Chapter 247

Vanessa's cheek bore angry red scratches. Tears streamed down her face, each drop stinging the fresh wounds. The pain twisted her delicate features into a grimace, making her look utterly broken.

This wasn’t an act. The agony was real. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have collapsed unconscious from the sheer intensity of it.

Ethan’s stern expression faltered.

He didn’t know the full story yet. Accusing Vanessa without proof felt unjust, especially when she was clearly suffering.

When news came that Evelyn had regained consciousness, they rushed over from the adjacent room.

Ethan needed answers. But more than that, he was desperate to see Evelyn.

Yet Alexander stood like an immovable fortress outside Evelyn’s door, refusing to let them through.

The moment Claire spotted Ethan and Vanessa, her eyes flashed with fury.

"Are you deaf? Get out. Now."

Vanessa’s lower lip trembled. "Claire, you’re her best friend, but I’m her sister. I care about her too. Why won’t you let me—"

Claire cut her off with a sharp gesture. "Don’t you dare play the family card. After everything you’ve done?"

Ethan stepped forward, his voice low but firm. "We just want to see her."

"Over my dead body," Claire hissed.

Vanessa flinched, fresh tears welling up. "Please… I need to know she’s okay."

A bitter laugh escaped Claire. "Oh, now you care? How convenient."

Ethan’s jaw tightened. "This isn’t helping anyone. We need to talk to Evelyn."

"You lost that right," Claire shot back. "The second you chose to believe lies over her."

Silence fell, heavy and suffocating.

Then, from behind the door, a weak but clear voice called out—

"Let them in."

Claire stiffened. "Evelyn, no—"

"Now."

The command, though quiet, left no room for argument.

Claire exhaled sharply before stepping aside, her glare promising retribution.

Ethan hesitated, then pushed the door open.

Inside, Evelyn lay propped against the pillows, her face pale but her gaze steady.

The moment their eyes met, Ethan’s breath caught.

Because the warmth that had once lived in those depths was gone.

Replaced by something cold.

Something final.

Vanessa's crocodile tears only fueled Claire's rage.

Her nails dug into her palms as she thought, "I'm not blind to your games, Vanessa. I know exactly what kind of viper you are."

Claire's glare could have melted steel. "Evelyn's injuries are far worse than your superficial scratches. She regained consciousness hours after you did. How dare you accuse her of pushing you? These fake concern act makes me sick. Vanessa, doesn't your conscience burn with all these lies?"

Vanessa's lips trembled as she manufactured another round of sobs.

Richard chose that moment to intervene. "Someone explain what truly happened last night. Evelyn, did you physically harm Vanessa?"

The room already knew Vanessa's carefully crafted narrative.

She'd spun a tale of heated words exchanged in the stairwell, claiming Evelyn had shoved her in a fit of rage over financial disputes.

According to Vanessa, the argument stemmed from property transfers - how Evelyn had seized the Hawthorne Estate while demanding repayment of years' worth of stock dividends. When Vanessa refused, Evelyn allegedly pushed her.

Claire wouldn't swallow that poison.

Before Evelyn could draw breath to respond, Claire stepped forward, cutting Richard off mid-sentence.

The hospital room was thick with tension.

"Mr. Hayes," Claire said sharply, crossing her arms. "Evelyn just regained consciousness. As her father, shouldn’t your first concern be her well-being? Instead, you’re interrogating her like she’s on trial."

She turned her piercing gaze to Vanessa. "She claims Evelyn pushed her, but where’s the proof? Even in court, the burden of proof lies with the accuser."

Richard Hayes stiffened, caught off guard by Claire’s boldness. He wasn’t used to being challenged—especially not by someone younger than him.

Yet, he couldn’t argue. Her logic was airtight.

Margaret Hayes nudged him, forcing a smile. "Evelyn, darling, how are you feeling? Do you need anything?"

Claire scoffed. "Mrs. Hayes, she’s been awake for nearly twenty minutes, and this is the first time you’ve asked about her condition? Where were you earlier?"

Margaret pressed her lips together. Claire was on a warpath today, dismantling every argument with precision.

Better to stay silent.

Claire’s specialty was dance, but right now, she was wielding words like weapons.

Back when she was just a teenager dreaming of getting into a prestigious dance academy, everyone around her had unwavering faith in her abilities.

Her family, her friends—they all believed in her without question, convinced that her natural talent and rigorous training would guarantee her success.

"You’re a born dancer, Claire," they’d say, their voices filled with admiration. "With skills like yours, the academy won’t even hesitate."

Some even joked, half-seriously, "What hope do the rest of us have when you’re this good?"

But Claire knew the truth better than anyone.

It wasn’t talent that carried her—it was sheer, relentless effort.

While others rested, she practiced. While they slept, she rehearsed. Every bruise, every drop of sweat, every late-night session in the studio—those were the real reasons she stood out.

Among all the voices cheering her on, only Evelyn saw through the illusion.

Only Evelyn understood the weight behind her so-called "gift."