Marrying My Father's Enemy-Chapter 77: Beatrice’s Secret Lover?

Chapter 77: Beatrice’s Secret Lover?

Beatrice came from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a towel as the faint sound of giggling caught her attention.

In the living room, Vanesa was sitting, curled on the couch with her phone in hand, scrolling through a news article about Callian Reed.

"Pathetic," Vanesa muttered between giggles, clearly enjoying the headlines.

Beatrice approached quietly, a rare softness crossed her face.

She leaned down, intending to kiss her daughter’s forehead, but Vanesa shifted away just in time, pretending to adjust her position.

"What are you doing?" Vanesa asked.

"Nothing, I was just...never mind."

Beatrice straightened, cooling her experience as her eyes went on Vanesa’s face.

Something about the slope of her nose caught her attention—a subtle change she hadn’t noticed before.

After the incident with Eira, where her daughter had claimed Eira hit her, Vanesa’s nose had started to reform.

It looked sharper now, more pronounced.

Beatrice’s lips tightened as an uninvited and unwelcome memory came back to her mind.

Vanesa’s new nose bore an uncanny resemblance to someone she detested, someone whose face she had tried to erase.

"I’ll book your nose surgery soon," Beatrice said. "So don’t eat garbage until then."

Vanesa looked up, frowning. "I don’t want any more surgeries," she said firmly. "I’m happy with the way I look."

Beatrice’s eyes rolled.

Without a word, she raised her hand and slapped Vanesa across the face.

The sound went through the quiet room.

"I make decisions for you," Beatrice hissed. "Not the other way around."

Vanesa stared at her, wide-eyed, her cheek reddening from the slap.

But she didn’t cry or protest.

Instead, she turned her face back to the phone, silently seething.

Beatrice stepped back, smoothing down her dress as if the moment hadn’t happened.

She glanced at her phone, which buzzed with a new message.

Her demeanour changed instantly. A small, secretive smile tugged at her lips.

She glanced around the room. Nobody was watching.

Slipping the phone back into her pocket, she left the hall, clicking her heels against the marble floor as she made her way to the garage.

With barely any light garage smelled of motor oil and rubber, a sharp contrast to the pristine elegance of the house above.

Beatrice descended the stairs, her eyes adjusted to the shadows as she stepped toward the far corner where a man stood waiting.

He had dark, slightly unruly hair, a sharp jawline, and a nose that jutted out in a way that seemed almost sculpted—pointy and regal, like the statues of ancient Greece.

Steven Blackwood, Henry’s younger brother.

Beatrice froze for a moment, the sight of him stirred something complicated within her.

She dropped the towel she’d been carrying, but before she could react further, Steven closed the distance between them in two quick strides.

"Beatrice," he said in a deep voice.

Before she could respond, he pulled her into a tight embrace, his arms wrapped around her as if he intended never to let go.

His grip was suffocating, his body pressed too close.

"Steven, stop," Beatrice said sharply, trying to push him away, but he leaned down and kissed her, his lips forceful against hers.

Beatrice shoved him back with all her strength, her chest heaved. "What the hell are you doing here?" she demanded, glaring at him.

Steven smirked, not intimidated. "What, no warm welcome? That’s disappointing."

"You shouldn’t be here," Beatrice hissed, glancing toward the garage entrance. "If Henry finds out—"

"Henry won’t find out," Steven interrupted smoothly. "He’s too busy playing puppeteer with his little family drama to notice anything else."

Beatrice’s eyes narrowed. "You’re reckless. Showing up unannounced like this—"

"I came for you," Steven said, stepping closer again, though this time with less force.

His voice softened, almost pleading. "You’re all I think about, Bea. You know that."

Beatrice scoffed, crossing her arms. "Spare me your theatrics. You’re not here for me. You’re here because you want something."

Steven tilted his head, his smirk returned. "Maybe. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want you too."

Beatrice’s jaw tightened, her composure slipping for just a moment. "What do you want, Steven?"

His smirk faded, replaced by a more serious expression. "Henry’s losing control. You can see it, can’t you? The press, the scandals, Eira—he’s drowning, and he’s too proud to admit it."

Beatrice arched an eyebrow. "And this concerns me because...?"

Steven stepped closer, lowering his voice. "Because when he falls, I plan to take what’s mine. And I want you with me when I do."

Beatrice stared at him. "You’re a fool if you think you can take Henry down. He’ll crush you before you even make a move."

Steven smiled faintly. "He’s not as untouchable as he likes to think. His empire is built on secrets, and I happen to know a few that could topple him."

"Secrets?" Beatrice repeated in a sceptical tone.

Steven nodded. "Secrets about you. About Eira."

At the mention of herself, Beatrice’s expression darkened. She stepped forward. "Don’t you dare bring me into this."

Steven raised his hands in mock surrender. "Relax, Bea. I’m not here to hurt you. I’m here to offer you a way out. A way to finally be free of Henry’s shadow."

Beatrice shook her head. "I don’t need your help. Whatever plan you have, leave me out of it."

Steven’s eyes softened, though his posture remained confident. "You’re lying to yourself. You’ve been trapped in Henry’s world for so long, you can’t see the cage anymore. But I can help you escape it, Bea. All you have to do is trust me."

Beatrice didn’t respond immediately.

She turned away.

Finally, she looked back at him with her usual icy eyes. "Leave, Steven. Now. And don’t come back unless I call for you."

Steven hesitated, his jaw tightened, but he nodded. "As you wish. But think about what I said. When Henry falls, don’t let yourself fall with him." frёeweɓηovel_coɱ

Beatrice watched as he disappeared into the shadows.

His comeback was serious.

She was happy that for a moment, he didn’t ask her for something else again.

Beatrice didn’t trust Steven, but she couldn’t deny that his words had planted a seed of doubt in her mind.

As she left the garage and returned to the house, Vanesa’s laughter was heard faintly from the living room.

For now, she had to focus on keeping that façade intact.

Whatever Steven was planning, she would deal with it later.

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