Chapter 257

The morning sun streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Pineview Villa, casting golden patterns across the marble floors. Evelyn stood by the window, her fingers tracing the rim of her coffee cup absentmindedly. The events of last night still weighed heavily on her mind—Nathaniel's unexpected confession, Isabella's sudden reappearance, and that cryptic message from Vanessa.

Her phone buzzed on the countertop. A text from Gregory: "Meeting moved to 11. Client wants revisions on the waterfront project." She sighed. Work never stopped, even when her personal life was unraveling.

Downstairs, Alfred was setting the breakfast table with his usual precision. "Good morning, Mrs. Martin," he greeted, his voice smooth as aged whiskey. "Mr. Martin has already left for the office. He asked me to inform you that he'll be home late tonight."

Evelyn nodded, though a flicker of irritation passed through her. Late again. Ever since Isabella had slithered back into their lives, Nathaniel had become increasingly distant. She stabbed a piece of melon with her fork a little too forcefully.

The doorbell rang. Alfred moved to answer it, returning moments later with a sleek black envelope. "For you, madam."

Evelyn frowned. The envelope bore no return address, only her name embossed in silver. Inside was a single ivory card with elegant script: "A reminder of promises made. Sunset Lounge. 8 PM. Come alone."

Her blood ran cold. The handwriting was unmistakable—Isabella's.

Gabrielle chose that moment to burst in, her tablet clutched tightly. "Evelyn! The permits for the Heritage Site were denied again. The board claims the design 'lacks historical sensitivity.'" She air-quoted the last words with a roll of her eyes.

Evelyn forced herself to focus. "Reschedule my afternoon. We're going down there personally." She glanced back at the card, then crumpled it in her fist. Whatever game Isabella was playing, she wouldn't let it interfere with her career. Not again.

As Gabrielle hurried off, Evelyn's phone lit up with a call from an unknown number. She answered warily.

"Did you get my invitation?" Isabella's voice was honey laced with arsenic.

Evelyn's grip tightened. "What do you want?"

A soft laugh. "Just a chat between old friends. Or have you forgotten how we used to share... everything?" The line went dead.

Outside, storm clouds gathered over the city skyline. Evelyn exhaled slowly. The calm before the storm had ended.

Evelyn hesitated for a long moment before finally crossing the room and settling onto the edge of the bed.

The space between her and Nathaniel was minimal, the warmth of the room making their proximity feel almost intimate. She kept her gaze averted, lips pressed together in stubborn silence.

"Evelyn," Nathaniel murmured, his voice low. "Are you afraid of me?"

"No."

"Then why won’t you look at me?"

Her eyes flicked up instinctively, meeting his. His gaze was deep, unreadable—like staring into a storm she couldn’t predict.

"What do you want to say?" she asked, voice steady despite the way her pulse jumped.

Nathaniel exhaled, glancing down before launching into a detailed explanation of prenatal care—things she needed to be mindful of during her pregnancy. Then, without warning, he proposed, "Starting tonight, I’ll read to the baby for thirty minutes every evening. It’s beneficial for development."

Evelyn blinked.

"Shouldn’t storytelling start in the third trimester?"

"The baby can perceive sound now. It’s better to begin early."

His tone left no room for argument. She sighed, relenting.

Nathaniel had no natural talent for storytelling. His rendition of The Wolf and the Rabbit was stiff, almost clinical—like he was reading a legal contract rather than a children’s tale. Evelyn, the unwilling audience, barely lasted five minutes before interrupting.

"Nathaniel, you have zero emotion when you read. I doubt the baby enjoys this."

He fell silent, visibly thrown.

"How should I do it, then?"

She snatched the book from him, flipped to a random page, and began narrating with exaggerated voices and animated expressions. When she finished, she realized Nathaniel was staring at her with an intensity that made her skin prickle.

Flustered, she shoved the book back at him. "I need to use the bathroom."

She barely made it off the bed before his hand closed around her wrist, stopping her.

"Why are you running?" he asked, voice dangerously soft.

"Let go. Why do you always do this?"

Instead of releasing her, he pulled her into his arms.

Evelyn shoved against his chest. "You promised you wouldn’t touch me unless I wanted it."

Nathaniel stilled.

For a heartbeat, he didn’t move—didn’t let go. His expression darkened, but after a tense pause, his grip loosened.

Just then, his phone buzzed on the nightstand.

Evelyn caught the caller ID before he did.

Isabella.

Her lips thinned.

Nathaniel answered, tone clipped. "What is it?"

The next second, Isabella’s frantic sobbing filled the room. "Nathaniel, please—my mother’s in the ER! She’s critical. I can’t do this alone. Please, come to the hospital. I need you!"

Evelyn’s fingers curled into fists.

Nathaniel’s jaw tightened. "I’m not a doctor. If she’s being treated, wait for the professionals to do their job."

"But I’m terrified! Nathaniel, I need you here!"

"I can’t help by standing in a waiting room."

"Then I’ll jump off the hospital roof!" Isabella shrieked.

Nathaniel’s voice turned to ice. "Are you threatening me?"

Evelyn didn’t wait to hear the rest. She strode into the bathroom and turned the faucet on full blast, drowning out the conversation.

The water ran.

So did her patience.