Chapter 615

The whispers followed Evelyn Carter all day. Everywhere she went, hushed voices buzzed about the alleged "plagiarism" scandal.

She ignored them. The cello in her hands demanded her focus. She played, letting the music drown out the noise.

After class, Evelyn and Leonard stepped into the hallway—only to collide with Hank Lopez, the violin instructor from the next room.

Hank shot Evelyn a look before pulling Leonard aside. "Mr. Herty, a word?"

Leonard rarely checked social media. The Twitter storm had likely escaped his notice.

Hank lowered his voice. "Have you seen the news? They're accusing your protégé of stealing someone else's composition."

If proven true, it wouldn’t just ruin Evelyn—Leonard’s reputation as her mentor would crumble too.

The music world had no mercy for plagiarism. Hank, concerned, had come to warn him.

Leonard’s brow arched. "Plagiarism?"

"You haven’t seen it?" Hank pulled out his phone, shoving the screen toward Leonard. "The evidence is right here."

The same sheet music draft Evelyn had seen earlier glared back at them.

Leonard barely glanced at it before handing the phone back. "Baseless rumors. You believe everything online?"

He dismissed Hank with a wave and walked away.

Hank frowned at his retreating back. "Mr. Herty, I’m trying to help! The proof is undeniable—did you even look?" He chased after Leonard, still arguing.

Evelyn stood frozen, watching them go. Her teeth grazed her lower lip.

Curiosity gnawed at her. She pulled out her phone—she hadn’t checked social media all day.

Her notifications were flooded. Demands for a response to the plagiarism scandal clogged her mentions.

No wonder everyone’s whispering.

It’s everywhere.

A bitter laugh escaped her. I’m the victim here. What response do they want?

Without hesitation, she uninstalled Twitter.

Three days until the competition.

Evelyn packed her things and stepped outside. The sun had dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in strokes of crimson and indigo.

A sleek black limousine idled at the entrance.

Leaning against it was Alexander Whitmore.

One hand tucked in his pocket, his gaze flickered toward her—sharp, magnetic.

Her pulse stuttered.

That face never failed to unravel her.

Then she remembered the condom she’d once found in his pocket.

He might not even be here for me.

It could be for Isabella.

The thought twisted something inside her. She lowered her eyes.

Alexander motioned for her.

She hesitated—then took a step forward.

Before she could reach him, Isabella’s voice cut through the air.

"Alexander! Perfect timing—I have something for you."

Isabella brushed past Evelyn, reaching Alexander first. She held out a gift, beaming.

Alexander didn’t take it. His eyes stayed locked on Evelyn, confusion flickering at her hesitation.

Evelyn froze. Then Nathaniel came sprinting from the distance.

He whispered something to her. Her expression shifted.

Under Alexander’s watchful gaze, she turned and followed Nathaniel toward Powell Manor.

Isabella smirked, arms crossed. "She’s awfully close with Dominic."

"You came all this way for her, and she just walked off with him. Doesn’t seem like she cares much about her husband."

Alexander’s gaze darkened. He shot Isabella a glacial look. "Finished? Then leave."

The ice in his voice stung. Isabella flinched, then turned away—but not without glancing back.

Alexander didn’t spare her a second look. He didn’t touch the gift.

Clearly, he was still furious with her.

As night fell, Alexander stood under the dimming sky, his silhouette swallowed by shadows.

His eyes stayed fixed on Powell Manor, sharpening dangerously.

Dominic was injured.

Evelyn rushed to check on him after hearing his leg had worsened.

Inside, Dominic lay on the bed, face contorted in pain.

She lifted his pant leg—and sucked in a breath.

A compound fracture.

"What happened?"

His skin gleamed with sweat.

Nathaniel’s eyes were red-rimmed. "A car accident. Mr. Powell was in a car accident."

"Why wasn’t he taken to the hospital? Where’s the driver? Did anyone call the police?"

"It was Sebastian Powell! How could we? Reginald Powell has always favored his other sons over Mr. Powell. Even if they committed murder, he’d cover for them. But when it’s Dominic—"

"Enough," Dominic snapped.

He locked eyes with Evelyn. "Well? Can you fix it?"

Her lips pressed into a thin line. "Acupuncture won’t help. You need surgery—a metal rod. Go to the hospital. Now."

Nathaniel paled. "Surgery? How long until he recovers?"

"At least three months. Maybe longer."

Nathaniel’s hands clenched. "Sebastian did this on purpose. I saw it—he meant to hurt him. How could he do this to his own brother?"

Dominic’s jaw tightened.

The accident hadn’t been an accident.

He and Sebastian had been on a business trip. Alone, Sebastian had seized the moment—shoving Dominic from the moving car. The driver had then run over his legs.

He’d let his guard down.

Now he was paying the price.

Sebastian, he thought, I won’t forget this.