Chapter 126

Sophia Lowell's knuckles turned white as she clenched her phone.

"I'm Professor Klein's student," she forced a smile, showing the security guard her contacts list. "See? His private number is right here."

The guard gave it a disinterested glance. "No invitation, no entry."

She took two steps back, the gift box digging painfully into her chest.

"Filthy gatekeeper," she muttered under her breath, venom flashing in her eyes as they landed on the gold buttons of his uniform. "Just wait until I become Mrs. Sullivan..."

The roar of an engine cut through the air.

A black Maybach glided into view. Sophia's pupils constricted.

The door opened. Evelyn Laurent stepped out gracefully in stiletto heels. Ethan Sullivan circled the car to offer her his arm.

"Good evening, Mr. Sullivan! Miss Laurent!"

The guards bowed in unison, their voices gratingly loud.

Sophia's nails bit into her palms. Her gaze locked onto the diamonds swaying from Evelyn's ears—the legendary "Stellar Tears" heirloom she'd only seen in auction catalogs.

Inside The Grand Hyatt, crystal chandeliers blazed.

"Evelyn, my dear!" Vincent Sullivan excused himself from guests to greet her. "Has this rascal been treating you well?"

Evelyn offered a demure smile. "Happy birthday, Uncle Vincent."

Her moon-white cheongsam shimmered under the lights, the Sullivan emerald brooch pinned at her collar. She looked like a porcelain goddess.

By the time the Lowell family arrived, the ballroom was alive with clinking glasses.

"Go mingle with the young crowd," Vincent patted her shoulder, then lowered his voice. "The Valentine girl is here. Don't engage."

In the lounge area, Isabella Valentine toyed with her diamond-studded manicure. She deliberately slammed her champagne flute down as Evelyn approached.

The glass clatter revealed another figure in the shadows.

Bianca Fairchild sat curled in a peacock-blue velvet chair like a sparrow trapped in a gilded cage. A half-eaten cake slumped on the table before her.

"That's the Quincy heiress," a waiter whispered. "They say she has depression. Best not to—"

Evelyn's gaze shifted—and collided with two burning stares.

Xander Quincy dragged Oliver Valentine through the crowd, his suit button popping off. "Dude, look! Since when is she some country bumpkin? She's—"

His voice died.

Evelyn lifted her lashes, casting delicate shadows across her cheeks. Her swan-like neck curved gracefully, a crimson birthmark peeking above her collarbone.

Oliver's glass tilted. Red wine splashed across his tailored trousers.