Julian Hayes had been certain Sophia Reed was Ethan Blackwood's intended future wife. That belief had made him bold, willing to collaborate with her to publicly shame Isabella Scott. But if his assumption was wrong, the miscalculation would be fatal. His career would be over. As this terrifying realization dawned, Julian shot to his feet, a sycophantic smile plastered across his face as he addressed Ethan.

"My deepest apologies, Mr. Blackwood. I failed to properly acknowledge your arrival."

Instantly, the room erupted into a flurry of movement. Everyone stood, chairs scraping loudly against the floor as they hurriedly cleared a path to the head of the table. The seat of honor and the one beside it were left conspicuously empty.

Ethan observed the frantic activity with detached silence, his expression unreadable. He waited until the room fell completely quiet before elegantly taking his designated chair.

Sophia moved to occupy the vacant seat next to him. She froze mid-motion when Ethan gestured for the dazed Isabella to sit there instead. A wave of hushed whispers and sharp glances swept through the guests, all directed at a humiliated Sophia, whose scheme was visibly collapsing.

"Sophia, what's the story with Miss Scott? Why is Mr. Blackwood treating her like she's someone special?" A woman adorned in garish, expensive clothing asked, her voice a sickly-sweet blend of fake curiosity and open scorn.

A man nearby chimed in, his tone dripping with skepticism. "Miss Reed, you just finished telling us all about Mr. Blackwood's..."

Sophia drew a sharp, quiet breath, forcibly suppressing her rage. She manufactured a tight, brittle smile. "Mr. Blackwood is exceptionally attentive to all his employees. Isabella is clearly unwell. He's merely ensuring she receives appropriate care."

"Is that so?"

The murmured response was thick with blatant disbelief. Polite nods were given, but their faces were masks of pure doubt. Since when was the notoriously ruthless and emotionally distant Ethan Blackwood known for such personal, hands-on concern for a female employee?

No one present was fooled. Yet, no one dared to challenge Sophia's obvious lie.

Maintaining her composure, Sophia took a different seat. She sat rigidly upright, acutely aware of every speculative glance thrown her way. A hot flush of shame burned her cheeks.

Beneath the table, her hands clenched into white-knuckled fists, her nails digging crescent moons into her palms. She ignored the physical pain, her focus entirely on projecting an image of unbothered calm.

The large private room was swallowed by a heavy, suffocating silence. Every guest was on edge, barely daring to breathe for fear of drawing the attention of the formidable man at the head of the table.

Ethan's piercing gaze swept slowly across the room. Wherever his cold, assessing eyes landed, an invisible, crushing pressure seemed to follow. People instinctively dropped their gazes, avoiding his scrutiny as if it were physically dangerous. His look was a blade, slicing through the tension and sending a collective chill down every spine.

Just as the collective anxiety was becoming unbearable, Ethan finally spoke. His voice was deceptively calm, almost bored, as his lips parted. "Mr. Hayes."

The two words, delivered so softly, landed like a thunderclap in the tense quiet.

Hearing his name, Julian felt a jolt of pure ice shoot down his back. Cold sweat slicked his skin. He bolted upright as if electrocuted, snapping to a rigid, military attention. He bowed forward deferentially, his voice trembling. "Yes, Mr. Blackwood? What can I do for you?"

Ethan let the question hang. He turned his attention to Isabella. She was slumped in her chair, her head lolling against the high backrest. Her eyes were half-closed, her complexion a ghostly pale shade of green. A dark shadow crossed Ethan's features. The oppressive atmosphere in the room intensified, becoming almost tangible.