Chapter 129

Evelyn's POV

I stood outside the dressing room, watching Eleanor gather her things through the half-open door. The sight of her bare face in the mirror's reflection only intensified my irritation - even without makeup, she possessed an effortless beauty that made my carefully crafted appearance feel overdone.

I adjusted the Cartier necklace, ensuring it caught the light. "Eleanor, rough day of filming?" I kept my voice sweet, leaning against the doorframe. "I heard you needed quite a few takes for that last scene."

Eleanor continued methodically packing her bag, her movements measured and calm. The lack of response made my fingers twitch against the doorframe. I stepped into the room.

"You know, Jace surprised me with this last night." I touched the necklace again. "Even with all those ridiculous tabloid stories, he's been so supportive. That's what real love looks like, Eleanor." The words came out sharper, betraying the anxiety churning beneath my composed exterior.

She finally turned to face me, her expression maddeningly serene. "That's wonderful, Evelyn. I'm happy for you both." Her genuine tone only fueled my growing agitation.

"Let's be clear about something." I moved closer, dropping all pretense of friendliness. "I've seen how you look at him during script readings. Whatever little game you're playing - using your supposed 'talent' to get close to him - it stops now." I smoothed my Chanel blazer. "You really think someone like you can make it in Manhattan? Without connections, without influence?"

My hands were trembling slightly, but I pressed on. "I'm having dinner with his family tonight. At their home." I bragged, my desperate need to assert dominance overwhelming my better judgment. "So whatever fantasies you're entertaining about Jace, forget them. You're nothing in this world, Eleanor. I can make sure you never work in this industry again."

Eleanor picked up her bag with the same quiet grace she'd shown all evening. "Thank you for your concern, Evelyn. Have a lovely dinner." She walked past me, her composure intact, leaving behind only the faint scent of perfume.

Eleanor carried herself with that irritating natural grace, her back perfectly straight, every movement calculated yet fluid - everything a Hollywood starlet should be. I watched her glide across the room, my blood beginning to simmer, the slight smudge in my lipstick from biting my lip too hard, the tension visible around my eyes.

Just wait. Once I solidify my connection with Jace, once I establish ties with the Harringtons... My lips curved into a tight smile as I imagined my first order of business: making sure Eleanor Yates never works in this industry again.

Eleanor's POV

Standing in front of the Harrington mansion, I arrived earlier than planned. Through the grand windows, I could see only my grandfather Howard, along with my parents Grant and Clara, sitting in the formal living room. Everyone else was yet to arrive.

Several times I wanted to ask about tonight's plans, but Mom's warning glances kept me quiet. Still, just sitting there felt awkward and unbearably boring.

After some thought, I stood up and suggested, "Maybe I should wait by the entrance to greet my brother? Wouldn't that make it feel more... ceremonial?"

Before Clara could respond, surprisingly, Grandfather nodded. "Go ahead."

I happily took my leave from the living room. Truth be told, I just wanted to escape Grandfather's watchful eyes so I could check my phone. One of the Harrington household's strict rules: no phones in front of the elders.

Making my way to the grand entrance, I pulled out my phone while waiting for my brother. The minutes ticked by slowly as I scrolled through my messages.

Evelyn's POV

The Harrington mansion loomed before us, its limestone facade catching the golden hues of sunset. As our car pulled up to the ornate iron gates, my heart fluttered with anticipation. This was meant to be my moment - my official introduction to the Harrington family.

"Wait here for a moment," Jace said, his attention already fixed on his buzzing phone. "I need to take this call."

I stepped out of the car, smoothing my dress for the hundredth time. The gates slowly swung open with a soft mechanical whir, their elaborate metalwork casting intricate shadows across the cobblestone driveway. Everything about this place spoke of old money and power - exactly the world I belonged in.

My fingers traced the diamond pendant at my throat. Why did Jace always do this? Leaving me alone at crucial moments, as if I were some afterthought to his busy schedule. I checked my reflection in my compact mirror, ensuring every detail was perfect. My makeup was flawless, my hair expertly styled - I looked every inch the future Mrs. Harrington.

Then I saw her.

At first, I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me. Eleanor Yates, standing there by the side entrance as if she had every right to be here. My blood turned to ice, then quickly began to boil.

"What the hell?" The words escaped in a harsh whisper. This couldn't be happening. Not here, not now.

She hadn't noticed me yet, her attention focused on her phone. She looked infuriatingly put-together in a simple white blazer and tailored pants. My mind raced with possibilities - each more infuriating than the last.

Is she deliberately trying to cause a scene just because I mentioned I was coming? The audacity of this woman is beyond belief!

I can feel my nails digging into my palms as rage courses through my body. There's no way I'm letting her ruin my important meeting with the Harringtons. This is supposed to be my moment - my official introduction to the family.

I stride toward her, my dress swishing with each determined step. My vision narrows, focused solely on her smug face.

"Why are you here?" My voice came out sharp, causing her to look up. "Are you stalking us now?"

SLAP!

Before she could respond, before she could spin whatever lie she'd prepared, something in me snapped. All the frustration, the insecurity, the barely contained rage - it exploded in one violent moment. My hand moved of its own accord, the sharp crack of the slap echoing in the evening air.

Time seemed to freeze. Eleanor's head remained turned to the side, a red mark blooming on her cheek. My palm stung. In the distance, I heard car doors closing, footsteps approaching.

My perfectly planned evening lay in shambles around me, much like my composure. But as I stood there, trembling with a mixture of horror and lingering rage.

What had I done?