Chapter 263

The morning sun filtered through the sheer curtains, casting a golden glow across the bedroom. Evelyn stretched lazily, her fingers brushing against the cool silk sheets beside her—empty. Nathaniel had already left for work.

She sighed, rolling onto her back. The events of last night replayed in her mind—the heated argument, the slammed door, the silence that followed. It wasn’t the first time they’d fought about her. Isabella’s name hung between them like a storm cloud, dark and unavoidable.

Evelyn sat up, rubbing her temples. She needed coffee.

Downstairs, Alfred was setting the breakfast table with his usual precision. "Good morning, Mrs. Martin," he greeted, his voice smooth as ever. "Would you like your usual espresso?"

"Please," she murmured, sinking into a chair. The dining room felt too large, too quiet without Nathaniel’s presence.

Her phone buzzed. A message from Gregory: "Meeting at 10. The client wants revisions."

Evelyn groaned. The last thing she needed today was another demanding client. But work was her escape, her anchor. She typed a quick reply: "On my way."

As she sipped her espresso, her gaze drifted to the framed photo on the mantel—her and Nathaniel on their wedding day, smiling, oblivious to the storms ahead.

A knock at the door startled her. Alfred answered, and a moment later, Isabella stood in the doorway, her designer sunglasses perched atop her head, a smirk playing on her lips.

"Long time no see, Evelyn," she purred. "Mind if I come in?"

Evelyn’s grip tightened around her cup. The storm cloud had just rolled in.

The office was chaos. Gabrielle rushed to Evelyn’s side the moment she stepped in. "The client’s here already," she whispered urgently. "And he’s pissed."

Evelyn squared her shoulders. "Let’s handle this."

Gregory was in the conference room, his expression strained as Jonathan Blake from Summit Realty paced angrily. "This design is not what we agreed on!" he snapped.

Evelyn forced a calm smile. "Mr. Blake, let’s go over your concerns one by one."

Two hours later, the tension had barely eased. Jonathan finally left with a terse promise to review their revised proposal. Gregory collapsed into a chair. "That man is impossible."

Evelyn massaged her temples. "We’ll make it work."

Her phone buzzed again. A text from Nathaniel: "We need to talk. Tonight."

Her stomach twisted. She knew what that meant.

The penthouse was dimly lit when Evelyn returned. Nathaniel stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, his silhouette tense against the city lights.

"You saw Isabella today," he said without turning around.

Evelyn dropped her bag onto the sofa. "She came to the house."

Nathaniel finally faced her, his jaw set. "She’s going through a hard time."

Evelyn crossed her arms. "And that’s our problem because...?"

"Evelyn." His voice was low, warning.

She exhaled sharply. "What do you want me to say, Nathaniel? That I’m okay with your ex waltzing back into our lives whenever she pleases?"

"It’s not like that."

"Then what is it like?"

The silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating.

Nathaniel ran a hand through his hair. "I just need you to trust me."

Evelyn’s laugh was bitter. "Trust is a two-way street."

His phone rang. He glanced at the screen—Isabella—and hesitated.

Evelyn’s heart sank. "Answer it," she said quietly. "I’m going to bed."

She turned away before she could see him pick up the call.

Upstairs, she locked the bedroom door behind her. The tears came then, hot and relentless.

She had fought so hard for this marriage. But some battles, it seemed, were impossible to win.

Sebastian sneered, his lips curling into a cruel smirk. "Who do you think you are, Evelyn? Don't fool yourself into thinking I'm clueless. He doesn't love you—not even a little. His heart belongs to Isabella. You were just handpicked by Sir Edward. But with these photos, you’ll learn to obey me. Or else… you’ll regret it."

His eyes gleamed with malice as he raised his phone, snapping pictures of Evelyn despite her frantic struggles.

Evelyn’s blood ran cold. This wasn’t a bluff—he meant every word.

She fought desperately, but the two men holding her were too strong. Panic clawed at her throat as she gasped, "Sebastian, I’ll call Nathaniel! I swear I’ll convince him!"

Sebastian scoffed. "Oh? Suddenly you have a way? I don’t buy it. You’re just stalling."

Her plea fell on deaf ears, and terror coiled tighter in her chest.

Then—her phone rang.

All eyes snapped to the device on the table. Sebastian snatched it up, glancing at the screen. "Ah, Mr. Martin. Too bad he can’t know you’re here… yet." With a cruel smirk, he powered it off.

Evelyn’s blouse slipped from one shoulder as she thrashed. "You’ll pay for this, Sebastian!" she spat, her voice shaking with fury.

The men tightened their grip, unmoved. She glared at them, desperation sharpening her words. "Listen to me! I’m Nathaniel’s wife. Even if he doesn’t love me, the Martins won’t let this slide. And Paul? He adores me. The Mitchells will make sure you regret this!"

"Shut up!"

Sebastian yanked her hair so hard her vision blurred. Pain exploded across her scalp, white-hot and dizzying. "Keep talking. I dare you," he growled.

The agony unlocked something primal in her. With a surge of strength, she wrenched free and shoved him backward. He crashed into the table behind him, cursing.

Before she could react, he lunged. A brutal slap cracked across her face, sending her reeling. Then his hands closed around her throat, squeezing—

Darkness crept at the edges of her vision. Her lungs burned. Instinctively, her hands flew to her stomach, shielding the life growing inside. The baby…

Then—a scream.

The pressure vanished.

Gasping, Evelyn collapsed to the floor, coughing violently. Tears blurred her vision, but the scent of sandalwood and spice wrapped around her. A deep, familiar voice murmured, "Evelyn."

She clutched his shirt, trembling. "Nathaniel?"

"It’s me. You're safe now."

He lifted her gently onto the sofa, draping his coat over her. His touch was feather-light as he cupped her face. "Are you hurt? Do you need a doctor?"

She shook her head weakly. Her cheek throbbed, her scalp stung—but she was alive.

Nathaniel’s expression darkened as he traced the red marks on her skin. Then, with terrifying calm, he unbuttoned his cuffs.

"Wait here. Two minutes."

Before Sebastian could react, Nathaniel’s foot slammed into his ribs. He hit the floor with a grunt, but Nathaniel didn’t stop. Kick after kick landed with brutal precision.

Finally, Nathaniel hauled him up by the collar, his voice lethally quiet. "You dare lay a hand on my wife?"

Sebastian’s face paled.

Nathaniel’s fist connected with his jaw. "You’re dead."