Chapter 180

The morning sun streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Pineview Villa, casting golden patterns across the marble floors. Evelyn stood by the window, her fingers tracing the delicate rim of her coffee cup. The warmth seeped into her skin, but it did little to ease the tension coiling in her chest.

Nathaniel had left early—again.

She exhaled sharply, setting the cup down with a quiet clink. The silence of the villa was suffocating. Even Alfred, ever the discreet presence, seemed to tread more lightly these days.

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

"Evelyn, the client wants revisions by noon. They’re pushing the deadline."

She groaned, rubbing her temples. The Holloway project was supposed to be straightforward, but the investors kept changing their minds. She typed back a quick response before tossing her phone onto the couch.

A knock at the door startled her.

"Come in," she called, smoothing her blouse.

Alfred stepped inside, his expression unreadable. "Miss Evelyn, you have a visitor."

She frowned. "Who is it?"

Before he could answer, the door swung open wider, and Isabella strode in, her designer heels clicking against the hardwood.

Evelyn’s spine stiffened. "Isabella."

The woman smiled, though it didn’t reach her eyes. "Evelyn. It’s been a while."

Too long, Evelyn thought bitterly.

Isabella’s gaze swept the room, taking in the lavish decor before settling back on Evelyn. "I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d drop by. Nathaniel mentioned you’ve been… busy."

The implication was clear.

Evelyn crossed her arms. "He talks about me?"

Isabella’s lips curved. "Oh, darling, we talk about everything."

The words were a knife, twisting just enough to draw blood.

Alfred cleared his throat. "Shall I prepare tea, Miss Evelyn?"

"No," Evelyn said, her voice steady despite the storm inside her. "We won’t be long."

Isabella’s smirk widened. "Such a gracious host."

Evelyn stepped forward, her voice dropping to a whisper. "What do you want?"

Isabella tilted her head, feigning innocence. "Can’t an old friend check in?"

"Cut the act," Evelyn snapped.

For a moment, silence stretched between them. Then Isabella sighed, her facade slipping. "Fine. I need Nathaniel’s help with something. A… personal matter."

Evelyn’s pulse spiked. "And you came to me?"

Isabella’s eyes gleamed. "I thought you’d appreciate the heads-up."

The doorbell rang again, sharp and insistent.

Alfred excused himself, but Evelyn barely registered his departure. Her mind raced.

Isabella leaned in, her perfume cloying. "Tell him I’ll be waiting at the usual place."

Then she turned on her heel and left, leaving Evelyn standing there, fists clenched.

The usual place.

As if they still had one.

Evelyn’s phone buzzed once more. This time, it was Nathaniel.

"We need to talk."

She stared at the message, her stomach twisting.

Something was coming.

And she wasn’t sure she was ready for it.

Nathaniel's secretary, Samuel Yates, maintained his usual composed demeanor despite Isabella's cold reception. "Ms. Davis, I appreciate your concern. However, company matters are confidential, and my current priority is overseeing your mother's surgery arrangements. Mr. Martin has delegated his responsibilities elsewhere, so I must respectfully decline your offer."

Isabella's lips thinned in displeasure, but she held her tongue.

Samuel stepped out of the hospital room just as a nurse approached with test results. After a brief exchange about Wanda's condition—stable for now, but precarious if complications arose—he turned back to deliver the update. Though Isabella's hostility was palpable, professionalism demanded he set personal feelings aside.

His knuckles hovered over the door when Wanda's voice drifted through. "Isabella, we’re so grateful. Without you, I don’t know what we would’ve done."

"Enough. Focus on recovering." Isabella’s reply was clipped.

Wanda pressed on, undeterred. "But I need to say this—you may not be our blood, but you’ve been a blessing as our daughter."

"Drop it." Isabella’s tone turned icy, silencing Wanda instantly.

Samuel’s hand stilled. A flicker of disdain crossed his features before he pocketed the test results and strode away without entering.

Back at Martin Group headquarters, he headed straight for Nathaniel’s office. After routine updates, he relayed the hospital revelation. "Sir, Ms. Davis isn’t her parents’ biological child. She seemed... resistant to the topic."

Nathaniel’s gaze sharpened. "You’re certain?"

"Positive. Wanda confirmed it herself."

The CEO’s expression darkened. With a dismissive wave, he signaled Samuel to leave, then lit a cigarette. Smoke curled around him, obscuring the storm in his cobalt eyes.

He wouldn’t confront Isabella—not yet. But that didn’t mean inaction.

By evening, Samuel had discreetly launched an investigation: When had Isabella entered the Davis family? Who were her real parents?

If she’s a public figure, tracing her roots should be simple, Nathaniel mused. So why hasn’t she? The question coiled in his mind, thickening the shadows in his stare.

Meanwhile, Evelyn hadn’t spoken to Nathaniel since their strained car encounter days prior. He’d texted; she’d deleted it unread.

Charlotte arched a brow at her friend’s uncharacteristic irritation. "What did Nathaniel do to you in that car?"