Chapter 118

The golden hues of sunset faded into inky darkness as evening descended.

Evelyn Carter had spent every waking hour with Margaret in Shadowmire Island. Exhaustion weighed heavily on her shoulders as she returned to Blackwood Manor, her illness still lingering.

Dragging her feet across the marble foyer, a venomous voice sliced through the silence. "Well, well, if it isn't our little fraud finally gracing us with her presence."

Evelyn turned to face Beatrice Thornton, who stood with one manicured hand clutching a phone, the other perched arrogantly on her hip.

"The legendary artist Ms. Grayson just posted her first video in three years," Beatrice sneered. "She explained her mysterious disappearance was due to a prolonged illness. How convenient for imposters like you to hide behind such excuses."

Beatrice thrust her phone forward, the screen displaying a young woman with striking features. Disgust twisted Beatrice's face as Evelyn glanced at the verified Isabella Grayson account.

"I never claimed to be Isabella," Evelyn said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Before Beatrice could retort, Cassandra Blake's crisp tones interrupted. "Aunt Beatrice, surely you're not naive enough to believe everything you see online? Accounts can be hacked, identities stolen."

Cassandra moved gracefully toward Evelyn, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "Why don't we settle this properly? Have one of Evelyn's paintings authenticated by the National Art Institute?"

Beatrice's lips curled. "Nonsense! The real Isabella Grayson has shown her face to the world. Your little charade is over, fraud."

Cassandra's fingers twitched at her sides, her usually composed features darkening with anger. Evelyn gently caught her wrist. "It's not worth it, Cassandra. Let her believe what she wants."

"I trust you completely, Evelyn," Cassandra murmured, giving her arm a comforting squeeze.

Evelyn offered a tired smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Thank you."

Cassandra studied Evelyn's pale complexion with concern. "You look dreadful. Have you seen a doctor about your illness?"

"I'm fine, really," Evelyn lied smoothly. "Just need some rest." She turned toward the grand staircase without another word.

Beatrice's mocking voice followed her. "I heard Victoria Dawson attempted suicide over unrequited love. Liam's been keeping vigil at her bedside. No wonder our little fraud here is sick - her meal ticket is slipping away."

Cassandra whirled on her aunt. "You'd sell your soul to see Liam divorce Evelyn and marry your precious goddaughter, wouldn't you?"

"What's wrong with Genevieve? She's infinitely better than this con artist!" Beatrice shot back.

Evelyn tuned out their bickering and ascended to Liam's study. Sitting at his mahogany desk, she drafted divorce papers with clinical precision on his computer.

The printer hummed as it produced two copies. Evelyn signed both without hesitation, her signature steady despite the tremor in her hands.

For fifteen agonizing minutes, she stared at her phone's contact list, her thumb hovering over Liam's name.

Finally, with a deep breath that did nothing to calm her racing heart, she pressed call.

He answered on the second ring. "Evelyn." His voice, usually so commanding, carried an unfamiliar note of guilt.