Chapter 108

Isabella Sinclair recoiled as Liam Blackwood shielded Evelyn Carter protectively. "Liam, I-I didn't mean to overstep," she stammered, her fingers twisting nervously.

Evelyn's breath caught at Liam's unexpected defense. For the first time, the Morrison family's judgmental stares didn't pierce her skin like daggers.

After enduring Sebastian and Isabella's constant condescension, this small victory tasted sweeter than she'd imagined.

Beatrice Thornton's shrill voice cut through the tension. "That woman was my mother's nurse? Disgraceful! With her questionable reputation and gutter origins, Liam, surely you can do better!"

Liam's knuckles turned white as he surged to his feet. "Repeat those words," he growled, his military bearing making the threat palpable.

Beatrice collapsed onto the sofa, her arrogance evaporating under Liam's volcanic glare. This wasn't the composed nephew she knew - this was the decorated general few dared cross.

On the sidelines, Genevieve Prescott's lips curled in triumph. Evelyn's humble background only reinforced her own superiority. The charity artist didn't belong in their world.

Yet Evelyn reached for Liam's arm, her touch feather-light. "Please," she murmured, "let's resolve this calmly." She couldn't afford to alienate Beatrice further - not when she had to navigate these gilded halls daily.

Sebastian and Isabella exchanged amused glances, reveling in the familial discord.

Liam's glacial stare pinned Beatrice in place, though she attempted nonchalance. "I-I'm just speaking truths!"

With a frustrated exhale, Liam threaded his fingers through Evelyn's. "We're leaving."

Evelyn shook her head minutely. Fleeing would only validate Beatrice's accusations. She needed to stand her ground.

Liam read her hesitation and reluctantly sat, though tension radiated from him like heat waves. The room collectively held its breath - even Richard and Eleanor knew better than to provoke their son further.

Beatrice, sensing the shift, adopted a new tactic. "Genevieve graduated from Cambridge with honors in Fine Arts. Her designs have won international acclaim. Tell me, Evelyn, where did you study?"

The question hung like a guillotine. Evelyn's nails bit into her palms. She recognized this game - the subtle undermining disguised as polite inquiry.

Before Liam could erupt, rapid footsteps echoed through the grand hall.

Cassandra Blake burst in, clutching a rectangular package. "Gregory! Help me with this," she commanded her husband.

As Gregory Lynch unfurled the canvas, Cassandra's eyes sparkled with vindication. She'd never forgiven Beatrice for destroying her marriage and pushing Gregory toward her goddaughter.

Gasps filled the room as the signature "Isabella Grayson" became visible in the corner.

"Beatrice," Cassandra announced triumphantly, "meet Inkwell - the philanthropic artist whose works sell for millions. This piece would've fetched seven figures if not for the corner damage."

Beatrice's jaw dropped. Genevieve's perfect complexion paled.

Isabella shot to her feet. "Cassandra, this is absurd! Another forgery, just like Victoria Dawson gave Vera!"

The air crackled with tension as all eyes swung between the disputed masterpiece and its alleged creator. Evelyn stood very still, her pulse hammering - the truth of her identity balanced on a knife's edge.