Chapter 239

In a heartbeat, Evelyn found herself at the center of attention, surrounded by eager faces vying for her favor.

Margaret observed the scene with quiet satisfaction. But from her shadowed corner of the grand hall, Eleanor Blackwell seethed with barely contained frustration.

These social butterflies always followed the wind's direction.

When Eleanor had been the darling of high society, they'd flocked to her like bees to honey. Now that Evelyn shone brightest, they scrambled to realign their loyalties.

The thought made Eleanor's stomach churn. While Vanessa suffered in obscurity, Evelyn basked in the spotlight. The injustice burned like acid in her throat.

"Mother," Eleanor hissed through clenched teeth, "why invite that outsider to our home?"

Margaret's eyes turned glacial. "Evelyn is my honored guest, Eleanor. Mind your place. If you've nothing better to do, the kitchen staff could use supervision."

Defeated, Eleanor stalked toward the servants' quarters.

At that moment, Margaret pressed a hand to her chest, her breath catching. The familiar ache of her chronic condition flared without warning.

She rose gracefully and ascended the grand staircase, seeking solitude on the upper floor.

"Evelyn!" Rosalind Blackwell's voice cut through the crowd as she approached.

Evelyn had always found Rosalind more tolerable than the other Sterling relatives - less venomous, more measured in her dealings.

"Rosalind!" Evelyn greeted warmly.

Rosalind's smile didn't reach her eyes. "My, how you've transformed since we last met. Quite the social butterfly now."

Evelyn laughed lightly. "And you've only grown more radiant, dear cousin."

A shadow crossed Rosalind's face. "I noticed Grandmother looked unwell earlier. Her chest pains seem to be troubling her again."

Evelyn's smile faltered. "Is she alright?"

Rosalind scanned the room with calculated nonchalance. "Strange... she's been gone quite some time now."

Concern tightened Evelyn's chest as her gaze swept the crowded hall. Margaret's absence among the glittering guests sent a prickle of unease down her spine.

If Evelyn chose to retaliate against Beatrice Harrington now, it would be child's play - like stepping on an insignificant insect.

Desperation colored Beatrice's voice as she turned to Rosalind. "I changed your diapers, girl. What do I do now? Should I grovel at her feet and beg forgiveness?"

She made to move toward Evelyn, but Rosalind's hand shot out, restraining her.

"Pointless, Aunt Beatrice. You're beneath her notice now. She could have secured Uncle's position with a word if she cared. Her silence speaks volumes."

Rosalind's barb hit its mark. Beatrice's face flushed crimson as she glared at Evelyn. "That conniving little-"

"Precisely," Rosalind purred. "Apologizing would only give her the satisfaction of rejecting you."

"Then what?" Beatrice demanded, wringing her hands.

Rosalind's lips curved into a viper's smile. "Simple mathematics, dear aunt. If she shows no mercy... why should we?" She leaned closer, her whisper a venomous caress. "Shall we remind her of her place?"

Beatrice's eyes lit with malicious understanding. "First strike advantage. As her elder, I'd be remiss not to... educate her properly."

Meanwhile, the cream of society continued their dance around Evelyn, drawn like moths to the flame of her newfound status and connections to the powerful Kingsley family. Their laughter rang hollow, their compliments transparent in their ambition.

The crowd surged around Evelyn like a tidal wave. All eyes were fixed on her radiant presence.

Margaret watched with quiet satisfaction from her vantage point. But in the shadowed corner of the grand hall, Eleanor Blackwell's fingers tightened around her champagne flute.

These social butterflies always followed the prevailing winds.

When fortune had smiled upon Eleanor, they'd flocked to her side. Now that Evelyn shone brightest, they scrambled to realign their allegiances.

The thought made Eleanor's stomach churn. Vanessa Sterling was suffering in Astana while Evelyn basked in glory. The injustice burned like acid in her throat.

"Mother, she's no longer family. Why invite her at all?" Eleanor hissed through clenched teeth.

Margaret's eyes turned frosty. "Evelyn is my honored guest. You overstep, daughter. If you've nothing better to do, the kitchen staff could use supervision. Make yourself useful."

Defeated, Eleanor stalked toward the servants' quarters.

At that moment, Margaret pressed a hand to her chest as a familiar pain flared beneath her ribs. The old affliction was returning.

She rose gracefully and ascended the grand staircase.

"Evelyn!" Rosalind Blackwell's voice cut through the murmuring crowd.

Evelyn brightened at the sight of Nathan's cousin. Unlike the other Sterling vipers, Rosalind had always shown her kindness.

"Rosalind! You look stunning."

The blonde woman laughed. "Look who's talking! You've transformed since I last saw you."

Evelyn's smile turned playful. "Flattery will get you everywhere."

Rosalind's expression sobered. "I noticed Grandmother seemed unwell earlier. That chest pain of hers..."

Concern flashed across Evelyn's features. "Is she alright?"

Rosalind scanned the room. "Odd. She's been gone quite a while now."

Evelyn's gaze darted across the sea of faces. When she didn't spot Margaret among the guests, she made her decision.

"Excuse me for a moment."

She moved swiftly toward the staircase. Three years in Sterling Manor had made her intimately familiar with its layout. Reaching Margaret's suite, she called softly, "Margaret? Are you there?"

Silence answered her. As she turned to leave, a housekeeper appeared.

"Madam Carter." The woman bowed.

"Just Ms. Carter, please." Evelyn corrected gently.

"Of course, Ms. Carter."

"Have you seen Mrs. Winslow?"

The servant gestured down the hall. "The elder Mrs. Sterling went that way, toward the end room."

Evelyn thanked her and approached the indicated door. But after three steps, she froze. Recognition dawned like icy water down her spine.

This was the forbidden chamber.

On her very first day at Sterling Manor, Margaret had made one rule abundantly clear: every room was open to her except this one.

"Margaret?" Evelyn called hesitantly, refusing to cross the invisible boundary.

When no answer came, she turned to leave.

Then—the faintest creak of hinges.

The door had cracked open of its own accord.

Heart pounding, Evelyn reached out. Her fingers brushed the aged wood. It swung inward with eerie smoothness.

Dust motes danced in slanted sunlight, illuminating antique furnishings frozen in time. The air smelled of lavender and something darker, more metallic.

Evelyn took two cautious steps inside.

Then she saw it.

Her breath caught. Her blood turned to ice.

The revelation struck like lightning, rooting her to the spot.