Chapter 430

The tension in the room thickened as several pairs of eyes darted between each other. It was clear—Alexander Whitmore hadn’t come for pleasantries.

His piercing gaze settled on Vincent Black. "Vincent, you're back?"

Vincent’s reply was clipped. "Yes."

"I heard about your little misadventure abroad. Wallet stolen, left stranded—practically made headlines. Had to pull some strings to keep it out of the tabloids. Did you even realize that?"

Once the golden heir of the Aniston legacy, Vincent had plummeted from grace, and the humiliation burned deep.

Alexander’s words struck like a whip. Vincent’s jaw tightened, his face darkening under the weight of everyone’s scrutiny. "What’s the point of dredging that up now?"

The sting of disgrace was unbearable.

A faint smirk curled Alexander’s lips. "Fine, let’s move on. How about we discuss Ethan’s injury instead?"

His tone was deceptively calm as he continued, "I heard you all conveniently pinned the blame on Evelyn, expecting her to justify what happened. Curious, isn’t it? She’s a victim too. Why should she bear responsibility for Ethan’s recklessness?"

Alexander’s eyes flicked to Ethan Caldwell’s face, his expression unreadable.

Alexander scoffed. "So you're implying that just because Evelyn is unharmed, she should be held responsible for Ethan's injury?"

Eleanor fell silent.

Alexander turned back to Ethan, his gaze sharp. "How did you get hurt? Would you like to explain, or should I?"

Ethan pressed his lips together, his expression unreadable.

Ever since Alexander had begun openly displaying his affection for Evelyn, Ethan had felt detached from everything around him. His mind was a chaotic mess.

Noticing Ethan’s silence, Alexander’s voice turned icy. "If you refuse to speak, then I’ll do it for you."

"Alexander," Eleanor interjected quickly, "Evelyn is your wife. Perhaps it’s best if you maintain some impartiality here?"

"Impartiality?" Alexander’s eyes darkened. "She’s not the one at fault. Do you really expect her to take the blame for this?"

Vincent stepped forward, eager to diffuse the rising tension. "Alexander, we’re all family here. There’s no need to escalate things. Father, don’t you agree?"

Vincent knew that if the truth came out, Ethan wouldn’t escape unscathed. He needed to calm the situation before it spiraled.

Harold, too, wanted to avoid further conflict. Just as he opened his mouth to speak, Alexander shot him a chilling glare.

Then, a curious voice cut through the thick tension in the room.

"Who exactly is in charge here?"

The question hung in the air, sharp and unexpected.

Alexander twisted the signet ring on his thumb, its weight a constant reminder of his authority. "As head of the Whitmore family, I have every right to oversee its affairs. Don’t you agree, Harold?"

Harold’s gaze flickered to the engraved crest.

Truthfully, he had long relinquished control of the family’s matters. He shouldn’t have involved himself at all.

But Eleanor had come to him earlier, distraught, insisting Ethan’s life was in danger. That had forced his hand.

Harold could see the steel in Alexander’s eyes tonight. There would be no backing down.

With a weary sigh, he waved his hand. Now wasn’t the time to challenge his grandson’s authority. Doing so would only undermine the family’s stability.

Alexander was, after all, the brightest star in the Whitmore lineage. The entire dynasty depended on him.

"Very well," Harold conceded. "You’re the head of this family. Handle it as you see fit."

Alexander gave a subtle nod to Simon, who stood just behind him.

Simon stepped forward, producing a photograph.

The image showed Ethan Caldwell and Zachary Black exchanging hushed words in a dimly lit corner of a shopping mall.

#The man beside Ethan had already been taken into custody.

The photograph trembled slightly in Alexander's grip as he extended it toward Grace.

Her breath hitched.

The glossy surface captured a moment frozen in time—a shadowed figure, their face obscured, but the glint of the blade unmistakable.

Grace's fingers brushed the edge of the photo, her pulse erratic.

"Recognize anything?" Alexander's voice was low, deliberate.

She swallowed hard, scanning every detail—the angle of the wrist, the curve of the fingers gripping the knife.

Something twisted in her gut.

The stance. The way the assailant leaned forward—too familiar.

Her gaze snapped up to meet Alexander's.

"You think it's—?"

His jaw tightened. "I don't think. I know."

A beat of silence stretched between them.

Grace exhaled sharply, her mind racing.

This changed everything.

The truth had been hiding in plain sight all along.

And now, it was staring right back at them.