Chapter 9 The True Face of the White Moonlight and the Final Showdown

Ethan Caldwell’s so-called “pursuit” was like a belated and clumsy performance—forced and laughable.

He started coming home on time, even bringing back expensive but soulless gifts—jewelry, limited edition handbags—placing them on the coffee table as though checking off a task. He tried to have dinner with me, searched for topics at the table, but his gaze always carried that lingering scrutiny and probing.

He wavered between suspicion and a twisted urge to “win me back.” The more he failed to find any connection between me and Stellar Dawn Group, the more restless he became, and the harder it was for him to let go of his “interest” in me.

I observed coldly, playing along with his act—sometimes showing just the right touch of aloofness and grievance, sometimes offering a tiny hint of softening, like bait dangling on a hook, wearing down his patience.

But I knew, someone else would break sooner than I did.

Olivia Hart.

Ethan suddenly shifting his attention toward me made her feel an unprecedented sense of crisis. She began visiting the Caldwell residence more frequently, her supposedly innocent eyes darting between me and Ethan, trying to spot cracks, constantly reminding him of their “bond.”

Her gaze toward me shifted too—from veiled disdain to open jealousy and hostility.

It was time. The play was reaching its end.

I chose the perfect occasion—a small Caldwell family dinner. Ethan was there, his mother Vivian was there, and several close relatives attended as well. Naturally, Olivia Hart was also invited, once again seated beside Ethan as though she were half the hostess.

Midway through the dinner, the atmosphere seemed harmonious. Olivia, in her soft voice, placed food on Ethan’s plate, her tone intimate:

“Ethan, you’ve lost weight lately, you should eat more of this—your favorite.”

I set down my chopsticks, dabbed my lips with a napkin, and looked at her calmly.

“Miss Hart certainly knows Ethan’s tastes inside out. You even remember that he’s allergic to seafood, and that he can’t eat this baked lobster dish.”

The dining table fell silent.

All eyes turned to me, shocked. It was the first time I had spoken so much during a family gathering—and directly against Olivia.

Her expression faltered briefly but quickly smoothed into a smile. “Sophia, you must be mistaken. Why would I give Ethan something he’s allergic to? This is just ordinary cheese-baked shrimp balls…”

“Is that so?” I arched a brow, my voice still calm but carrying undeniable weight. “Strange, because I distinctly recall a similar dish here before. You ‘accidentally’ dropped a shrimp ball covered in cheese sauce onto Ethan’s sleeve, which immediately caused a rash on his arm. Have you forgotten, Miss Hart?”

Ethan’s brows furrowed. He clearly remembered that incident but had dismissed it as an accident at the time.

Olivia’s face grew pale, her fingers curling slightly. “That time was an accident! Sophia, why must you cling to such trivial things? Are you upset just because I often accompany Ethan and Madam Caldwell?” Her eyes turned moist, summoning her usual act of pitiful innocence.

Vivian Caldwell immediately stepped in: “Sophia, enough. We’re eating. Olivia means well.”

I smiled faintly—cold and cutting. “Trivial? Nearly triggering anaphylaxis is trivial? Or is it that Miss Hart believes that as long as she claims it was an ‘accident,’ she can always get away with it?”

I turned to Ethan, my eyes clear and unwavering. “For example—one year ago, when Caldwell Group lost the bid for that plot of land in East City, the leaked bottom price email traced back to the IP address of Miss Hart’s hotel room at the time?”

The words hit like a bomb.

“What?!” Ethan shot up from his seat, his face paling instantly. That East City land loss had been a thorn in his heart, shrouded in mystery. He had launched thorough internal investigations, yet nothing turned up.

Olivia’s face drained of all color, eyes wide with horror. “Lies! You’re slandering me! Ethan, don’t believe her! Where’s the proof? Do you have any proof?!”

“Proof?” I lifted my phone with measured calm. “Of course. IP tracking records, transaction logs showing payments to your offshore anonymous accounts. And let’s not forget the recording of you bribing a servant to plant incriminating items in my room to accuse me of theft. Miss Hart, shall I play it for everyone now?”

I tapped the screen.

“Your show is over. Time to step down.”

A recording filled the air: Olivia’s voice, low and venomous, speaking to a servant—“Put this bracelet in her vanity drawer… then say she stole it… let’s see if she still has the face to stay in the Caldwell family…”

The words were short, but the malice in her tone, so starkly different from her usual gentle façade, froze the entire table in stunned silence.

Vivian Caldwell’s chopsticks clattered to the table. The other relatives exchanged shocked glances.

Olivia collapsed, her elegance shattered, replaced by fear and rage. “Fake! This is fake! Sophia, you venomous witch! You set me up! Ethan, don’t believe her! She’s deceiving you!”

Ethan stood rigid, face ashen, his body trembling with suppressed fury. He looked between the hysterical Olivia and my calm indifference, then at the damning recording. Facts spoke louder than words—the voice was undeniably Olivia’s.

All his trust, affection, and defense of her shattered into anger, betrayal, and humiliation.

I met his gaze, cold as ice, and returned his past words to him, one deliberate syllable at a time:

“Ethan, look. The one you’ve been protecting all along… is a snake.”

The blow landed hard. Ethan staggered back, his face drained of blood, his eyes filled with devastation and regret.

Olivia lunged at him desperately, but he flung her away with sheer disgust. His gaze toward her brimmed only with revulsion. “Get out!”

Olivia screamed, fell to the floor, hair disheveled, makeup smeared—her dignity in ruins.

I no longer bothered with the farce. Sliding my phone away, I rose calmly.

But my revenge was never just about Olivia Hart.

I swept my gaze across the room—at Vivian Caldwell, pale and trembling; at the stunned Caldwell relatives; and finally, at Ethan, hollowed by betrayal.

“This Caldwell family drama is… truly entertaining.” My voice was quiet, even, before I turned and walked out, leaving chaos and silence behind me.

Behind me, Olivia’s cries of despair and Ethan’s roar of rage echoed through the dining hall.

For once, dinner had become… interesting.