s energy had peaked, only to crash into darkness.

Now, all eyes (or what little they could see) were on her.

And the chaos was just beginning.

Vanessa Hart lingered near the grand staircase, her crimson lips curling into a satisfied smirk as she surveyed the pandemonium unfolding before her.

The once-elegant ballroom of Whitmore Manor had descended into utter bedlam. Crystal glasses shattered against marble floors. Shrill accusations cut through the air like knives.

Alexander Whitmore stood frozen near the terrace doors, his usually composed features twisted in shock. His grip on Evelyn Carter's wrist had gone bone-white.

Across the room, Ethan Caldwell deliberately knocked over a champagne tower, sending golden liquid cascading over horrified guests. His cousin Ryan Fletcher cheered drunkenly from the sidelines.

Eleanor Caldwell clutched her pearls, her face ashen as she whispered urgently to her husband Vincent Black. Nearby, Grace Caldwell had tears streaming down her carefully contoured cheeks.

Vanessa's manicured fingers traced the stem of her wine glass.

Every carefully laid domino was falling exactly as planned.

The grand clock struck midnight just as Evelyn tore free from Alexander's grasp. Her emerald gown swirled like stormy seas as she turned toward the exit.

Vanessa took a slow sip of merlot, savoring the bitter notes.

The real show was about to begin.