Chapter 211

The morning sun streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Evelyn's office, casting golden patterns across her drafting table. She tapped her pencil absently against the blueprint, her mind elsewhere. Nathaniel had been distant lately, and she couldn't shake the feeling that something was off.

Her phone buzzed—a message from Gregory. "Meeting in 15. Client wants revisions on the waterfront project."

Evelyn sighed. She hadn’t slept well, and the last thing she needed was another round of endless revisions. Still, she straightened her blouse and gathered her files.

Downstairs, the conference room was already half-full. Gregory shot her a knowing look as she slipped into her seat. "Late again, Mitchell?"

"Traffic," she lied smoothly.

The client, a sharp-eyed man named Sebastian Wilson, wasted no time. "The design lacks vision," he declared, flipping through the pages. "We need something bold—something that screams luxury."

Evelyn clenched her jaw. They’d been over this three times already. "With all due respect, Mr. Wilson, the current design balances aesthetics and functionality. Overcomplicating it risks—"

"Risk is what sells," he interrupted.

Across the table, Gabrielle, her assistant, gave her a subtle let it go look.

Evelyn exhaled. "Fine. We’ll revisit the concept."

After the meeting, Gregory pulled her aside. "You okay? You’ve been off your game."

"Just tired," she muttered.

He studied her for a moment. "This isn’t about work, is it? It’s Nathaniel."

Evelyn stiffened. "What about him?"

Gregory hesitated. "Look, I don’t want to stir anything up, but... Isabella’s back in town."

The name hit her like a punch. Isabella Davis—Nathaniel’s first love. The woman who’d left him years ago without a word.

Evelyn forced a smile. "So?"

Gregory shrugged. "Just thought you should know."

She waited until he was gone before letting her composure crack. Her phone buzzed again—Nathaniel.

"Dinner tonight? I’ll pick you up at 8."

Evelyn stared at the message, her fingers hovering over the screen. Was this just a coincidence? Or was something else going on?

She typed back, "Can’t wait."

But the knot in her stomach told her this dinner wouldn’t be as simple as it seemed.

Nathaniel didn’t spare her another glance. Without a word, he turned and strode upstairs, his broad shoulders rigid with tension.

Evelyn exhaled sharply. He was unwilling, and she had no leverage to change his mind.

But she didn’t leave. Instead, she retreated to the guest room on the first floor, sinking into the plush armchair by the window. Traveling alone at this hour wouldn’t have bothered her, but with the baby, she refused to take unnecessary risks.

She tried calling Charlotte again. Still no answer. If Thomas had intercepted her at the airport, he was serious. Only Nathaniel could sway him now.

Upstairs, Nathaniel knew she hadn’t left. From the balcony of his bedroom, he could see her car parked below, unmoving. He waited, arms crossed, for nearly half an hour before finally turning away, his jaw clenched.

The night passed in uneasy silence.

At dawn, Evelyn was already in the kitchen, the scent of freshly brewed coffee and sizzling bacon filling the air. Alfred, the butler, brightened at the sight of her. "Miss Evelyn, you should have rested longer."

"I’ve slept enough," she replied with a soft smile. "Alfred, what time does Nathaniel usually wake these days?"

"Varies. But he rarely eats breakfast here anymore. Comes home late, too." The older man hesitated before adding, "Perhaps because the house felt… empty without you."

Evelyn’s fingers stilled around the spatula, but she said nothing.

By 7:30 AM, the dining table was set. Nathaniel descended the stairs, his crisp white shirt immaculate, his expression unreadable. The sight of Evelyn in her usual seat—the one that had remained vacant for weeks—sent an unwelcome pang through him.

He ignored it.

Evelyn rose immediately, ladling soup into his bowl before resuming her seat. She was still searching for the right words when Nathaniel’s icy voice sliced through the silence.

"Evelyn, don’t bother pretending. I won’t be manipulated into helping Charlotte just because you’re playing the dutiful wife."

Her spoon clinked against the porcelain. "Then what would make you help me?"

His lips curled, though his eyes remained glacial. "Anything I want?"

She swallowed. "So if I… if we don’t divorce, you’ll intervene?"

Nathaniel laughed—a sharp, humorless sound.

It wasn’t that she’d guessed his thoughts. No, he was amused by her audacity.

His smile didn’t reach his eyes as he leaned forward, voice dangerously soft. "Evelyn, do you really think I’m so desperate to keep you that I’d bargain with you over this?"

Her throat tightened. "I didn’t mean—"

"You did." He cut her off, his tone frigid. "You assumed I’d cling to this marriage, even if it meant being manipulated. For Charlotte." He scoffed. "You never fail to surprise me."

Evelyn met his gaze, her own steady despite the ache in her chest. "I apologize for misreading you. I only wanted to show how serious this is. Charlotte’s safety—"

"Save it." Nathaniel pushed back from the table, his chair scraping against the floor. "Your priorities are your own problem."

He left without another word.