Chapter 53

The morning sun streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows of our penthouse, casting golden streaks across the marble floors. I stretched beneath the silk sheets, my fingers brushing against the empty space where Nathaniel should have been. The lingering scent of his cologne told me he hadn't left long ago.

My phone buzzed insistently on the nightstand. Gabrielle's name flashed across the screen. "Evelyn, you need to see this," her message read, followed by a link to a gossip column. My stomach dropped as I clicked it open.

There, splashed across the page, was a photo of Nathaniel leaving a luxury hotel at 2 AM—with Isabella draped over his arm like a designer accessory. The headline screamed: Martin Heir Rekindles Old Flame?

I threw the phone onto the bed as if it had burned me. The rational part of my brain knew tabloids exaggerated everything, but the image of his hand resting on the small of her back made my vision blur.

The penthouse elevator pinged. I barely had time to wipe my eyes before Nathaniel strode in, carrying two steaming coffee cups. "Morning, darling," he said, pressing a kiss to my temple. His usual morning greeting. As if nothing was wrong.

"Interesting night?" I asked, my voice deceptively light as I gestured to his phone where the same article was undoubtedly waiting.

He froze mid-sip. "Evelyn, it's not what it looks like."

"Isn't it always?" I stood, wrapping my robe tighter around myself. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks exactly like you promised—no more secrets, no more lies—and yet here we are again."

Nathaniel set the coffees down with deliberate calm. "It was a business meeting that ran late. Isabella showed up uninvited. I was walking her out when the paparazzi appeared—conveniently timed, don't you think?"

A bitter laugh escaped me. "How very coincidental."

His jaw tightened. "You don't believe me."

The unspoken question hung between us, heavier than the designer chandelier above. Did I? After everything we'd been through?

Before I could answer, his phone rang. Samuel's name appeared. Nathaniel silenced it, but not before I saw the preview: Emergency board meeting called. Edward's orders.

"Go," I said, turning toward the window. "Your empire awaits."

His reflection appeared behind mine in the glass. "This conversation isn't over."

When the elevator doors closed behind him, I finally let the tears fall. Outside, the city glittered mockingly—a kingdom Nathaniel had given me, yet one where I still felt like an outsider looking in.

My phone buzzed again. This time, it was Gregory. Need you at the office ASAP. Summit Realty just underbid us on the waterfront project. By exactly 5%. Someone's feeding them our numbers.

Ice flooded my veins. There were too many coincidences piling up. And I knew in my bones—someone was playing a very dangerous game.

The question was: who?

He was speaking to Thomas.

Thomas immediately released his grip and smirked, "My mistake."

Evelyn froze, her cheeks flushing when she realized Nathaniel was referring to Thomas holding her arm.

Isabella's expression darkened instantly.

Thomas narrowed his eyes. "Well, your wife is here now. Can we leave?"

Nathaniel remained silent.

Thomas added, "Isabella, you must be starving. Let's grab a bite. You should rest—leave this to Evelyn."

Isabella instinctively glanced at Nathaniel, but he gave no reaction.

Did he agree?

Her voice trembled. "I should stay. He got hurt because of me. I’d feel awful if Evelyn took over."

She emphasized because of me, making sure Evelyn understood Nathaniel would risk everything for her. She wanted Evelyn to walk away.

But Evelyn hadn’t even looked at her once.

Isabella clenched her fists. "Evelyn, are you mad at me? I’m sorry. Don’t blame Nathaniel. It’s all my fault. He’s here because of me. I wish it were me in that bed. Please don’t be angry. I’ll take responsibility."

"How?" Evelyn’s voice was ice. "By crashing yourself into a hospital too? Or getting banned by the Martins? If you’re so sorry, then shut up."

The room went dead silent.

Isabella’s eyes welled up. She turned to Nathaniel, whispering, "Nathaniel, I—"

"Let’s go eat. You’ve been here all day." Thomas cut in, grabbing her arm and steering her out.

The door clicked shut.

Silence.

They stared at each other, neither speaking. Minutes ticked by before Nathaniel finally said, "Did you not want to come?"

"No," Evelyn replied flatly.

"Evelyn, why didn’t you come back yesterday? Do you forget who you are?"

"Who am I?" she countered.

His jaw tightened. "My wife. I was in surgery, and you left before I woke. Weren’t you worried I wouldn’t?"

His cold glare forced her to look away.

"I didn’t sleep all night," she admitted. "I checked with the hospital. You had Samuel. And Isabella was here. Since you got hurt for her, I assumed you’d rather see her."

"Are you angry?"

His voice was softer now, studying her face.

Evelyn laughed humorlessly. "Nathaniel, shouldn’t I be? You’re my husband, yet you raced through a storm at midnight for another woman. Tell me—should I applaud?"

He tried to sit up, wincing as his wound protested.

"Stop." She pressed him back, her hands firm on his shoulders.

Her scent—subtle, intoxicating—filled the sterile air.

His voice dropped. "Evelyn... are you jealous?"

"I’m not."

"Then why react like that?"

"Stating facts. We’re still married. I signed your surgery forms."

Nathaniel’s lips quirked. "Since we are, I’ll claim my rights. Feed me the soup."

No embarrassment. Just quiet command.

Evelyn exhaled, picking up the bowl. Spoon by spoon, she fed him in silence.

When he finished, he spoke first. "The accident wasn’t planned. The rain was too heavy. I couldn’t see."

She paused.

Was he... defending Isabella?

He loved her that much?

Evelyn’s chest tightened.

"Don’t be angry," he murmured, uncharacteristically gentle.

She met his eyes, aching to ask: Do you love her more than me?

Instead, she said, "Nathaniel, your grandfather worries our divorce will hurt the Martins. But since our marriage was secret, so can the divorce be. Like now—he won’t know unless you tell him. So why not end this cleanly?"

Nathaniel’s face turned to stone.

"What’s clean about it?" he bit out.