Chapter 259

The morning sun cast golden rays through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Evelyn's office, illuminating the blueprints spread across her desk. Her fingers traced the intricate lines of the latest project—a luxury resort in the Maldives. The design was ambitious, but she thrived on challenges.

A soft knock interrupted her thoughts. Gabrielle, her assistant, peeked in. "Mr. Wilson is here to see you."

Evelyn nodded. "Send him in."

Gregory entered with his usual confident stride, though his expression was unusually tense. "We have a problem," he said without preamble.

She arched a brow. "What kind of problem?"

"The Maldives project. Summit Realty just pulled their funding."

Her stomach dropped. "What? Why?"

Gregory sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Sebastian Wilson claims the design doesn’t align with their vision. He wants a complete overhaul."

Evelyn clenched her jaw. "That’s impossible. We’ve already finalized everything with the contractors."

"I know. But he’s adamant."

She exhaled sharply, frustration bubbling beneath her skin. "Fine. Set up a meeting. I’ll handle this myself."

Gregory hesitated. "There’s more. He mentioned bringing in another architect if we can’t comply."

Her eyes narrowed. "Who?"

"Maxwell. From his in-house team."

Evelyn scoffed. "Of course." She pushed back from her desk, standing abruptly. "Tell Jonathan Blake I want to see the revised contract. And get me everything you can find on Maxwell’s previous work."

Gregory nodded, already pulling out his phone. "I’ll get right on it."

As he left, Evelyn turned to the window, her mind racing. This wasn’t just about the project—it was a power play. And she wasn’t about to back down.

Her phone buzzed. A message from Nathaniel:

"Dinner tonight? I have something to discuss."

She frowned. His tone was unusually formal. Another problem to deal with.

Typing quickly, she replied:

"Can’t. Work crisis. Rain check?"

His response was immediate.

"It’s important."

Evelyn hesitated. Whatever it was, it could wait. Right now, she had a battle to win.

"I’ll call you later," she sent before tossing her phone onto the couch.

Outside, the city hummed with life, oblivious to the storm brewing in her world. But Evelyn Mitchell never ran from a fight.

And this one was just beginning.

"What gives you the right to speak to me like that?" Isabella's voice dripped with contempt as she jabbed a finger toward Samuel. "You're just Nathaniel's employee. If I tell you to call him, you do it. Don't test me—I can have you fired with a single word. You—"

Her tirade was cut short when the door swung open.

The moment she saw who stood there, her face drained of color. Her accusing hand dropped instantly, and her expression shifted from fury to fragile vulnerability.

"Nathaniel..."

Samuel turned at the sound of the door, his surprise fleeting before he schooled his features into neutrality. "Mr. Martin."

Nathaniel's icy gaze locked onto Isabella. "Your mother is fighting for her life in the ER, and you're threatening suicide to get my attention? Tell me, Isabella—if I hadn’t come, would you have actually jumped? Or did you even stop to think about your mother in all this?"

Isabella’s lips trembled.

She pressed them together, her voice barely above a whisper. "Nathaniel... I wasn’t thinking clearly. I was just so scared. I needed you here. With you beside me, I can face anything."

His expression remained unreadable. "Now that I’m here, what exactly do you expect me to do?"

Isabella studied him, sensing the storm beneath his calm exterior. Had she pushed too far by demanding his presence at this hour?

She hesitated, unsure how to respond.

Nathaniel turned to Samuel. "Any updates on the heart donor search?"

"Still no matches," Samuel replied. "We’ve expanded the search parameters, but nothing yet."

"Keep looking," Nathaniel ordered.

Samuel nodded. "Understood."

Half an hour later, Isabella’s mother was wheeled back into the room.

She was stable—for now. But her condition remained critical, requiring constant monitoring.

The clock read well past two in the morning.

Nathaniel walked to the far end of the corridor, and Isabella trailed after him like a shadow.

"Nathaniel," she began softly, "thank you for coming. And for everything you’ve done for my mother."

He didn’t respond, his silence heavy.

Isabella bit her lip, summoning her courage. "Nathaniel… are you really not going to divorce Evelyn?"

His eyes darkened. "Is this really the time?"

His tone was sharp, his expression unyielding.

She swallowed hard. "I just want the truth. Tell me honestly—are you refusing to end things with her?"

Nathaniel’s face betrayed nothing. No flicker of emotion, no hint of hesitation.

His indifference gnawed at her.

Desperation clawed its way into her voice. "You won’t even give me that much? I’m not asking for anything else—just an answer. If you don’t want the divorce, fine. I’ll walk away. You can fulfill your promises to me in other ways."

Nathaniel finally looked at her, his gaze piercing. "Are you sure that’s what you want?"