Chapter 347

"Isabella, are you threatening me?"

"Yes, I am."

Isabella narrowed her eyes. Her delicate features should have radiated warmth, but now they carried a sharp edge, unsettling to behold.

The voice on the other end remained calm, almost soothing. "I've told you before—our business has nothing to do with Evelyn. Dragging innocent people into this won’t secure your place in Nathaniel’s heart. It’ll only push him further away."

"Enough. I don’t need your lectures. Just tell me when Evelyn and Nathaniel will finally break. If I don’t become Mrs. Martin, do you really think we’ll get what we want?"

"Isabella, we agreed never to discuss the Martin Group over the phone. Do you want everything ruined before it’s even begun?"

His warning was low, deliberate.

She muttered an agreement, though she thought he was being paranoid. Her phone never left her side.

Still, he pressed on. "This isn’t a joke, Isabella. Remember who you’re dealing with—especially Nathaniel. He’s ten steps ahead of you. If you try to outmaneuver him, you’ll lose. So be careful."

"Fine. I understand."

Impatience crept into her tone.

"When are you making your move?"

"Soon."

No specifics. She didn’t push. Hanging up, she turned her attention back to her concert preparations.

Signing with the Martin Group had doubled her workload, but every task was a stepping stone to her future. She had to endure.

Coming back after a year was exhausting. She’d hoped to return as Nathaniel’s wife, but that dream remained just out of reach. She couldn’t rely on that fantasy anymore—she needed another way.

The thought of Evelyn’s smooth-sailing life made her blood boil. She wouldn’t let her win.

Beatrice’s surgery had been postponed again. Evelyn had tried to convince her, but failed. The stress had taken its toll—she’d lost weight, her exhaustion visible.

Returning to her apartment after work, she stepped into the elevator—only to find Nathaniel already inside.

Their eyes met. Neither spoke.

The confined space amplified every breath, every unspoken word between them.

Strangers.

The frustration was unbearable. Because of Isabella, she’d resolved to ignore him. Just the thought of that woman made her fists clench.

The doors opened. She turned left. He went right.

At Beatrice’s door, she fumbled for her keys. Just as she stepped inside, strong arms pulled her back. Warm lips crashed against hers.

Evelyn’s eyes flew open. His face was inches from hers, his brows slightly furrowed—displeased.

She didn’t resist, afraid of hurting the baby. So she waited, letting him kiss her until he finally loosened his grip.

He rested his forehead against hers, unmoving. His gaze burned into her, voice rough. "You’re really going to pretend you didn’t see me?"

His scent surrounded her, stirring something deep inside—anger, longing, confusion.

She lowered her lashes, silent.

His question hung between them, unanswered.