Chapter 112

The moment Evelyn stepped into the grand hall of the Martin estate, her breath caught in her throat. The chandeliers cast a golden glow over the marble floors, and the scent of fresh roses filled the air. But it wasn’t the opulence that unsettled her—it was the way Nathaniel’s gaze lingered on Isabella across the room.

She tightened her grip on her champagne flute, forcing a smile as Gregory leaned in. "You okay?" he murmured.

"Perfect," Evelyn lied, her eyes flickering back to Nathaniel. He stood tall in his tailored suit, his expression unreadable as Isabella whispered something in his ear. The sight sent a sharp pang through her chest.

Across the room, Victoria Martin watched the exchange with narrowed eyes. She had always favored Isabella, the poised socialite who knew how to navigate their world. Evelyn, with her architectural sketches and stubborn independence, was an outsider.

"Darling," Victoria called, beckoning Nathaniel over. "Come greet the Whitmores. They’ve been asking about you."

Nathaniel hesitated, his gaze briefly meeting Evelyn’s before he turned away. The dismissal stung.

Evelyn exhaled sharply, her fingers trembling. She had fought so hard to prove herself—to be more than just the woman who married into the Martin fortune. But tonight, surrounded by glittering smiles and whispered judgments, she felt like an imposter in her own life.

Then, a familiar voice cut through the noise. "Evelyn!"

Caroline Sullivan wove through the crowd, her emerald gown shimmering under the lights. "There you are," she said, linking arms with Evelyn. "I’ve been looking everywhere for you."

Evelyn forced another smile. "Just admiring the decor."

Caroline snorted. "Right. Because you’d rather stare at wallpaper than your ridiculously handsome husband."

Evelyn’s laugh was hollow. If only it were that simple.

Nearby, Isabella’s laughter rang out, bright and practiced. Nathaniel’s lips curved in response, and Evelyn’s stomach twisted.

She had known about their history, of course. But seeing them together—so effortless, so right—was a brutal reminder of the ghosts she couldn’t compete with.

"Come on," Caroline said, tugging her toward the terrace. "Fresh air. Now."

Evelyn didn’t resist. As she stepped into the cool night, the weight on her chest eased slightly. The city lights stretched endlessly below, a stark contrast to the gilded cage she now called home.

She had married Nathaniel for love. But in a world where alliances mattered more than emotions, would it ever be enough?

Inside, the music swelled. The party continued without her.

And for the first time, Evelyn wondered if she had made a terrible mistake.

"Evelyn, are you going to keep pretending I don't exist until I walk out that door, or are you still processing Nathaniel's little surprise announcement about your marriage?"

Isaac's voice was sharp, laced with irritation.

Evelyn didn’t look up from the box she was taping shut. "I wasn’t ignoring you. I’ve just been busy. Moving takes time. Are you leaving soon?"

"Moving?" His brows shot up. "Where to?"

"I got my own place."

No point hiding it.

Isaac stiffened. "Why? Did you and Nathaniel have a fight?"

"It’s not a fight. Just… space."

"Evelyn, don’t lie to me. If you needed space, you could’ve taken it without moving out. This isn’t just about space, is it?"

His words cut through her flimsy excuse.

She exhaled, steadying herself. "I want a divorce."

"Because of Isabella?"

"Not just her. It’s better this way—for both of us."

"Marriage isn’t some game, Evelyn. Don’t make decisions when you’re upset."

But she wasn’t upset. That was the problem.

Her decision wasn’t impulsive. It was calculated, the inevitable conclusion after months of weighing the cracks in their marriage. Isabella was just the final push.

Some foundations couldn’t be fixed.

Nathaniel didn’t realize Evelyn was gone until he returned to Pineview Villa that night.

Alfred met him at the door. "Madam left this morning with a suitcase. She mentioned needing time apart. Did something happen?"

Nathaniel’s expression didn’t flicker. "Noted."

He headed upstairs.

The bedroom still smelled like her—vanilla and something floral. Her clothes hung in the closet, though the gaps where her favorite dresses had been were obvious. The vanity was bare, her creams and perfumes gone.

She hadn’t asked. Hadn’t waited.

Last night, she’d said she needed distance. Today, she’d taken it.

Fast.

His jaw tightened as he stood in the center of the room, the silence pressing in. After a long moment, he turned and walked to his study.

Fine. If she wants space, she can have it.

Neither of them reached out.

News traveled fast.

By morning, Edward Martin knew. His reaction? None.

Victoria, however, wasn’t so composed. "Edward, we can’t just do nothing! She moved out! If they stay apart like this, how will they ever reconcile?"

Edward didn’t look up from his newspaper. "Let them figure it out. Interfering will only make it worse."

Victoria’s hands trembled. "But—"

"Enough." His tone brooked no argument. "This isn’t a child’s tantrum. It’s their marriage. They’ll handle it—or they won’t."