Chapter 256

The morning sun filtered through the sheer curtains of our penthouse, casting golden patterns across the marble floors. I stretched beneath the silk sheets, my fingers brushing against Nathaniel's bare chest. His steady breathing told me he was still asleep, his dark lashes casting shadows on his chiseled cheekbones.

My phone buzzed insistently on the nightstand. I reached for it, careful not to disturb Nathaniel. The screen displayed an urgent message from Gregory: "Emergency meeting at the firm. 9 AM sharp. Bring your designs for the waterfront project."

I sighed, running a hand through my tangled hair. The Martin Group's latest development was our most ambitious yet - a luxury residential complex along the Hudson River. Nathaniel had personally requested my firm's involvement, though neither of us had anticipated the complications Isabella Davis would bring to the project.

Sliding out of bed, I padded barefoot to the walk-in closet. My reflection in the full-length mirror showed faint shadows under my eyes - the toll of late-night revisions to accommodate Isabella's constant "suggestions." The woman had somehow secured a consulting role on the project, and her presence was like a persistent splinter under my skin.

The shower's steaming water did little to ease the tension in my shoulders. As I dressed in a tailored navy pantsuit, my mind raced through the presentation points. The revised blueprints were good - possibly our best work yet - but I knew Isabella would find some way to criticize them.

Alfred, our butler, had coffee waiting when I entered the kitchen. "Good morning, Mrs. Martin. Mr. Martin left instructions to wake him at eight."

"Thank you, Alfred." I accepted the porcelain cup, savoring the rich aroma. "Please tell him I had to leave early for a meeting."

The city streets were already bustling when my driver pulled up to Mitchell & Wilson Architects. The sleek glass tower reflected the morning light, a stark contrast to the anxiety coiling in my stomach. The elevator ride to the 42nd floor felt interminable.

Gregory met me at the conference room door, his usually cheerful face drawn tight. "They moved up the client presentation. Isabella's already inside with the Martin Group team."

I squared my shoulders. "Then let's not keep them waiting."

The room fell silent as we entered. Isabella sat at the head of the table, her perfect blonde waves cascading over one shoulder. She wore a cream-colored dress that probably cost more than my monthly salary, her crimson lips curved in a knowing smile.

"Evelyn, darling," she purred. "So glad you could join us. We were just discussing how... conventional your initial designs were."

My grip tightened on my portfolio case. Across the table, Samuel Yates - Nathaniel's ever-efficient secretary - gave me an almost imperceptible nod of encouragement.

I set my materials on the table with deliberate calm. "How fortunate that we've made significant revisions then." Opening the portfolio, I revealed the new renderings. "As you'll see, we've incorporated the historical elements you requested while maintaining the modern aesthetic the Martin Group is known for."

Isabella's manicured finger tapped against her chin as she examined the drawings. "Interesting," she murmured, though her tone suggested otherwise. "But don't you think the west facade lacks... drama?"

Before I could respond, the conference room door swung open. Nathaniel stood in the doorway, his charcoal suit impeccably tailored, his expression unreadable. "Am I interrupting?"

The air in the room shifted palpably. Isabella's posture straightened, her smile turning saccharine. "Nathaniel! We didn't expect you until this afternoon."

His gaze swept the room before settling on me. "My schedule changed." He moved to stand beside my chair, his hand briefly brushing my shoulder. "Please, continue with your presentation, Evelyn."

As I began explaining the design concepts, I caught the way Isabella's fingers clenched around her pen. Nathaniel's presence beside me was both comforting and unnerving - a reminder that no matter how professional we tried to be, our personal and professional lives were irrevocably intertwined.

When I finished, the room erupted in applause - everyone except Isabella, who was studying Nathaniel with an intensity that made my skin prickle. Samuel leaned forward. "These are exceptional, Mrs. Martin. Exactly what we've been looking for."

Nathaniel nodded his agreement, but before he could speak, Isabella interjected, "They're adequate, certainly. But I wonder if we shouldn't consider other firms for comparison? Competition always brings out the best in people, don't you think?"

The challenge hung in the air between us. Nathaniel's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. I met Isabella's gaze evenly. "If the Martin Group feels another firm could better meet your needs, we'd certainly understand."

A slow smile spread across Nathaniel's face as he addressed the room. "That won't be necessary. Mitchell & Wilson's vision aligns perfectly with ours." His hand found mine beneath the table, his fingers intertwining with mine. "In fact, I'd like to discuss expanding their role on the project."

Isabella's perfect facade cracked just enough for me to see the fury beneath. As the meeting adjourned, she leaned close, her whisper like venom in my ear. "This isn't over, Evelyn. He was mine first."

I turned to face her fully, my voice low but firm. "And yet he chose me. Repeatedly."

Nathaniel's arm slid around my waist as we exited, his touch both a shield and a promise. But as we stepped into the elevator, my phone buzzed with an unknown number. The message contained just three words that turned my blood to ice:

"Ask him about Paris."

"Did he say anything to you?" Evelyn asked, her fingers nervously twisting the edge of her sweater.

Charlotte shook her head. "No, but he didn’t have to. His actions made everything clear. Evelyn, you’re in his sights now. There’s no escaping it."

Evelyn rolled her eyes, though her stomach tightened. "You can leave now."

Charlotte pouted dramatically. "Not even going to ask me to stay?"

"If I did, would you?"

"Nope."

"Then why bother?"

Their banter was familiar—a cycle of teasing and reconciliation that never lasted long.

Later, Evelyn walked Charlotte downstairs, where a car was already waiting. Because of her pregnancy, Charlotte refused to let her come to the airport.

"Gabrielle will take you," Evelyn insisted. "I won’t relax otherwise."

At the car door, they exchanged quick hugs. "Text me when you land," Evelyn said.

"Of course. And take care of yourself—and my future godchild." Charlotte winked before slipping into the car.

Evelyn watched the car disappear down the street, then noticed the sleek black Mercedes parked across the road. Through the tinted window, Nathaniel sat motionless, his gaze fixed on her.

She looked away and headed back inside.

Still unsettled by Nathaniel’s recent behavior, she turned to him later and said, "Can you talk to Thomas? Tell him to stop with the childish stunts."

Nathaniel didn’t even glance up from his book. "He won’t. He and Charlotte already settled things."

"You trust him that much?" Evelyn muttered before retreating to Beatrice’s apartment.

Lately, being around Nathaniel felt like standing on opposite sides of an invisible wall. Even when they were in the same room, the distance between them stretched endlessly.

Curled up on Beatrice’s couch, Evelyn stared blankly at the wall. Beatrice eyed her for a long moment before finally asking, "Are you here to keep me company, or just to brood?"

Evelyn sighed. "Both, I guess."

"That’s a terrible excuse."

"Grandma!"

Beatrice stood, smoothing her skirt. "It’s late. You should go back."

"Are you kicking me out?"

"If that’s how you want to see it."

Evelyn hesitated, then whispered, "Do you like Nathaniel?"

Beatrice arched a brow. "What’s your point?"

"If you don’t, why do you always defend him?"

Instead of answering, Beatrice asked, "Should I call Nathaniel to come get you?"

Evelyn’s frown deepened, but Beatrice didn’t relent. With no other choice, Evelyn dragged herself back to her own apartment.

Nathaniel was already there, freshly showered and reading on the couch. The moment she stepped in, he set the book aside. "Go shower. Then I’ll go over some pregnancy notes with you."

Evelyn crossed her arms. "Since when are you an expert?"

He held up the book—Essential Guide to Pregnancy. "I’ve been studying. Pretty sure I know more than you do right now."

Something warm and unnameable fluttered in her chest, but she bit back the words and headed to the bathroom without another glance.

Twenty minutes later, she emerged to find Nathaniel waiting on the bed. His usual sharp demeanor had softened into something quieter, more intimate. The sight of him like this—relaxed, almost vulnerable—made her pause in the doorway.

He looked up. "Why are you just standing there?"

"Aren’t you going to lecture me?" she challenged, though her voice lacked its usual edge.

Dressed in soft white pajamas, her damp hair curling at her shoulders, she looked younger somehow. The pregnancy had softened her features, smoothing the sharpness that usually guarded her expressions.

Nathaniel’s gaze darkened as it traced her face. Finally, he patted the space beside him. "Sit down first."