Chapter 238

The morning sun cast golden rays through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Nathaniel's penthouse, painting the marble floors in warm hues. Evelyn stood by the window, her fingers tracing the delicate rim of her coffee cup, lost in thought. The events of the past few days weighed heavily on her mind—Isabella's sudden reappearance, the tension between her and Nathaniel, and the whispers circulating through Martin Group's corridors.

She exhaled sharply, setting the cup down with a soft clink. The silence in the penthouse was almost suffocating. Normally, Nathaniel would have been up by now, dressed impeccably in one of his tailored suits, ready to tackle the day with that infuriatingly confident smirk of his. But today, the master bedroom door remained firmly shut.

A soft knock at the door pulled her from her thoughts.

"Come in," she called, smoothing the fabric of her silk robe.

The door opened, revealing Alfred, their ever-composed butler. "Good morning, Mrs. Martin. Mr. Yates is here to see you."

Evelyn frowned. Samuel never visited this early unless it was urgent. "Send him in."

Samuel stepped inside, his usual polished demeanor slightly frayed at the edges. His tie was loosened, and there was a faint crease between his brows. "Evelyn," he greeted, his voice tight. "We have a problem."

Her stomach twisted. "What happened?"

"It's about the Summit Realty deal." He hesitated, then pulled out a tablet, swiping to a news article. The headline blared in bold letters: "Martin Group's Secret Dealings Exposed—Scandal Involving Summit Realty and Hidden Funds."

Evelyn's breath hitched. "This can't be right. Nathaniel would never—"

"That's not all," Samuel interrupted grimly. "There are allegations of insider trading, and the board is calling for an emergency meeting. Sebastian Wilson is already preparing a statement to distance Summit Realty from the fallout."

Her fingers curled into fists. "Where's Nathaniel?"

Samuel's gaze flickered toward the closed bedroom door. "He's been on the phone all night. He told me not to disturb you, but—"

Evelyn didn't wait for him to finish. She strode across the room and pushed open the bedroom door.

Nathaniel stood by the window, his back to her, phone pressed to his ear. His usually immaculate hair was disheveled, and his shirt sleeves were rolled up haphazardly. The tension in his shoulders was palpable.

"—I don't care what it takes," he growled into the phone. "Find out who leaked this. Now."

Evelyn crossed her arms. "Nathaniel."

He turned sharply, his stormy gray eyes locking onto hers. For a brief moment, something vulnerable flickered in his gaze before it was replaced by steely resolve. He ended the call.

"We need to talk," she said, her voice steady despite the turmoil inside her.

His jaw tightened. "Not now, Evelyn."

"Now," she insisted. "Before this spirals out of control."

A tense silence stretched between them. Then, with a sharp exhale, Nathaniel relented. "Fine. But we don't have much time."

As they faced each other, Evelyn couldn't shake the feeling that the ground beneath them was shifting—and not in their favor.

The engagement between Thomas and Penelope had been arranged years ago, though it was only in recent years that their families had pushed for the formal commitment.

Though engaged, they maintained separate lives, rarely crossing paths.

But now, if Thomas wanted to break it off, it wouldn’t just be about them—it would ignite a war between two powerful families.

Nathaniel took a slow sip of his coffee, his gaze sharp as he studied Thomas. "I hope you're not making this decision out of guilt—or pity for Charlotte. Neither of you deserves that."

As they spoke, Evelyn stirred awake.

She glanced at the blanket draped over her, her expression unreadable. Pushing it aside, she sat up and asked a passing maid for directions to the bathroom.

Inside, she stared at her reflection—dark circles under her eyes, her skin dull with exhaustion.

After splashing water on her face, she stepped back into the hallway just as hushed whispers reached her ears.

"Did you hear? Ms. Bennett was taken by some creep last night. Do you think something terrible happened?"

"Shh! Keep your voice down. If Mr. Ellsworth hears—"

"I wonder what Ms. Fairchild said to her yesterday. Why else would Ms. Bennett run out into that storm? How is she now?"

Evelyn’s blood ran cold.

Her fingers curled into fists, a dangerous glint flashing in her eyes.

She strode toward the voices, cornering the two maids before they could slip away.

"Who," she demanded, voice low, "is Ms. Fairchild?"

The maids paled, exchanging panicked glances.

One stammered, "Mrs. Martin, please—we can’t—"

"Either you tell me," Evelyn said icily, "or I’ll have Thomas come down here and ask you himself."

The threat worked.

"Ms. Fairchild is Mr. Ellsworth’s fiancée," the bolder maid whispered. "Penelope Fairchild."

Evelyn’s jaw tightened. "Was she here yesterday? Did she speak to Charlotte?"

The maids hesitated, but under Evelyn’s unrelenting stare, one finally admitted, "She came by unexpectedly, said she was picking up some documents. We didn’t think much of it. But when she spoke to Ms. Bennett… there was shouting. We couldn’t hear what was said, but—"

"That’s enough." Evelyn cut her off sharply. "Go."

She knew Charlotte better than anyone. Strong on the outside, fragile beneath—one wrong word could shatter her.

Her boldness was armor, not strength.

And someone had just ripped it away.

Evelyn’s chest burned with fury.

Without another word, she stormed out, snatching Nathaniel’s car keys from the entryway.

By the time the men in the dining room heard the engine roar to life, she was already gone.

Nathaniel shot to his feet, striding outside. "What happened?" he demanded of the maid sweeping the porch.

The girl flinched. "Mrs. Martin—she just left!"