Chapter 272

Genevieve Sinclair scoffed. "She's no orphan!"

Dominic Reeves blinked in confusion.

Slowly, she continued, "Have you heard of the Hawthorne family in Elmsworth?"

"The Hawthornes?" Dominic frowned. "You mean one of the most powerful families in the country? Rumor has it they practice ancient martial arts and keep to themselves. That Hawthorne family?"

Naturally, he knew of them. The nation had four legendary families—the Worthingtons, Prescotts, Kensingtons, and Hawthornes.

The Hawthornes of Elmsworth were political royalty, producing generations of influential leaders. Their discipline was ironclad, their influence unshakable.

The Prescotts of Garnet Springs and the Kensingtons of Veridian City dominated commerce, each ruling their respective industries. The Worthingtons controlled real estate, while the Kensingtons reigned over entertainment.

Though their domains differed, whispers claimed they maintained close alliances.

Yet the most enigmatic of them all were the Hawthornes. Some said every member was a trained fighter, though they appeared as refined scholars in public. No one could confirm the rumors, but no one in Elmsworth dared cross them.

So why was Genevieve bringing them up now?

Dominic hesitated. "Are you saying Evelyn has ties to the Hawthornes?"

Genevieve's silence spoke volumes.

"Impossible!" Dominic snapped.

"Damn it, you clearly don’t know Evelyn at all. She’s just a gifted perfumer—gentle, delicate. How could she be connected to them? Her last name is Carter, for God’s sake!"

He refused to believe it. He’d known Evelyn since university. If she had ties to the Hawthornes, he would’ve noticed.

This has to be a mistake.

Genevieve only laughed. "Surnames mean nothing. I’m a Sinclair, you’re a Reeves—yet here we are."

"That’s different. You’re my—" He froze mid-sentence.

"Wait… are you saying—?"

Exactly. Different names didn’t mean no relation.

A cold realization settled over him. Does Evelyn know martial arts? That night in the alley, she moved like a shadow—even held a knife to my throat. The memory sent a chill down his spine.

Could Evelyn really be a Hawthorne?