Chapter 323

Adrian Valentine's slender fingers tapped rhythmically against the mahogany desk, dark currents swirling in his eyes.

The movement ceased abruptly. A dangerous smirk curled at the corner of his lips.

He'd recognized Evelyn Roland's identity the moment he saw her after the fire.

"They've been trying to kill my wife." Each word dripped with glacial venom.

Victor Ashcroft frowned. "She's not your wife anymore, sir."

The title grated on his nerves whenever it left Adrian's mouth.

The man's feelings for Evelyn were a suffocating paradox—seething hatred intertwined with sleepless obsession.

The same hand that had struck Evelyn now bore cigarette burns, self-inflicted scars covering every inch.

The bitterest irony? Margaret Valentine had been part of the conspiracy.

"Shut up." Adrian's glare could freeze hell.

Victor mimed zipping his lips. "Right. My bad."

A sudden realization made his voice tremble. "Sir... Isabella Langley's close ties to Vincent Langley... Could it mean the late chairman's death was..."

He choked back the rest.

Murderous intent flashed in Adrian's eyes.

His grandmother's warning echoed—the killer lived within the Valentine family.

"Dig deeper. We must uncover the truth about my father's death." The temperature in the room plummeted.

Victor's spine turned to ice.

The connection between Vincent Langley and Margaret Valentine was far more terrifying.

This quagmire had no bottom.

"Isabella requested your escort to tonight's charity auction."

Adrian's eyes narrowed. "Hmm."

Victor studied his boss's clenched jaw, swallowing unspoken words.

"Any progress on Phoenix Group?" Adrian stood, his tailored suit emphasizing his imposing frame.

"Nothing. Whoever's behind it remains buried. Even Vincent's network came up empty." Victor hesitated. "Could it be the Evans family? Launching an IPO within a month suggests long-term planning."

Adrian scoffed. "If it were them, they'd have struck already. Evelyn searched six years without evidence. The Evanses wouldn't stand a chance."

Victor exploded. "She. Is. Not. Your. Wife!"

Adrian scowled. "What's wrong with you?"

The door slammed behind Victor's furious exit.

Adrian's fist crashed onto the desk. Fresh blood seeped through his bandages.

Somehow, over two years, the hatred had begun dissolving like mist.

Christian Lefèvre... Why did you have to die?

He squeezed his eyes shut, agony etching his features.

Remembering Julian Roscente's condition, he snatched his keys and sped toward the hospital.

——

Julian had grown accustomed to darkness.

At the familiar footsteps, he turned toward the door. "You came."

Adrian stood motionless by the hospital bed, staring at his friend's pallid face.