Chapter 133

The morning sun filtered through the sheer curtains, casting a golden glow across the bedroom. Evelyn stirred, her fingers brushing against the empty space beside her. Nathaniel had already left for work—again.

She sighed, sitting up and running a hand through her tousled hair. The silence of the villa was deafening. Even Alfred, their ever-attentive butler, moved about quietly, as if afraid to disturb the fragile peace.

Her phone buzzed on the nightstand. A message from Gregory.

"Evelyn, we need to finalize the blueprints for the Summit project by noon. Edward’s team is pushing for revisions."

She groaned. Another day of endless meetings and last-minute changes.

As she dressed, her mind wandered to Nathaniel. Lately, he’d been distant—buried in work, coming home late, barely speaking. Was it stress? Or was it… her?

Isabella Davis.

The name alone sent a chill down her spine. The woman who had once held Nathaniel’s heart. The woman who had suddenly reappeared in their lives.

Evelyn clenched her fists. No. She wouldn’t let doubt consume her.

Downstairs, the scent of freshly brewed coffee greeted her. Alfred stood by the dining table, arranging breakfast with his usual precision.

"Good morning, Mrs. Martin," he said softly.

"Morning, Alfred." She forced a smile.

"Mr. Martin left early. He mentioned an urgent meeting with Mr. Sinclair."

Her stomach twisted. Donovan Sinclair—Edward’s shady associate. What business did Nathaniel have with him?

Before she could dwell on it, her phone rang again. This time, it was Charlotte.

"Evie, you need to see this."

A link followed. Evelyn tapped it, and her blood ran cold.

A gossip column. A photo of Nathaniel and Isabella, standing too close outside a high-end restaurant. The headline screamed:

"Reunion of the Decade? Martin Heir Spotted with Ex-Lover!"

Her hands trembled.

This wasn’t just stress. This was something else entirely.

And she was going to find out what.

"I'm simply exchanging a few plates," Nathaniel remarked with deliberate nonchalance.

Evelyn's brows knitted together. "Nathaniel, don't you think this is going too far? If you don’t want to eat them, stick to the soup. But can’t you at least acknowledge someone else’s effort?"

"I never invited him to cook for me. He showed up unannounced. Allowing him inside was already my concession to you. Did you really expect me to let you eat his food?"

"But I already did."

"Then consider it done."

Nathaniel’s tone was final. He shot Samuel a sharp glance, silently commanding him to act swiftly.

Samuel hesitated, stealing a nervous look at Evelyn before hastily replacing the dishes and retreating.

The room plunged into silence—tense and suffocating, but only for Evelyn. Nathaniel remained composed, his expression unreadable as he studied her. "Eat before it gets cold."

Evelyn narrowed her eyes, her voice icy. "I’ve lost my appetite. Enjoy your meal alone."

With that, she turned on her heel and marched back to the bedroom, slamming the door shut and locking it behind her.

Never had she witnessed Nathaniel act so irrationally—let alone resort to such petty theatrics as swapping dishes.

Forget the absurdity of sending Samuel, a top-tier executive, on a food delivery errand. The mere idea was juvenile.

Evelyn was seething. Those dishes had taken over an hour to prepare, only to be discarded without a second thought.

It felt like a blatant disregard for her.

Then, her hand instinctively drifted to her abdomen. She forced herself to take slow, deep breaths, reigning in her temper.

Baby, did you see that? That’s your father—acting like a spoiled child.

She stayed in the bedroom, refusing to emerge.

Nathaniel, still recovering from his fever, barely touched his food. He sipped some soup and picked at the vegetables before pushing his plate away.

His gaze flicked to the closed bedroom door. His handsome face betrayed nothing, but a cold glint flickered in his eyes.

Did she really enjoy Gregory’s cooking that much?

He settled in the living room, working on his laptop.

After checking the time, he rose and approached the bedroom door, rapping his knuckles lightly against the wood. "Evelyn, open the door."

Silence.

He tried again, this time with an edge. "Evelyn, if you don’t open this door, I’ll break it down."

Still, no response.

His jaw tightened. "Evelyn, I haven’t taken my medication. Open the door so I can get it."

Another knock. Then, abruptly, the door swung open.

Evelyn stepped out, her expression blank. She avoided his gaze, moving past him toward the living room.

Nathaniel’s patience snapped. He seized her wrist, his grip firm as he glared down at her. "Are you throwing a tantrum because I wouldn’t let you eat Gregory’s food?"

Evelyn met his gaze, her voice eerily calm. "I never said that. But if that’s what you’ve decided, then fine. Your thoughts are your own—I can’t control them."

A humorless chuckle escaped him.

His dark eyes held no warmth, only biting mockery. "So now you’re implying you’re upset because of him? What’s next? Divorce me and run off with him?"

Evelyn stared at him, incredulous. "Nathaniel, do you even hear yourself? We’ve been married for a year. I’ve never been unfaithful. But since you don’t love me, why does it matter who I’m friends with? Why bother pretending to care?"

Nathaniel’s expression remained stoic, but a storm brewed in his gaze. "So you refuse to distance yourself from him? You won’t set boundaries?"