Chapter 95

Evelyn took a step back.

She needed this distance to see Alexander clearly.

His chiseled features remained as striking as ever, the cold arrogance in his brow unchanged.

Yet now, he felt like a stranger who chilled her to the bone.

"Where's the proof?" His demand came effortlessly, as if she owed him blind obedience.

Evelyn turned toward the mirror.

"There isn't any." Her tone was light. "I bluffed Melissa."

How many times had she brought evidence to him, only to be met with that icy dismissal—"Stop making trouble"?

In his eyes, Isabella would always be the untouchable first love.

While Evelyn remained the ridiculous clown throwing tantrums.

Now he wanted answers?

Too late.

......

"Then why would she believe you without proof?" Alexander pressed.

Evelyn picked up an eyebrow pencil, twirling it between her fingers.

"Some things in this world don't need proof." Just like his judgment of her all those years ago.

"Give me the evidence." His voice darkened.

The pencil clattered onto the vanity.

"Afraid I'll harm your precious Isabella?" Evelyn's laugh was sharp. "Relax. She's far smarter than you think."

She retrieved the pencil, carefully reshaping her brows into sharp, defiant arches.

"Evelyn." Alexander's tone softened unexpectedly. "You've misunderstood."

She continued lining her eyes, refusing to spare him a glance.

"I can't jump to conclusions without proof," he said, an uncharacteristic attempt at explanation. "But I know you're not that kind of person—"

"What kind?" Evelyn's eyeliner flicked upward. "Not the money-grubbing Sinclair girl? Not the cheap whore who'd sell out for scraps?"

Every word had once left his lips.

Alexander's expression twisted. "Must you always be so crude?"

"I told you—no evidence." She selected a lipstick. "Just suspicions. A bluff."

She remembered standing before him with surveillance footage, the ultimatum he'd given her.

Apologize, or leave.

That day, the light named Alexander Kingsley had died in her heart forever.

Her vengeance was hers alone.

Men?

They could rot.

Alexander's gaze deepened.

The Evelyn before him—sharp-eyed, crimson-lipped—bore no resemblance to the docile girl from his memories.

He seized her wrist.

"Let go." Her voice was glacial.

"Grandfather's birthday banquet—" She finally met his eyes, her gaze cutting like steel. "Want my cooperation? Release me."

Alexander shoved her away violently.

As if touching something contaminated.

"Remember your promise," he spat through clenched teeth.