Chapter 6

The sudden shove caught Eleanor Knight off guard.

She stumbled against the coffee table, her forehead striking the sharp corner with a sickening thud. Blood trickled down her brow, staining half her face crimson.

When Sebastian Sinclair burst through the door, she was clutching her wound, hissing through gritted teeth. But his gaze swept right past her, landing instead on Isabella Whitlock’s bleeding fingertip.

“Does it hurt?” He cradled Isabella’s hand as if it were something fragile.

Eleanor gripped the edge of the table to steady herself, finally noticing the tiara clutched in Isabella’s grasp—the Sinclair family heirloom, the very one her mother-in-law had placed on her head that morning.

“Here.” She held out the bloodstained jewelry, her fingers trembling slightly.

Sebastian’s eyes turned icy. “What’s your problem?”

“Returning what’s rightfully yours.” Eleanor smiled faintly. “It was only a matter of time before it changed hands anyway.”

Isabella feigned reluctance. “This is too valuable—”

“Take it.” Eleanor shoved the tiara into her hands. “Bloodstained things bring bad luck. I’d rather not look at it.”

As she turned away, Sebastian’s voice cut through the air. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

She didn’t look back.

The birthday party was livelier than expected. Champagne towers glittered under crystal chandeliers, and guests raised their glasses in toast after toast. Meanwhile, Eleanor was on her third slice of cake.

“Surely the CEO has a surprise planned?” someone teased with a wink.

She scooped a bite of frosting, the sweetness cloying. “Maybe.”

Then the front door slammed open.

Isabella staggered in with a drunken Sebastian draped over her shoulder, his shirt unbuttoned, a rose-colored lipstick smudge on his neck.

“Don’t misunderstand, Mrs. Sinclair,” Isabella stammered. “He just had too much to drink at the business dinner—”

Eleanor reached out to take him, but Sebastian shoved her away, leaning heavily into Isabella instead. His nose brushed her ear. “You smell… amazing.”

Gasps rippled through the crowd.

“Second floor, left turn.” Eleanor stepped aside, her gown sweeping over the rose petals strewn across the foyer—ironic, considering Sebastian had sent them that morning.

As Isabella guided him upstairs, she deliberately crushed a tube of lipstick underfoot. Eleanor recognized it instantly—the “gift” Sebastian had brought back from his business trip last week.

“Should I prepare some sober-up soup?” she called after them.