Chapter 17

Eleanor Kingsley's words trailed off abruptly.

Footsteps echoed from the staircase as Alexander Kingsley descended with a stormy expression. A purple bruise marred his temple, his cheekbone bore a sickly yellow hue, and dried blood crusted his split lip. Deep scratches ran along his jawline.

He looked even worse than Julian Ashford lounging on the sofa with an ice pack.

Eleanor's temper flared.

"How dare you show your face?" Her phoenix eyes flashed. "Starting a fight was idiotic enough, but getting your ass handed to you? You've humiliated the Kingsley name! Why didn't Mr. Ashford finish the job?"

Julian: "..."

That insult seemed to target both men.

Alexander stalked toward his mother, though his glare remained fixed on Julian. "Get out."

The air turned glacial.

Eleanor suddenly exhaled, diffusing the tension.

"Thank goodness." She pressed a hand to her chest, her gaze softening toward Evelyn Sinclair on the stairs. "At least Evelyn's unharmed..."

Seeing Isabella Winslow's swollen face had made her fear the worst. But Evelyn stood composed, her clothes pristine—a sight that eased Eleanor's panic.

Isabella bristled.

"Aunt Eleanor," she whimpered behind her hands, "you just said violence is wrong—"

"I meant those two." Eleanor's tone stayed pleasant. "Girls roughhousing isn't fighting, it's bonding."

She continued before Isabella could protest, "If she hit you, why didn't you hit back?"

"Losing means you're weak, dear. Fragile flowers are outdated—sometimes you need claws to get what you want."

Isabella: "..."

Last week Eleanor had praised Evelyn's classical elegance while complaining modern girls were too vulgar.

This hypocritical old hag!

"Mrs. Kingsley."

Evelyn approached, only for Eleanor to seize her hands.

"Evelyn, I came after hearing disturbing rumors." Eleanor beamed. "Seeing you here reassures me."

Evelyn's throat tightened at the familiar face.

"I only came to return some things today. I'm leaving soon."

Since arriving at the Kingsleys at ten, Eleanor had treated her better than her own daughter. The kindest repayment was accepting that love.

But today, she had to disappoint her.

"Alexander and I... broke up. I ended it."

She said "I ended it"—not "I chose this."

One final act of grace for them both.

Silence swallowed the room.

Triumph flashed in Isabella's eyes. Julian lowered his gaze thoughtfully.

Eleanor paled.

Alexander's expression darkened to murderous.

He'd warned Evelyn to watch her mouth, yet she'd dropped this bombshell the moment Eleanor appeared.

Did she crave attention so badly? Even exploiting Eleanor's concern?

Ungrateful wretch.

Eleanor recovered first. "Evelyn, Alexander's been spoiled rotten. I'll discipline him properly—"

"Don't worry, Auntie," Isabella cut in sweetly. "Ms. Sinclair has such a devoted suitor in Mr. Ashford. He fought quite passionately for her earlier—"

"My issues with Alexander are personal." Julian's voice turned icy. "They don't involve Evelyn."

"Really?" Isabella smirked. "The way you brawled, I assumed—"

"Ms. Winslow—"

"Oh, it's perfectly normal!" Eleanor laughed, waving a hand. "Pretty girls always have admirers. Our Evelyn's beauty and virtue would be wasted without suitors."

Isabella's eye twitched.

Even after Alexander's disgraceful brawl, Eleanor could still praise Evelyn?

The Sinclairs' deaths were the best thing that ever happened to that bitch!

"Of course," she said acidly. "Most girls would be called sluts for less."

"Ms. Winslow," Julian said coldly, "shall I play the recording where you confess your relationship?"

Isabella faltered, shooting Alexander a wounded look.

"I only said that to humor Grandpa... The media twisted my words..." Her glare shifted to Evelyn.

This scheming woman had monopolized Alexander for years. Even dumped, she refused to leave.

"Your grandfather's ill?" Eleanor asked.

"He's recuperating abroad, thanks to Alexander arranging Dr. Xu—"

CRASH.

Evelyn's teacup shattered on the floor.