Chapter 127

The moment Nathaniel stepped into the penthouse, Evelyn knew something was wrong. His usually composed demeanor was replaced by a tense silence, his jaw clenched tight. She set down her sketchbook, watching as he loosened his tie with an impatient tug.

"You're home early," she remarked carefully.

He didn’t answer immediately, his gaze fixed on the cityscape beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, controlled. "We need to talk."

Evelyn’s fingers curled into the fabric of the couch. That phrase never preceded anything good.

Nathaniel turned to face her, his expression unreadable. "Isabella is back."

The name hit her like a physical blow. Isabella Davis—his first love, the woman who had once held his heart before Evelyn ever entered the picture.

Evelyn forced herself to breathe. "Where did you see her?"

"At the charity gala tonight." He ran a hand through his hair, frustration evident. "She approached me. Said she wanted to 'clear the air.'"

Evelyn’s mind raced. Isabella had vanished years ago without a word, leaving Nathaniel to pick up the pieces. Now, she was back—just as Evelyn and Nathaniel had finally found their footing.

"What does she want?" Evelyn asked, though she wasn’t sure she wanted the answer.

Nathaniel exhaled sharply. "She claims she’s here to apologize. But I don’t trust it."

Evelyn studied him—the tightness in his shoulders, the way his fingers flexed at his sides. He was holding something back.

"There’s more, isn’t there?"

His silence was confirmation enough.

"She’s staying in the city," he admitted. "And she’s working with Summit Realty."

Evelyn’s stomach dropped. Summit Realty—Sebastian Wilson’s company, the same man who had been undermining her architectural projects for months.

"This isn’t a coincidence," she murmured.

Nathaniel’s eyes darkened. "No. It’s not."

A knock at the door interrupted them. Alfred, their butler, stepped in with a discreet cough. "Mr. Martin, your grandfather is on the line. He insists it’s urgent."

Nathaniel’s jaw tightened further. "Tell him I’ll call him back."

Alfred hesitated. "He said it’s regarding the board meeting tomorrow."

Evelyn could see the war in Nathaniel’s eyes—duty versus the storm brewing between them. She gave him a small nod. "Go. We’ll talk later."

He pressed a kiss to her forehead, his touch lingering just a second too long, as if reassuring himself she was still there. Then he was gone, leaving Evelyn alone with her thoughts—and the unsettling certainty that Isabella’s return was only the beginning.

Downstairs, the elevator doors slid shut behind Nathaniel. Evelyn turned back to the window, the city lights blurring as unshed tears stung her eyes.

Somewhere out there, Isabella was waiting. And Evelyn had a feeling she wasn’t here to apologize.

Nathaniel studied the pills in his palm, his dark eyes narrowing slightly. With deliberate movements, he opened the bedside drawer, wrapped them in a tissue, and tucked them away deep inside.

He was drinking water when Evelyn walked in. "Dr. Harrison said you need to eat to strengthen your immunity," she reminded him, placing a tray of food beside him.

Nathaniel gave a curt nod and finished the meal without protest.

Evelyn had hoped his condition would improve, but by midnight, his fever returned with a vengeance. His skin burned like embers, radiating heat. She pressed medicine into his hand, but he caught her wrist instead, his grip firm.

"Cool me down," he demanded, voice rough.

Evelyn frowned. "Take the medicine first. A fever won’t break just from wiping you down."

"Are you refusing?" His gaze darkened.

She didn’t answer.

Nathaniel’s lips curled into a bitter smile. "Annoyed with me? I heard Grandfather offered to introduce you to Theodore. Are you considering it?"

Evelyn froze.

Her thoughts scattered. Why is he bringing this up now?

Edward’s suggestion had been nothing more than a passing remark—one she’d dismissed immediately. Even if he were serious, he wouldn’t act without her consent.

"Nathaniel," she said evenly, "is this really the time?"

"If you won’t talk, then cool me down."

Evelyn exhaled sharply, fighting back irritation.

Nathaniel’s voice dropped, low and deliberate. "I spent half the night in a cold bath because of this fever. The least you could do is help."

She clenched her jaw. "Take your medicine. It’s late. I’m going to sleep."

She turned away, but Nathaniel flipped her onto her back, pinning her beneath him. His eyes burned into hers. "You’ve grown colder toward me lately. What do you want, Evelyn?"

Her pulse quickened, but her expression remained guarded. She avoided his gaze. "You should be asking yourself that question. What do you want, Nathaniel?"

His grip on her chin tightened. "Is it so hard to care for me? Where’s the woman who used to fuss over me? Was that all an act?"

Evelyn met his eyes, unflinching. "I assumed you’d prefer Isabella’s touch over mine."

Nathaniel’s temper flared. "You always bring her up. Why? Do you enjoy twisting everything back to her?"

His anger was palpable, but Evelyn remained eerily calm.

"It’s not twisting facts," she said quietly. "You wanted a divorce to marry her. Yet here we are. Why?"

Their breaths mingled, faces inches apart.

Before he could respond, she whispered, "Tell me, Nathaniel—are you in love with me? Is that why you won’t let go?"

Silence swallowed the room.

His steady breathing was the only sign time hadn’t frozen.

Evelyn’s heart ached. She already knew the answer.

He’ll never love me.

He didn’t want her linking him to Isabella—not because he cared for her feelings, but to protect Isabella’s reputation.

How deeply he loves her.

Even now, he shielded her perfectly.