Chapter 16

The morning sun streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Evelyn’s office, casting a golden glow over the blueprints spread across her desk. She traced a finger along the sketched lines of the new luxury resort, her mind racing with ideas. The project was ambitious—one that could redefine her career.

A sharp knock interrupted her thoughts.

"Evelyn?" Gregory Wilson, her business partner, leaned against the doorframe, his usual confident demeanor slightly strained. "We have a problem."

She frowned. "What is it?"

"The investors are getting cold feet. Summit Realty is pushing for revisions, and they’re threatening to pull funding if we don’t comply."

Evelyn’s grip tightened on her pen. "Sebastian Wilson is behind this, isn’t he?"

Gregory nodded grimly. "He’s been circling this project for months. If we lose Summit’s backing, we’re done."

Evelyn exhaled sharply. She had fought too hard to let this slip away. "Set up a meeting. I’ll handle Sebastian myself."

Nathaniel Martin stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows of his penthouse, staring at the city skyline. His phone buzzed—another message from Isabella.

We need to talk. It’s urgent.

He ignored it, just as he had the last three.

The past had a way of clawing its way back when he least expected it. Isabella’s sudden reappearance was a complication he didn’t need, not when his marriage to Evelyn was already hanging by a thread.

His secretary, Samuel Yates, cleared his throat from the doorway. "Sir, your grandfather is on line one."

Nathaniel clenched his jaw. Edward Martin never called unless it was important—or an ambush.

He picked up the phone. "Grandfather."

"Benjamin," Edward’s voice was sharp. "The board is questioning your leadership. The Summit deal is falling apart, and your personal distractions aren’t helping."

Nathaniel’s grip on the phone tightened. "I have it under control."

"Do you?" Edward’s tone was icy. "Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re losing everything."

The line went dead.

Nathaniel set the phone down slowly. He had built an empire, but one misstep could bring it all crashing down.

And right now, he was dangerously close to the edge.

Evelyn stepped into the dimly lit bar, scanning the room until her eyes landed on Sebastian Wilson. He sat in a secluded booth, a glass of whiskey in hand, looking every bit the predator she knew him to be.

She straightened her shoulders and walked over.

"Sebastian."

He glanced up, a slow smirk spreading across his face. "Evelyn Mitchell. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

She slid into the seat opposite him. "Cut the games. What do you want?"

His fingers tapped against his glass. "Straight to the point. I like that." He leaned forward. "I want you off the project."

Evelyn’s pulse spiked. "Not happening."

Sebastian’s smirk widened. "Then say goodbye to your funding."

She held his gaze, refusing to back down. "There’s always another way."

"Is there?" He tilted his head. "Because from where I’m sitting, you’re out of options."

Evelyn’s phone buzzed—a message from Nathaniel.

We need to talk.

Her stomach twisted.

One crisis at a time.

She stood, meeting Sebastian’s calculating stare. "This isn’t over."

His laughter followed her out the door.

Nathaniel paced his office, his mind a storm of frustration and regret. The door opened, and Evelyn walked in, her expression unreadable.

"You wanted to talk," she said flatly.

He stopped, facing her. "We can’t keep doing this."

Her eyes flashed. "Doing what, Nathaniel? Pretending we’re fine? Because we’re not."

The truth hung between them, heavy and suffocating.

He took a step closer. "Then let’s fix it."

Evelyn shook her head. "Some things can’t be fixed."

The words cut deeper than he expected.

Before he could respond, his phone rang—Isabella again.

Evelyn’s gaze dropped to the screen, and something in her expression shattered.

"I see how it is," she whispered.

Then she turned and walked out.

Nathaniel stared after her, the weight of his mistakes pressing down on him.

He had spent years building walls.

Now, they were crumbling—and taking everything with them.

Thomas spoke the truth. He added, "Even if Sir Edward favors Evelyn, she's still an outsider. Perhaps he'll encourage her to marry Gregory instead."

A strange sense of reality settled over Thomas.

Nathaniel's expression darkened instantly, the air around him turning icy. He didn’t want to continue the conversation. Instead, he grabbed the wine glass in front of him and downed it in one swift motion.

Evelyn tossed and turned in bed, unable to sleep. It felt like tiny ants were gnawing at her heart—not painful, but unbearable.

She resolved to visit Martin Manor first thing in the morning to speak with Edward and put an end to this miserable marriage as soon as possible.

Just as she closed her eyes, forcing herself to rest, her phone rang. Nathaniel’s name flashed on the screen.

Why is he calling now?

She hesitated before answering. "Hello?"

"Evelyn? It's Thomas. Nathaniel’s drunk at Fihige Club. Come get him."

"Fihige Club?" Evelyn frowned in surprise.

Wasn’t he supposed to be with Isabella at the hospital? She said he was in the shower—didn’t that mean he was staying the night?

Her lips pressed into a thin line. She had no desire to fetch Nathaniel from the club. The thought of what might have happened between him and Isabella at the hospital made her stomach churn.

"Thomas, can’t you drive him back? I’m not coming," she said flatly.

"He’s your husband. We’re all too drunk to drive. If you don’t come, I’ll just leave him here. Plenty of women would jump at the chance to take care of him—who knows what might happen?" Without waiting for a response, Thomas hung up.

Evelyn clenched her fists, torn. Reluctantly, she grabbed her keys and headed out.

She knew exactly which private room they were in. Pushing the door open, she found the space eerily quiet, with only Nathaniel sprawled across the sofa.

The scent of alcohol clung to him as she approached.

"Nathaniel… Nathaniel… Are you awake?" she whispered.

No response.

Her lips thinned in irritation. Weren’t you supposed to be comforting Isabella? Did she kick you out because you’re still technically married to me?

Nathaniel had always been so indulgent with Isabella.

She tried to lift him, but he was too heavy. Worried about the baby, she called for a waiter to help carry him to the car.

The night breeze drifted through the open window as she drove back to Pineview Villa. When she opened the back door, she was met with Nathaniel’s sharp, sobering gaze.

"You’re awake?" she asked, startled.

"Did you not want to come get me?" His voice was low, rough.

Evelyn exhaled. "No."

"Then why the long face?"

"That’s just how I look," she replied coolly.

"You’re lying, Evelyn. You were never like this before. When I was drunk, you’d rush to bring me home and make honey water." His tone carried a hint of accusation.

She stared at him, incredulous. He remembers that, but not the mess we’re in now?

"Nathaniel, we’re getting divorced. I won’t be doing those things anymore."

"Stop saying that," he snapped, his expression darkening. "Aren’t you tired of repeating it?"

Evelyn let out a humorless laugh. The truth annoyed him—or maybe it was the reminder that he wasn’t free yet.