Inside the study, Evander paced the room, his frustration growing. “Why the hell did you buy 40% of Smith Empire’s shares, Andrew?” he demanded, shooting a glare in Andrew’s direction.

Andrew leaned back in his chair lazily, a smirk playing on his lips. “Because I wanted to,” he answered nonchalantly.

Tristan exhaled in exasperation and opened his laptop. “What now?” he muttered under his breath, shooting Andrew an annoyed look.

Evander ran a hand through his hair. “You two are impossible.”

Andrew chuckled, clearly amused by Evander’s frustration. “Relax, Evan,” he winked. “Everything’s under control.”

Evander threw his hands up in frustration. “Where’s Natalie? We need to sort this out. Madeline deserves justice.”

Andrew scoffed. “I know what I’m doing. Just wait.” As he spoke, his phone rang. He picked up the call, putting it on speaker. Darren was on the other end, his voice laced with frustration.

“I swear to God, Andrew, I want to kill Natalie!” Darren cursed. In the background, they could hear Natalie shouting profanities, demanding to be released.

“Darren, calm down,” Andrew said sternly. “We need her alive for now.”

“I don’t know how much longer I can take this,” Darren muttered through gritted teeth. “She’s unbearable.”

“You’ll survive,” Andrew said coldly. “We have plans for her.”

Natalie’s mocking laughter echoed through the phone. “You think you’re so clever, Andrew. You’ll pay for your sins.”

Andrew’s expression darkened. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, Natalie. You’ll get what you deserve soon enough.” He ended the call abruptly and turned to face the others.

Evander raised an eyebrow. “What the hell is going on?”

Andrew exhaled and explained everything to Evander and Tristan—how Natalie had been working under the influence of Kylie Smith and how they were strategically gathering information to uncover the person pulling the strings.

Edward entered the room, his expression tense. “Sir, Mr. Smith is desperate to meet with you.”

Andrew leaned back again. “Tell him I’m busy,” he said, brushing it off. “I’ll meet him when it suits me.”

Tristan leaned forward, typing something on his laptop. “The work is going fine on my end, by the way,” he said dryly.

Evander groaned dramatically and collapsed onto the couch. “All this is stressing me out. I can’t believe you’re both so calm.”

Andrew smiled smugly. “Why are you stressed? You’re not the one handling everything.”

Evander threw him a pointed look. “Are you forgetting I’m your entertainment partner and the one promoting your brand?”

“Oh, yeah,” Andrew said with a smirk. “I forgot.”

Evander groaned louder. “You idiot. Just make sure I get my fair share after all this is over.”

Andrew chuckled. “Don’t worry. I won’t forget.”

Edward, who had been watching the exchange in amazement, suddenly remembered something. “Sir,” he started hesitantly, “I saw Eva earlier.”

Andrew straightened. “What about her?”

Edward fidgeted nervously. “It looked like she spilled hot water on herself… Her face seemed pretty bad.”

Tristan shot to his feet, but Andrew raised a hand, stopping him. “I’ll check on her,” Andrew said, his voice low but firm.

Without waiting for anyone to respond, Andrew left the study.

Meanwhile, on the first-floor balcony, Camilla stood smugly, satisfied with herself. She sipped her coffee, lost in her dark thoughts, when Irene stormed toward her.

“Mrs. Foster,” Irene said sharply. Before Camilla could react, Irene slapped her hard across the cheek.

“What the hell!” Camilla shrieked, clutching her face in shock.

“Don’t you dare hurt my sister-in-law again,” Irene said fiercely, her voice low and full of warning. “If you try anything, I’ll make your life a living nightmare.”

Camilla glared, too stunned to respond as Irene turned and walked away. “This brat,” Camilla muttered under her breath. “If she weren’t a King, I’d have taken her down already.”

Down the hall, Tristan had witnessed the scene. Irene stopped in her tracks when she noticed him watching her, her heart thudding in her chest.

“I can explain,” Irene said nervously.

“There’s no need,” Tristan said, his voice flat, though his eyes burned with unspoken emotion.

Before Irene could respond, Tristan turned and marched toward Camilla, fury evident in every step.

“Listen to me,” Tristan growled as he faced Camilla. “I’ve held back long enough.”

Camilla crossed her arms, a smug grin spreading across her face. “Oh? And what exactly do you think you can do?”

“You really want to find out?” Tristan challenged, his tone dangerously low.

Camilla scoffed, completely unbothered. “You two aren’t even blood relatives of mine or Matthew’s. What gives you the right to act like you belong here?”

Before Tristan could respond, a sharp slap echoed through the air. Camilla gasped, clutching her cheek, shocked to see Matthew standing behind her, his face a mask of fury.

“Know your place, Camilla,” Matthew said sternly. “Don’t forget that everything here belongs to my brother—and Tristan is his son. He’s the rightful heir.”

Camilla’s expression twisted with rage. “After everything I’ve done, you’re still choosing them over us? What about Jessica?”

Matthew’s voice was cold and final. “All you care about is Jessica, who isn’t even mine,” he said. “Have you ever once thought about Mia?”

“Don’t act like you’ve treated her as your own,” Camilla sneered. “You’ve always prioritized them over us.”

“Enough!” Matthew roared, slapping her again. “I treat all my children equally. It’s you who has failed to care for anyone but Jessica.”

Tristan stood motionless, his expression unreadable as he watched Matthew confront Camilla. Irene, standing beside him, felt a strange mixture of anger and relief.

“If you’re so unhappy,” Matthew continued, “maybe you should leave.”

Camilla fumed but remained silent, knowing that leaving this life of luxury was the last thing she wanted.

Matthew turned to Tristan and hugged him. “Don’t let her words get to you, son,” he said warmly. “Her poison doesn’t define you.”

Tristan gave a small nod, grateful but still weighed down by the confrontation.

As Matthew left to check on Eva, Tristan turned to Irene. “Why are you still here?” he asked, his voice cold again.

“I don’t want to leave,” Irene whispered.

“What?” Tristan said, raising an eyebrow. “Speak louder.”

Irene looked down, embarrassed. “It’s nothing,” she muttered. “Never mind.”

Before Tristan could press her further, she reached out and grabbed his hand, catching him by surprise. “Eva’s waiting for me,” she said quickly, tugging him toward Mia’s room.

Tristan glanced down at their joined hands, a soft smile tugging at the corner of his lips. Irene’s heart raced, but she said nothing, determined to keep him close.

As they made their way down the hall, Irene thought to herself, "He might pretend to be cold, but he’s not so bad after all."