Chapter 237

The morning sun cast golden streaks across the bedroom as Evelyn stirred awake. Beside her, Nathaniel slept soundly, his breathing steady. She traced the curve of his jaw with her fingertips, marveling at how peaceful he looked.

Her phone buzzed on the nightstand. A message from Gregory flashed on the screen: "Emergency meeting at the office. Need you here ASAP."

Evelyn sighed. She had hoped for a quiet morning with Nathaniel, but duty called. Slipping out of bed, she dressed quickly in a tailored navy suit, her mind already racing through possible crises at the firm.

Downstairs, Alfred had prepared her usual espresso. "Good morning, Miss Evelyn. Will Mr. Nathaniel be joining you for breakfast?"

"Not today," she replied, taking the cup. "I have to head out early."

The drive to the office was tense. The city streets buzzed with activity, but Evelyn barely noticed. Her thoughts were consumed by Gregory's urgent summons.

When she arrived, the conference room was already packed. Gregory stood at the head of the table, his expression grim. "We have a problem," he announced. "Summit Realty just pulled out of the Riverside project."

A murmur of disbelief rippled through the room. Evelyn's stomach tightened. That project was their biggest contract this year.

"What happened?" she demanded.

Gregory rubbed his temples. "Sebastian Wilson claims we missed a deadline. But I checked—we submitted everything on time."

Evelyn's jaw clenched. Sebastian had been a thorn in their side for months. "This is sabotage," she muttered.

Gabrielle, her assistant, handed her a folder. "I pulled the correspondence. There's no record of any missed deadlines."

Evelyn scanned the documents, her anger simmering. "We need to fight this. Gabrielle, schedule a meeting with Sebastian. Today."

As the team dispersed, Gregory pulled her aside. "Be careful, Evelyn. Sebastian isn't playing fair."

She met his gaze squarely. "Neither am I."

Back in her office, Evelyn dialed Nathaniel. He answered on the second ring, his voice warm. "Miss me already?"

She smiled despite herself. "Always. But I need your help."

When she explained the situation, Nathaniel's tone turned serious. "I'll call Jonathan Blake. He owes me a favor."

Relief washed over her. "Thank you."

"Anything for you," he murmured.

As she hung up, Evelyn felt a renewed determination. Sebastian Wilson had picked the wrong fight.

The day passed in a blur of phone calls and strategy sessions. By evening, Evelyn was exhausted but hopeful. Nathaniel's intervention had opened a backchannel with Summit Realty.

She arrived home to find him waiting in the foyer. Without a word, he pulled her into his arms. "Long day?"

She rested her head against his chest. "The longest."

He kissed her forehead. "Come on. Dinner's ready."

In the dining room, candlelight flickered across the table. Rosalind had outdone herself—Evelyn's favorite dishes were laid out in an elegant spread.

Nathaniel poured her a glass of wine. "To us," he said, clinking his glass against hers.

Evelyn smiled. "To us."

As they ate, the tension of the day melted away. Here, with Nathaniel, she could let her guard down.

Later, as they curled up on the couch, her phone buzzed again. It was Gabrielle: "Sebastian agreed to a meeting tomorrow. 10 AM."

Evelyn showed the message to Nathaniel.

He smirked. "Looks like we have him on the ropes."

She snuggled closer. "We'll see."

Outside, the city lights twinkled like stars. Whatever tomorrow brought, Evelyn knew one thing for certain: she wasn't facing it alone.

Thomas sat rigidly on the sofa, his expression growing increasingly grim as he took in the scene before him.

Nathaniel, in stark contrast, remained utterly unfazed. His grip didn't loosen, his tone measured and cold. "That wasn't my intention. No one wishes harm upon her. But what's done is done—our priority now is damage control. You can hate me all you want, but ask yourself this: do you really want me diverting my attention from finding Charlotte to dealing with you?"

Evelyn said nothing. Her palm stung from the force of her slap, the heat lingering like a brand. She lowered her gaze, her mind a tempest of helpless fury.

Nathaniel pressed on, relentless. "Evelyn, is this really the time to pick a fight with me? What matters now is bringing Charlotte home safely. Once this is over, you can take your anger out on me however you please. But not now."

Evelyn fell silent, though the ice in her glare remained.

She didn’t join them. Instead, she retreated to the window seat, curling into the plush cushions of the chaise lounge. The hour was late, but sleep was the furthest thing from her mind.

Her thoughts spiraled, a desperate plea echoing in her chest. Charlotte, where are you?

When did our story begin?

Perhaps it was the way they had recognized kindred spirits in each other—two souls who had known loneliness too well.

Evelyn had been "banished" to Beatrice’s side by William and Margaret, too cowed to resist. Then Charlotte had walked into her life, bright and unshakable, like sunlight breaking through storm clouds. Their friendship had been unbreakable ever since.

Just as Charlotte had once joked, "Evelyn, we share everything—except men."

How could she not be frantic now?

She wished Charlotte had never come to visit. Then none of this would have happened.

But wishing was useless. All she could do was wait, and the helplessness was eating her alive.

Exhaustion weighed on her, but her mind refused to quiet. For the sake of the baby, she forced herself to stay still, to breathe. She needed rest, but her thoughts were razor-sharp, slicing through any hope of sleep.

The night stretched on, endless.

Dawn was creeping in when she finally slumped against the cushions, her eyes fluttering shut. Nathaniel draped a blanket over her before retreating to the dining room.

Neither he nor Thomas had slept. Thomas’s eyes were bloodshot from the long vigil. Nathaniel studied him before speaking. "It's been hours. You know what that means. So—what’s your move?"

Thomas didn’t answer immediately. His head bowed, his silence heavy.

A breakfast spread lay untouched on the table. He had no appetite.

Finally, he spoke, voice rough. "Nathaniel… do you believe in karma?"

Nathaniel’s brow furrowed. "Are you in love with her?"

"Does it matter?"

"What do you think?"

Thomas exhaled sharply. "This time… I went too far. Whatever happens, I won’t walk away."

The decision had come after hours of torment, the gnawing dread making him intimately acquainted with regret.

Nathaniel’s gaze sharpened. "Do you understand the weight of what you’re saying?"

"Tell me, Nathaniel—do you think this is just another fleeting obsession to me?"

"My opinion doesn’t matter. This is your choice. But ask yourself—do you really think Penelope’s family will stand for it?"

Thomas had no answer.