Chapter 100
Violet's POV:
I felt my cheeks flush with embarrassment as I ducked my gaze away from Evan's steady scrutiny, though I couldn't deny I'd been stealing glances at him throughout the evening. My furtive looks weren't driven by attraction but by sheer curiosity about his popularity among women.
With such devastating looks and natural charm, it was remarkable that in my previous life he'd devoted himself exclusively to Celeste. I had to admire her skill—conquering both Daemon and Evan required perfect timing, Aurora's transplanted heart, and Celeste's own manipulative prowess. Every element had been essential to her success.
In this timeline, at least Evan had escaped her web entirely, though his interest had somehow shifted to me instead. The attention made me slightly uncomfortable, yet I couldn't deny a shameful flicker of vanity warming my chest.
"Given our relationship, I'd say 'stealing glances' sounds rather improper, wouldn't you agree?" I replied with practiced lightness, forcing my voice into something resembling playful deflection.
"Indeed it does," Evan conceded, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly. "I notice Daemon didn't receive an invitation tonight."
The observation landed heavily between us. Our families' business entanglements remained intact despite the personal wreckage—commerce operated on different principles than marriage. Severing those ties completely would mean financial hemorrhaging on both sides. My mother's decision to exclude the Blackwoods from tonight's celebration while maintaining professional connections was strategic, a calculated snub that would fuel gossip for weeks.
"Why would I invite him?" I countered with deliberate nonchalance.
"So there's truly no possibility of reconciliation?"
I met his gaze directly. "None whatsoever. You know about Aurora, don't you?"
His slight nod confirmed what I'd suspected—Lucian's inability to keep confidences had extended to this bombshell. "I'm aware," Evan acknowledged quietly. "I never imagined the situation involved such complications. My impression is that Daemon's attachment to Celeste stems less from genuine affection than from guilt and self-recrimination regarding Aurora's death. The transplanted heart makes it nearly impossible for him to achieve emotional closure."
"Does a heart truly matter that much?" The question emerged more sharply than I'd intended.
Evan leaned forward slightly, giving the question his full attention. "It's extraordinarily difficult to grasp from an outside perspective, isn't it?" he said carefully. "But consider this—if during the period when you loved Daemon most intensely, he had died, and later you discovered another man carried Daemon's living heart within his chest, how would you react? What would you feel encountering that physical continuation of someone you'd lost?"
I fell silent, forcing myself to actually engage with the scenario rather than reflexively rejecting it. If Daemon had been ripped away by death's finality, and then I'd encountered his heart beating in another person's chest... The mere thought sent a chill through me, and I found myself reluctantly beginning to understand the psychological trap that had ensnared Daemon.
"I think I'm starting to understand," I admitted with a slight nod and a faint smile. "But understanding doesn't mean I'll go back. Fate is strange, isn't it? I pursued Daemon for five years, yet he still fell for Aurora after knowing her only briefly. And I paid for that with another five years. That's more than enough."
Evan's eyes brightened noticeably, his smile deepening. "You're still young, with your whole future ahead of you. It's time to start fresh and discover who you are beyond all this."
I fully intend to start over, I thought grimly, but first I need to ensure Celeste's facade crumbles into dust. Until I'd exposed her true nature, I couldn't truly move forward. I'd initially considered confiding the specifics to Evan, but instinct held me back. Beyond Zane, I'd deliberately kept operational details compartmentalized. The fewer people who knew the complete picture, the lower the risk of premature exposure.
---
The evening wound down with appropriate ceremony, guests departing while offering effusive compliments. Once the last stragglers had left, Leo approached me with carefully neutral expression. "Miss Goldcrest, there's a gift in your vehicle—a birthday present that Mr. Blackwood delivered for your mother. He waited downstairs briefly but chose not to attend."
The leather gift box in my passenger seat was from one of the city's most exclusive jewelers. I lifted it experimentally, noting substantial heft, though I had no intention of opening it. My mother's expression cycled through complicated emotions when I informed her—surprise giving way to something like residual affection before hardening into brittle defensiveness. My father's reaction was less ambiguous, his face darkening. "We don't want anything from him. I'll have someone return it to his office tomorrow—let him choke on his guilt gifts."
Neither my mother nor I objected. Leo returned two hours later. "Miss Goldcrest, Mr. Blackwood wasn't at the office. His assistant accepted the package and confirmed it would be placed in his office."
"Thank you, Leo."
---
Several days after my mother's celebration, I learned through Sienna that Celeste had been released from the hospital. Her seemingly indestructible constitution continued to astound me—she possessed this paradoxical combination of appearing perpetually fragile while demonstrating cockroach-like resilience.
For weeks I'd enjoyed blessed reprieve from nightmares, but Celeste's discharge triggered their return with renewed viciousness. Each night I jerked awake drenched in sweat and tears, fragments of that other timeline's horrors dissolving into merciful reality. A nagging sense of unease had been building for days, formless dread I couldn't rationalize away.
That anxiety crystallized when I discovered photographs of Zane and me embracing posted across multiple platforms, our innocent farewell hug captured from angles making it appear far more intimate. But the embrace wasn't the worst—someone had uploaded an image from that night months ago when I'd danced at the club, the photograph capturing me mid-movement with my shirt riding up, my expression glazed with alcohol.
That particular photograph was notably blurry, clearly taken from an elevated position with significant zoom, unmistakably shot from above. My eyelid began twitching uncontrollably as implications sank in. The dancing photograph represented the more dangerous threat—once public speculation began about the Alpha's daughter behaving inappropriately, the fallout would splash onto my father's professional standing, undermining his authority.
My phone buzzed with a message from Blaine: Miss Goldcrest, regarding your previous inquiry—I've confirmed those images were captured by a colleague who initially planned to approach you for payment. However, he ultimately chose to negotiate with Mr. Blackwood instead, so all copies are currently in Mr. Blackwood's possession.
Was this Daemon's retaliation? The question echoed with nauseating certainty. Revenge for how my parents and I treated him, for the public snubs? He wasn't remotely a saint—anyone controlling the Blackwood empire at his age had employed every ruthless tactic available. I'd been naive to think I'd be exempt.
I tried calling Daemon's number. The phone rang endlessly before going to voicemail. I tried again immediately—this time he declined within seconds, the abrupt silence more insulting than any words, a clear message that whatever I wanted to say held no interest.
Shock and rage warred in my chest. I immediately messaged the group chat, requesting assistance finding contacts who might compel removal before the story gained traction. Beyond reaching out to sources, I needed legal documentation—if they refused voluntary deletion, I'd pursue formal claims.
What I hadn't anticipated was the poster's complete intransigence. His responses carried smug confidence suggesting he had protection that insulated him from legal consequences, that made him unafraid of whatever threats I leveled.
Sienna called within minutes. "I saw everything. Violet, have you confirmed those photographs came exclusively from Daemon?"
"They should have," I replied, pressing fingers against my temples where a headache was building. "According to Blaine, Daemon purchased all copies. But I can't confirm whether he released them."
"Then it's absolutely deliberate retaliation!" Sienna's outrage blazed through the connection. "Because of that bitch Celeste! Listen, forget reasoning with these assholes—I'll contact a hacker who can black out those images across every platform before they spread further."
"Alright, handle it however you think best," I agreed quickly. "I'm going to confront Daemon directly."
I needed to get answers from him. If he was the one who'd released those photographs, then he had to be the one to fix this mess. More importantly, as long as he held the original files, there was nothing stopping him from releasing them again—a second time, a third time, whenever it suited him. I grabbed my keys and drove straight to Blackwood Estate.
---
As I approached the estate's gates, I immediately registered something was off. Every window blazed with light despite the late hour, and I could see multiple staff members moving purposefully with coordinated efficiency suggesting preparation for something significant.
One of the maids spotted me, her eyes widening with surprise. "Luna—" She stopped abruptly, flushing with embarrassment. "Miss Goldcrest? I wasn't expecting you tonight."
"I need to speak with Daemon," I stated flatly. "Is he available?"
"Alpha isn't currently on the premises..." Her expression held peculiar discomfort and pity. "Miss Goldcrest, perhaps you should try reaching him by phone rather than—"
I didn't wait for her to complete whatever diplomatic deflection she'd been constructing, instead striding past her toward the entrance. My instincts screamed that something fundamentally wrong was happening inside.
Conversation drifted from the living room as I crossed the threshold. Mason Morrison stood beside the custom Italian sectional I'd spent months selecting, running his hand appreciatively over the leather: "The Blackwoods really do have money to burn—just look at this living room! It's bigger than our entire previous house combined..."
"Mason, are you certain we should be here?" Ruby's voice held tentative quality. "Moving into Daemon's property like this feels inappropriate..."
Mason settled more comfortably into the sofa. "What choice did we have? Celeste is too proud to accept Alpha's financial assistance directly. So we sold the house we'd just purchased to fund her upcoming surgery, and now where are we supposed to live? This arrangement makes sense for everyone."
Ruby sighed, then her gaze shifted toward the doorway where I stood frozen, her expression transforming to horror. "Miss Goldcrest!"
Mason lurched to his feet when he spotted me, earlier comfort evaporating into obvious awkwardness.
They're living here. The thought echoed with nauseating clarity. Daemon has installed Celeste's entire family in Blackwood Estate, in the home that was supposed to be ours.
My fists clenched as I struggled to maintain composure. This estate had been a wedding gift from both families, every detail selected by me when I'd still believed effort could compensate for Daemon's indifference. The fact that he'd moved Celeste here rather than purchasing separate accommodation struck me as infinitely more offensive.
He could have sold the estate, left it empty, gutted and renovated before moving anyone in—any option would have been marginally acceptable. But to move Celeste's family in exactly as things stood, to let them use furniture I'd selected and occupy rooms I'd designed, felt like targeted cruelty.
I forced my legs to move, climbing stairs toward the master bedroom where I could hear Celeste's voice through the partially open door, bright and animated: "Riley, you absolutely have to visit once you're back! Blackwood Estate has so many gorgeous rooms—there's definitely space for you!"
Ruby had followed me up, her face mortified as she recognized how this appeared, how her family's presence represented violation of boundaries. I didn't bother knocking, instead shoving the door fully open. Celeste's eyes went wide with shock as she registered my appearance, her phone nearly slipping from nerveless fingers. "Violet..."
I crossed the distance in three strides and snatched the phone from her hand, hurling it against the floor where it shattered, then delivered a sharp slap across her face with enough force to snap her head sideways. "Get out of my house with your parents. Now!"
"How dare you hit someone!" Ruby rushed forward, positioning herself protectively in front of Celeste, meeting my gaze with hatred for the first time. "Miss Goldcrest, Alpha is quite busy today—he entrusted Felix with arranging accommodation for Celeste. We didn't demand to come here!"
Celeste covered her reddening cheek, tears welling in baby blue eyes.
"I don't care about your excuses. Get out immediately, or I won't be responsible for what happens next!" I raised my voice, fury sharpening every word. "Ruby, you claim constantly that you don't support your daughter's involvement with Daemon, but have you actually opposed it through your actions? Now you and your husband are riding your daughter's coattails, ready to live off her wealthy patron like parasites?"
Ruby flinched, her face going pale.
Celeste stepped forward, wiping tears as she confronted me directly. "You and Daemon already dissolved your bond. This estate isn't your house anymore. What right do you have to demand we leave?"
I laughed coldly, opening my handbag to retrieve the property division agreement Daemon had given me, which I'd been carrying constantly. Without hesitation, I signed my name across the bottom in front of Celeste and her parents. "Now half this estate belongs to me. You can leave."
Celeste stared in shock, clearly not having anticipated I'd sign the agreement under these circumstances.
Footsteps sounded from the stairwell—Felix's figure appeared first, followed by Daemon. The moment Daemon's eyes found me, his expression turned glacial, his gaze sweeping over me and Celeste with zero warmth.
Celeste looked at Daemon with helpless desperation. "Daemon, Felix arranged for us to stay here, but Violet came and hit me, demanding we leave. This... this..."
"How could you hit someone?" Felix erupted indignantly. "Daemon asked me to arrange accommodation for Celeste—if there's fault, it's mine!"
I strode past them into the walk-in closet, finding exactly what I'd expected—my remaining clothes and jewelry had been rifled through, items scattered carelessly. I grabbed a silk nightgown from the floor and returned, throwing it at Celeste. "You even wore my sleepwear? Doesn't that disgust you?"
Celeste's face cycled between pale and flushed, unable to form words.
I checked the vanity—the luxury skincare and perfumes I'd left behind had clearly been opened and used. I swept everything into the trash bin and had a maid carry it all out for disposal, doing it in front of everyone.
"Violet, you're being completely unreasonable!" Felix couldn't contain himself. "Celeste just tried things out of curiosity—she's never had access to products like these before! It's normal!"
Daemon remained silent throughout, watching my every movement with unreadable eyes.
"Violet, I'm sorry," Celeste said, her eyes red as a rabbit's.
"Celeste, don't apologize. I brought you here—blame me if you must," Felix said coldly. "Daemon, aren't you going to say something? You and Violet are already unbound, aren't you?"
Celeste looked at Daemon with hopeful expectation, waiting for him to defend her.
Daemon's gaze finally settled on the handprint marking Celeste's cheek—I'd used at least eighty percent of my strength in that slap. "Why can't she live here?" he asked flatly, his tone making my heart plummet.