Chapter 2
Evelyn Roland's slender fingers traced the edge of her phone as her icy gaze swept over the three members of the Lowell family.
"Where Victoria's piano talent truly comes from—you know better than anyone." Her voice was frosty. "The compositions I wrote over the years more than repay the Lowells for raising me."
Vincent Lowell's expression darkened.
"After I turned twelve, I never spent a single cent of the Lowell family's money." The corner of her lips curled into a mocking smile. "And as for the Evans family engagement—shall I expose your schemes right here?"
Margaret Hill trembled with rage, but her husband gripped her arm to stop her.
A bead of sweat trickled down Vincent's temple. The crisis three years ago still haunted him. The old patriarch had claimed Evelyn was the one who secretly intervened. He’d refused to believe a teenage foster daughter could possess such influence.
"Evelyn, I’ve always treated you as my own—" he began, voice pleading.
"Enough." She cut him off. "From today onward, I have no ties to the Lowells. If you slander me again..." She paused, her eyes glinting dangerously. "I won’t hesitate to let the entire city know how the Lowells treat their foster daughter."
Just then, a flustered servant rushed in. "Sir! There’s a troublemaker at the gate claiming he’s here to pick someone up!"
Margaret shrieked, "Filthy trash! This family is cursed!"
Evelyn grabbed her suitcase and turned to leave. Behind her, Victoria’s triumphant laughter rang out. "A garbage collector dares compete with me?"
As she stepped through the gates, her phone buzzed.
"Withdraw all support from Lowell Enterprises," she said coolly.
A furious male voice erupted from the other end. "Those ungrateful snakes! If not for your behind-the-scenes maneuvering, they’d have gone bankrupt years ago! And that Victoria—stealing your compositions and flaunting them—"
"I’m going to find my birth parents," Evelyn interjected softly.
A brief silence followed. "What if—"
"I know what I’m doing."
The screech of tires cut her off. A black Maybach hurtled toward her.
With lightning reflexes, she braced against the hood, her scattered belongings strewn across the pavement.
"Watch where you’re going!" the driver barked.
Evelyn slammed her palm against the window. "No honking in residential zones. Get out and pick these up!"
A deep, magnetic voice spoke from the backseat. "Step out."
The driver immediately fell silent.
Evelyn’s gaze flicked to the rear seat. In the interplay of light and shadow, the man’s chiseled profile was sculpted perfection. But when she glimpsed the faint crimson flicker in his dark eyes, her pupils constricted.
That toxin... She’d only read about it in ancient texts.
"Sir," she suddenly smiled, radiant. "May I have your number?"