Chapter 349

"Looking at her now, all I see is a conniving troublemaker. She doesn't even come close to Evelyn's elegance. And let's not forget—she's an illegitimate child."

Grace scoffed, her gaze flickering toward Evelyn, who sat gracefully at the adjacent table.

Evelyn was radiant in her cream-colored, double-breasted coat, the soft hue enhancing her luminous complexion.

Even Grace, barely in her twenties, couldn't suppress a pang of envy.

In elite circles, bloodlines mattered. Those born into privilege sneered at bastards.

Who wanted an unexpected sibling crashing into their lives?

If they shared a mother, it might be tolerable. But if not? A bitter war over inheritance was inevitable.

Grace pictured herself in Evelyn's place, itching to tear Vanessa apart. To her, Vanessa was utterly despicable.

Grace tilted her head. "Let's face it. Your heir would come from a bastard's womb. That hardly suits your reputation, does it?"

Ethan stayed silent, his indifference toward Vanessa palpable.

The golden chandelier cast a warm glow over the dining room, but Ethan Caldwell only had eyes for one person.

From his seat, he had a perfect view of Evelyn Carter’s delicate features.

Vanessa Hart’s scandalous origins had only recently come to light, thanks to the relentless gossip circulating online.

A sharp pang of worry twisted in Ethan’s chest—what if Evelyn was hurt by the rumors?

Just then, he noticed Alexander Whitmore’s hand slipping beneath the table, fingers intertwining with Evelyn’s.

A secret smile passed between them, intimate and knowing.

Ethan’s jaw tightened, his grip on his wine glass turning white-knuckled.

“Are you even paying attention?” Grace Caldwell elbowed him sharply, irritation lacing her voice.

His gaze remained locked on Evelyn, and Grace suppressed a frustrated sigh. He’s being so obvious. With half the room watching, he needs to be more careful.

The memory of New Year’s Eve flashed in her mind—Ethan, drunk and reckless, pulling Evelyn into a heated conversation in front of everyone. She couldn’t let that happen again.

But before she could intervene, Ethan abruptly stood, glass in hand, and strode toward Evelyn’s table.

“Uncle Alexander… Aunt Evelyn,” he said, the title tasting bitter on his tongue. His eyes never left her face. “A toast.”

Grace’s pulse spiked.

Across the table, Vanessa’s spoon clattered loudly against her plate.

The clink of crystal glasses resonated through the charged air.

Alexander arched a brow, studying Ethan with cool detachment.

Seizing the moment, Ethan nervously raised his glass, downing his drink in one swift motion before refilling it. His fingers trembled slightly against the stem.

"Aunt Evelyn," he began, turning toward her with a practiced smile, his gaze lingering just a second too long on her face.

But Alexander moved with effortless grace, intercepting the gesture. His hand slid between them, his voice smooth but firm. "Evelyn doesn’t handle alcohol well. I’ll take this one for her."

Without waiting for a response, he plucked the glass from Evelyn’s fingers, clinked it against Ethan’s, and took a deliberate sip.

Ethan’s jaw tightened, but he swallowed his protest.

Alexander was right—every eye in the room was watching. A single misstep would fuel the gossip mill for weeks.

Ethan wanted Evelyn. But he wasn’t foolish enough to challenge Alexander outright.

Pushing now would only humiliate him.

Forcing a smile, he moved on, making his rounds to toast the rest of the Whitmore family, ensuring no one was left out.

But Alexander saw right through the act.

Ethan wasn’t here for pleasantries.

He was here for her.

Alexander's piercing gaze cut through Ethan's carefully crafted facade. He wasn't about to let the man manipulate this moment to his advantage.

His fingers tightened imperceptibly around his wineglass as he assessed the situation. The tension in the air was thick enough to slice with a knife.

A quick glance at Evelyn beside him confirmed she remained composed, though he noticed the subtle tightening of her jaw. She had always been perceptive—too perceptive—when it came to Ethan's games.

Ethan raised his glass with practiced charm, his smile not quite reaching his cold eyes. "To new beginnings," he said smoothly, the toast dripping with double meaning.

Alexander didn't miss the way Ethan's gaze lingered on Evelyn a second too long.

He countered immediately, lifting his own glass with deliberate calm. "To clarity," he said, his voice low but carrying unmistakable warning. "May the truth always come to light."

The corner of Evelyn's mouth twitched. She recognized the challenge in his words.

Across the table, Vanessa watched the exchange with barely concealed interest, her nails tapping against her glass.

Nathan cleared his throat, attempting to diffuse the tension. "And to successful partnerships," he interjected hastily.

Alexander didn't break eye contact with Ethan as he took a slow sip, the unspoken battle raging beneath the surface.

Evelyn's hand found his under the table, her fingers intertwining with his in silent solidarity.

The game was far from over.