Chapter 17

The morning sun streamed through the curtains, casting a golden glow across the bedroom. Evelyn stirred, blinking against the light as she turned to find Nathaniel already awake, his piercing blue eyes fixed on her.

"You're staring," she murmured, a soft smile playing on her lips.

"Can't help it," he admitted, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. "You're beautiful."

A warmth spread through her chest, but before she could respond, his phone buzzed on the nightstand. Nathaniel frowned as he picked it up, his expression darkening.

"What is it?" Evelyn asked, sitting up.

"Work," he muttered, though the tension in his jaw suggested it was more than that.

She knew better than to press him—Nathaniel had always been guarded about Martin Group affairs—but the unease in his demeanor unsettled her.

Downstairs, Alfred had already prepared breakfast. The scent of freshly brewed coffee and buttery croissants filled the air, but Nathaniel barely touched his plate.

"You should eat," Evelyn said gently.

"I'm not hungry." His tone was clipped, distant.

Before she could say more, his phone rang again. This time, he answered, his voice low and controlled. "What do you mean, the deal's falling through?"

Evelyn sipped her coffee, watching as he paced the length of the dining room, his frustration palpable. When he finally hung up, his knuckles were white around the phone.

"Everything okay?" she ventured.

"No." He exhaled sharply. "Summit Realty is backing out of the waterfront project."

Her stomach dropped. That project was crucial—not just for Martin Group, but for her own firm’s collaboration with them.

"Is there anything I can do?"

Nathaniel shook his head. "I need to handle this myself."

She reached for his hand, squeezing it. "You don’t have to do everything alone."

For a brief moment, his gaze softened. Then, just as quickly, his walls went back up. "I’ll be late tonight. Don’t wait up."

And with that, he was gone, leaving Evelyn sitting at the table, her breakfast untouched.

The silence stretched, heavy with unspoken tension.

Then, her phone buzzed—a message from Gregory.

"We need to talk. Meet me at the office ASAP."

Evelyn frowned. Gregory never sent urgent messages unless something was wrong.

Grabbing her bag, she headed out, her mind racing.

Whatever was happening, it was bigger than she realized.

And she had a sinking feeling it was about to get much worse.

The silence between them was thick enough to cut with a knife. Nathaniel stepped out of the car, his polished shoes clicking against the marble steps as he strode into the villa. Without a word, he disappeared into the master bedroom.

The air in the room was heavy, suffocating. The windows were shut tight, trapping the scent of whiskey and tobacco around them. Evelyn wrinkled her nose, the pungent mix making her stomach churn. "Do you want to shower?" she asked quietly, her fingers twisting the hem of her sweater.

His dark eyes flickered toward her, cold and unreadable. "What, you think I already did?"

"Didn’t you?"

Nathaniel’s jaw tightened. "If you have something to say, say it. I told you—I won’t cross any lines before the divorce is final."

Evelyn scoffed. "How would I know? I’m not your shadow."

A slow, dangerous smirk curled his lips. "You could be, starting tomorrow."

"No." She turned away, feigning indifference. "You didn’t shower at the hospital?"

His brows furrowed. "It’s a hospital, Evelyn. Not a spa."

She studied him, suspicion gnawing at her. Did Isabella lie to me? Swallowing hard, she murmured, "I called you earlier. Isabella answered. She said you were in the shower."

"Did she?" His voice was flat.

Evelyn’s lips pressed into a thin line. He’s defending her already. "I’m not lying."

"I didn’t say you were."

Exhaustion weighed on her. "Forget it. It’s late. Just shower and go to bed." She moved past him, but his hand shot out, fingers wrapping around her wrist like a vice.

In one swift motion, he yanked her against his chest. The heat of his body seared through her clothes, his heartbeat a steady drum beneath her palm. She knew this body too well—the hard planes of muscle, the way his skin burned under her touch.

Her cheeks flamed. "Let go."

Nathaniel tilted her chin up, his breath warm against her lips. "You’re still my wife, Evelyn. Don’t you know what that means?"

Her pulse stuttered. "We’re getting divorced."

"Not yet." He leaned in, his mouth hovering just above hers.

She jerked back. "I don’t want this."

His grip tightened, his eyes turning glacial. "As long as you wear my ring, you’ll act like my wife."

Evelyn laughed bitterly. "What’s the difference? Or are you worried Isabella will find out and think you’re cheating?"

His expression darkened. "This has nothing to do with her."

"Doesn’t it? She’s the one you love, isn’t she?"

"Stop using her as an excuse," he snapped.

Evelyn’s chest ached. He can’t even stand me mentioning her. How deep does his love run? She swallowed the lump in her throat. "Fine. I won’t bring her up again."

Her submission didn’t soothe him. If anything, it made the tension worse.

By the time Nathaniel emerged from the shower, Evelyn was curled on her side, pretending to sleep. He stood over her, watching the steady rise and fall of her shoulders. Who is this woman? The Evelyn he married had been soft, pliant. This version was all sharp edges and defiance.

Was it the divorce? Was she finally showing her true colors?

Nathaniel clenched his fists. He didn’t understand her at all.