Chapter 228

The moment Nathaniel stepped into the grand hall of the Martin estate, the air shifted. His presence commanded attention, his sharp gaze scanning the room before landing on Evelyn. She stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, the golden afternoon light casting a soft glow around her.

"Evelyn," he called, his voice low but firm.

She turned, her dark eyes meeting his. "Nathaniel."

There was a tension between them, unspoken but palpable. The last few days had been a whirlwind of emotions—arguments, misunderstandings, and fleeting moments of reconciliation.

"I need to talk to you," he said, stepping closer.

She crossed her arms. "About what?"

"About us." His jaw tightened. "About the fact that you’ve been avoiding me."

Evelyn exhaled sharply. "I haven’t been avoiding you. I’ve been busy."

"Too busy to answer my calls?" His tone was edged with frustration.

She looked away, her fingers tracing the rim of her wine glass. "Maybe I just needed space."

Nathaniel closed the distance between them, his hand gently gripping her wrist. "We don’t have the luxury of space right now. Not with everything happening."

She knew what he meant. The media frenzy surrounding Isabella’s sudden return, the whispers about their marriage, the pressure from his family—it was all closing in on them.

Evelyn pulled her hand away. "Then what do you suggest we do?"

His expression darkened. "We face it together. Like we promised."

She wanted to believe him. But doubt lingered in her heart. "And what if that’s not enough?"

Nathaniel’s gaze never wavered. "Then we fight harder."

A silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken words.

Then, from the doorway, a voice interrupted. "Nathaniel, your father is looking for you."

They both turned to see Samuel Yates standing there, his expression carefully neutral.

Nathaniel gave a curt nod. "Tell him I’ll be there shortly."

As Samuel retreated, Evelyn took a step back. "You should go."

Nathaniel hesitated, then reached into his pocket and pulled out a small velvet box. He opened it, revealing a delicate silver bracelet—one she had admired weeks ago but never mentioned.

"I bought this for you," he said quietly. "Before everything happened."

Evelyn’s breath caught.

He took her hand again, this time sliding the bracelet onto her wrist. "No matter what happens, remember this—you’re my choice."

Her heart pounded.

Before she could respond, he turned and walked away, leaving her standing there, the weight of his words settling deep in her chest.

Outside, the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the estate.

And Evelyn knew—the storm was far from over.

"You may leave now," Nathaniel stated icily, his gaze flickering over her before settling back into his usual detached expression. His tone brooked no argument.

The woman nervously twisted the fabric of her blouse between her fingers. "But you promised to help rebrand my image..."

"Go see Samuel. He'll handle it." Nathaniel didn't spare her another glance, reclining into the plush leather of his chair.

The internet celebrity—accustomed to adoration—left without another word. Her agent had summoned her here at dawn, whispering of opportunities in the entertainment industry. She hadn't dared ask for more.

Outside the Martin Group's towering glass doors, Evelyn sat frozen in her car, knuckles white around the steering wheel. The memory of Nathaniel's intimate exchange with that woman burned behind her eyelids.

A bitter laugh escaped her. So. Aside from Isabella, his affection is a currency spent freely—just never on me.

Back at her firm, Gabrielle intercepted her the moment she stepped through the doors. "Ms. Mitchell, Mr. Wilson called twice. He insisted you contact him immediately."

Evelyn nodded, pulling out her phone. Three attempts. Three failures.

Frowning, she snatched Gabrielle's handset.

Two rings.

"Evelyn?" Gregory's voice was frayed at the edges.

"It's me." She pressed fingers to her temple. "Why can't I reach you? Did you block my number?"

A weary sigh. "Danielle did. The doctors... they're calling it mild depression now."

"Stay with her," Evelyn said quickly. "If anything urgent comes up, Gabrielle will patch you through."

"You're not angry? She purged every female contact from my phone. I can't undo it yet—not until she stabilizes. I'll return in forty-eight hours. She has to learn to cope without me."

"Angry?" Evelyn exhaled. Danielle's inexplicable hostility toward her had always been a mystery, but mental health wasn't something to judge.

She updated Gregory about the revived project. His response was immediate: "Has Summit Realty reached out?"

"Not a word. I didn't get to ask Samuel earlier."

"Knowing Sebastian?" Gregory's tone darkened. "They won't relinquish their cut without a fight."

Evelyn shrugged. "Let them try. They were glorified middlemen. We did the actual work."

Still, Gregory's warning lingered: "Watch your back. If they cause trouble, wait for me."

The morning bled into afternoon with no progress. No news from Charlotte. Thomas's continued denials left her no leverage.

Pregnancy fatigue clung to her bones today. A few emails felt like hauling bricks. Mood swings came like summer storms—sudden and violent.

When her phone buzzed at noon, she nearly ignored it.

Until she saw the caller ID: Samuel Yates.