Chapter 334

Evelyn Roland snapped back to reality, her fingertips trembling slightly. She looked up at the man who had appeared unexpectedly and shook her head gently. "It's nothing. What brings you here?"

Outside the pavilion, Sebastian Valdemar's figure stood tall against the twilight.

"I came as soon as I saw the trending news," he said in a low voice, his gaze lingering on her pale face. "Did the suspect confess?"

"Yes." Evelyn rubbed her stiff neck. "His name is Daniel Murphy. An orphan. He does bear some resemblance to your uncle."

Sebastian's eyes darkened, his fingers unconsciously tapping the stone table. "I tested Uncle Vincent. Found nothing unusual."

"Let's leave it at that." She rose, her skirt swaying in the breeze. "I'll have someone monitor the International Wine Tasting Championship."

"I'll send discreet assistance." Sebastian took half a step forward but stopped abruptly. The dark circles under her eyes made him swallow his next words. "Get some rest."

Evelyn nodded. As she turned, a strand of her hair brushed against his sleeve. Sebastian remained rooted in place until her slender silhouette vanished down the corridor.

He exhaled deeply, the tension in his shoulders finally easing. These days of deliberate distance had been for the investigation—and the fear of confronting the possibility. If his uncle had truly been involved in the poisoned wine case, how could he face her?

Thankfully, the truth wasn't the worst-case scenario.

Meanwhile, the Valrose family dining room blazed with light.

"Oliver, eat more." Wendy Valrose piled food onto her son's plate, her plump arms making the table wobble.

Oscar Valrose set down his chopsticks with a frown. "I heard you've been getting close to Isabella Langley?"

Oliver Valrose's chopsticks stilled. The braised pork in his bowl suddenly lost its flavor.

"Dad, let's talk after dinner," he muttered, shoveling rice into his mouth. Yet another face surfaced in his mind—Evelyn on the awards podium, the pale curve of her neck glowing under the spotlight.

"How far have things progressed?" Wendy pressed eagerly.

Oliver's Adam's apple bobbed as he forced down tasteless bites. His mother's voice sounded muffled, as if through frosted glass. His thoughts had already drifted to the grapevines of Château Blanc—and the woman who never spared him a second glance.