Chapter 28

The morning sun cast golden streaks across the penthouse as Evelyn stirred awake. Beside her, Nathaniel slept soundly, his breathing steady. She traced the faint scar on his shoulder—a remnant from the accident that had nearly taken him from her. A shiver ran down her spine at the memory.

Her phone buzzed on the nightstand. A message from Gregory: "Emergency meeting at the office. Summit Realty is making moves."

Evelyn frowned. Summit Realty had been circling their latest project like vultures. Sebastian Wilson wasn’t known for playing fair.

She slipped out of bed, careful not to wake Nathaniel. The marble floor was cool beneath her bare feet as she padded to the walk-in closet. Dressing quickly in a tailored navy suit, she twisted her hair into a sleek bun.

Downstairs, Alfred had already prepared her coffee—black, no sugar. "Good morning, Miss Evelyn. Will Mr. Nathaniel be joining you for breakfast?"

"Not today," she said, grabbing her briefcase. "Tell him I’ll call him later."

The city streets were alive with the usual chaos. Evelyn’s mind raced as her driver navigated through traffic. Summit Realty’s sudden aggression didn’t make sense. Unless they had inside information.

Her office was in turmoil when she arrived. Gabrielle, her assistant, rushed over. "Gregory’s in the conference room. Jonathan Blake just left—he was livid."

Evelyn’s pulse spiked. Jonathan was Sebastian’s right-hand man. Whatever had happened, it was bad.

She pushed open the conference room door. Gregory stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, his expression grim. "They’ve undercut our bid for the waterfront property. By millions."

Evelyn’s stomach dropped. "That’s impossible. Our numbers were airtight."

"Unless someone leaked them." Gregory’s gaze darkened. "I had Charlotte run a check. There were unauthorized accesses to our server last night."

A cold realization settled over her. The only people with that level of access were her, Gregory, and—

"Nathaniel’s team," she whispered.

Gregory nodded. "Samuel Yates pulled the files at midnight."

Evelyn’s hands clenched. Samuel was Nathaniel’s most trusted secretary. But why would Nathaniel sabotage her?

Her phone rang. An unknown number.

She answered.

"Miss Mitchell," a smooth, familiar voice purred. Isabella Davis. "Did you really think you could keep him?"

The line went dead.

Evelyn’s vision blurred. This wasn’t just business.

The way he phrased it was so gallant, yet Evelyn felt heat creeping up her neck, staining her cheeks a soft rose. Despite their newfound honesty, his blunt request for assistance with bathing was mortifyingly direct.

She yanked her hand back sharply, ducking her head as if that could hide her embarrassment. "You should finish washing up," she muttered. "I'll take this bowl downstairs."

But Nathaniel didn’t release her. Instead, his voice dropped lower, rougher. "Evelyn," he murmured, amusement lacing his tone, "are you flustered?"

Of course she wouldn’t admit it. Lifting her chin, she met his gaze head-on, her expression deliberately composed. "Do you actually need my help?"

"We are married," he countered smoothly. "This is hardly unusual."

"Fine." Without another word, Evelyn turned to face him fully and began undoing the buttons of his shirt. Her nails—short, practical—grazed his skin in fleeting, accidental touches, shifting the air between them from neutral to charged.

Nathaniel stood rigid, unmoving, while Evelyn kept her eyes fixed straight ahead, betraying nothing.

Only when she reached the last button did he finally stop her, his hand closing over hers. "I’ll handle the rest," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "You can go."

Evelyn hesitated for a fraction of a second before withdrawing and stepping out.

She knew Nathaniel’s habits well. Knew exactly how to unsettle him.

Outside the bathroom, she pressed her palms to her flushed cheeks, exhaling sharply before heading downstairs.

She handed the bowl to the maid, then slipped into the garden to make a call.

The moment the line connected, a familiar voice greeted her. "Evelyn? Why are you calling so late?"

"I need to ask you something about the baby..."

After explaining briefly, she added, "Could there be complications?"

"If you're worried, come to the hospital this week. I’ll examine you properly. If you’re keeping it, we’ll need to schedule prenatal screenings."

"Alright. I’ll arrange it discreetly. No one else can know yet."

"Don’t worry. I’ll handle it."

"Thank you."

"Since when are you so formal with me? We’ll talk more in person."

"See you then."

Hanging up, Evelyn deleted the call log before returning upstairs.

Nathaniel had just stepped out of the shower when she handed him a glass of water. "Drink this and rest early tonight. No work, okay?"

He studied her, something unreadable flickering in his gaze.

It felt like the days before the divorce discussion—when she’d fuss over him tirelessly, every detail attended to with quiet devotion.

A thought struck him then, sudden and improbable.

His expression darkened, inscrutable as a buried relic.

Late that night, the bedroom’s silence was shattered by a phone ringing.

Nathaniel’s.

He answered immediately. "Yes?"

"Nathaniel, can you come? Someone just knocked on my door. I’m terrified—what if it’s them? What if they know I’m awake now?"

Isabella’s voice pierced the quiet, sharp with panic.

Evelyn’s eyes snapped open.

Nathaniel was already throwing off the covers. "You’re going to the hospital?" she asked flatly.

He glanced at her but didn’t answer, speaking instead to Isabella. "Your nurse is there. Stay with her."

"Nathaniel, I can’t—I feel like they’re watching me. What if they—"

"Isabella?" The call cut out. His jaw tightened. "She’s in trouble. I have to go."

"Do you?" Evelyn’s voice was ice. "You said your heart was bothering you. Shouldn’t you be resting?"

But he was already dressing. "She might be in danger. I can’t ignore that."

"Really?"

"Yes."

His answer was final.

Evelyn stared at him, her gaze hollow. "Fine. Drive safely."

Without another word, she turned away, pulling the covers over herself.

Her indifference sent an inexplicable chill through him. But he didn’t linger, striding out without another glance.

The moment the door shut, Evelyn’s eyes flew open, her heart submerged in freezing water.

Nathaniel had dismissed his own discomfort for Isabella’s fear. What hope did she have?

She had already lost.

His tenderness wasn’t love—it was obligation. She was still his wife, still bound to the Martins.

Nothing more.

Evelyn repeated it like a mantra, her hand drifting to her stomach. I’m sorry, little one. But I promise—I’ll love you enough for both of us.

The next morning, Evelyn found Nathaniel already at the breakfast table.

Had he returned just for this? She didn’t ask, silently taking her seat.

The spread included oatmeal, eggs, pastries—all of which churned her stomach. She forced down the oatmeal, ready to leave when Nathaniel spoke.

"You’re eating too fast. Have an egg."

"I’m fine."

"Evelyn." His voice was low, probing. "Are you upset?"

She paused. "Why would I be?"

"Then sit. Eat properly. I’ll drive you to work."

He was already plating food for her, even peeling an egg before offering it.

When she didn’t take it, he held it out stubbornly.

After ten silent seconds, she relented.

She nearly gagged swallowing it. Before the meal ended, she bolted to the bathroom, retching violently.

Nathaniel frowned when she returned, pale. "You’ve been unwell lately."

"Just tired." She shrugged. "I’ll rest."

He didn’t press further.

They left for work in silence.

By noon, Evelyn finished early and went to the hospital.

Edward still hadn’t woken.

The doctors insisted he was stable, but two days unconscious was terrifying.

Victoria sighed. "Evelyn, let’s be honest—Edward is afraid you two will divorce. If you and Nathaniel reconcile, he’ll wake up."

Evelyn bit her lip, unable to promise anything.

Noticing her hesitation, Victoria changed the subject. "You haven’t eaten, have you? Let’s have lunch."

"Sure."

"Why don’t you call Nathaniel? He should be free now."

Evelyn had no choice but to dial.

"Nathaniel, your mother wants to have lunch. Can you pick us up?"

"Now? I’m busy. Go ahead without me."

His voice was distant.

Evelyn relayed the message. Victoria sighed but nodded.

Then, just before the call ended—

"Nathaniel, let’s get Italian."

Isabella’s voice, bright and close.

Evelyn hung up before he could respond.

Her face went rigid.

Victoria frowned. "What’s wrong?"