Chapter 65

The morning sun streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows of our penthouse, casting golden patterns across the marble floors. I stretched beneath the silk sheets, my fingers brushing against the cold space where Nathaniel should have been. Again.

My phone buzzed insistently on the nightstand. Gabrielle's name flashed across the screen with three missed calls and a string of urgent texts about the Montgomery project. I groaned, rubbing sleep from my eyes. Another crisis before breakfast.

The scent of freshly brewed coffee led me to the kitchen where Alfred stood like a silent sentinel, his gloved hands presenting a steaming cup exactly how I liked it. "Madam," he murmured with a slight bow. "Mr. Martin left early for the office. He asked me to inform you about tonight's gala at the Grand Hyatt."

I nearly choked on my coffee. "What gala?"

"The annual Martin Group charity event, madam. Mr. Martin RSVP'd for both of you last month." Alfred's expression remained professionally blank, but I caught the subtle disapproval in his tone. "Your emerald gown has been pressed and prepared."

Of course Nathaniel hadn't mentioned it. Lately, our conversations consisted of clipped sentences and missed connections. I scrolled through my calendar app - nothing. Typical. My husband had become a master at scheduling our lives without consulting me.

My phone buzzed again. This time, Nathaniel's name appeared. "Emergency board meeting. Can't make lunch. See you at the gala tonight." No greeting. No apology. Just facts.

I stared at the message, my thumb hovering over the keyboard. Part of me wanted to fire back something equally cold. Instead, I typed a simple "Okay" and tossed my phone into my bag. The screen cracked against my keys. Perfect.

The drive to the office was a blur of honking taxis and construction detours. Downtown was undergoing another transformation, steel skeletons rising where old brick buildings once stood. I wondered if anyone would remember what used to be there. The thought made my chest tighten.

Gabrielle pounced the moment I stepped off the elevator. "Thank God you're here! The Montgomery clients are furious about the revised blueprints. They claim we removed the rooftop garden without approval." She thrust a stack of papers into my hands, her eyes wide with panic. "And Mr. Wilson has been calling every fifteen minutes."

I sighed, flipping through the documents. "Because we did remove it. Their structural engineer said the building couldn't support the weight. I emailed them last week."

"Apparently Mr. Montgomery never saw that email. His wife is threatening to pull the entire project." Gabrielle bit her lip. "They're waiting in Conference Room B."

The morning dissolved into damage control - placating angry clients, reworking designs, and fielding calls from Gregory about our dwindling profit margins. By noon, my temples throbbed with the beginnings of a migraine.

I was massaging my forehead when my office door swung open without warning. Nathaniel stood in the doorway, his tailored suit immaculate, his expression unreadable. My breath caught despite myself.

"We need to talk," he said quietly. "Alone."

Gabrielle scurried out, closing the door behind her. Nathaniel waited until her footsteps faded before speaking. "Isabella's back in town."

The name hit me like a physical blow. Isabella Davis - Nathaniel's first love, the woman whose shadow I'd spent our entire marriage trying to escape. I forced my voice steady. "And?"

"She'll be at the gala tonight." His jaw tightened. "I thought you should hear it from me first."

I turned to face the window, watching the sunlight glint off skyscrapers. "How thoughtful." The words came out sharper than intended.

Nathaniel moved closer, his cologne wrapping around me - sandalwood and something uniquely him. "Evelyn..."

"Don't." I held up a hand. "We have clients waiting, and I'm sure you have meetings." I met his gaze in the glass reflection. "We'll put on our happy faces tonight like we always do."

For a long moment, he didn't move. Then, with a quiet sigh, he turned and left without another word. The door clicked shut behind him, the sound final.

My phone buzzed again. Unknown number. I almost ignored it until the preview text appeared: "Looking forward to seeing you tonight, Evelyn. It's been too long. -Isabella"

The screen blurred as my vision swam. I gripped the edge of my desk, the polished wood cool beneath my fingertips. The game had changed. And I wasn't sure I remembered how to play.

The morning sun cast long shadows as Evelyn stepped through the gates of Mitchell Manor. Her chest tightened with each step, knowing exactly why her family opposed her divorce from Nathaniel.

In the manicured gardens, she crossed paths with Sophia. Both pretended not to notice each other until Sophia suddenly spoke. "You're really going through with the divorce?"

"Yes." Evelyn's voice held steady.

Sophia's perfectly shaped brows knitted together. "But why? First you claimed Nathaniel wanted it, now Grandfather Martin agrees? This was your doing, wasn't it?"

"Sooner or later, it was inevitable. Better now than later." Evelyn kept her tone measured.

"Mother's furious," Sophia warned. "Father too. I'm barely keeping her temper in check. You should be more considerate."

Evelyn gave her sister a detached glance. Despite sharing blood, they might as well have been strangers. Without another word, she continued toward the house.

The moment Evelyn entered the grand living room, a porcelain teacup shattered against the wall where her head had been seconds before.

Margaret Mitchell's finger trembled as she pointed accusingly. "Have you lost your mind? The Mitchells are struggling, and you'd throw away our connection to the Martins? After everything we've done for you?"

"Grandfather Martin assured me the business ties would remain," Evelyn countered.

William Mitchell scoffed. "And you believe that? Go back and tell him you've changed your mind. Say it was temporary madness."

"My decision is final." Evelyn's voice didn't waver.

Margaret's eyes turned glacial. "Then you leave us no choice." She snatched up her phone. "Your grandmother will hear about this ingratitude."

Evelyn's breath caught. Beatrice was the only family member who'd ever truly loved her. "You wouldn't."

"Try me," Margaret hissed. "No divorce, or you'll never see her again."

Sophia chose that moment to intervene. "Mother, this isn't right. Grandmother shouldn't be used as leverage."

"She's a Mitchell first!" Margaret snapped. "She'll obey, or face the consequences."

Evelyn left the manor shaking with rage. How could her own mother threaten to cut her off from the only person who'd ever shown her unconditional love?

That evening, Nathaniel maintained an icy silence in their shared bedroom. Evelyn longed to explain, but what was there to say? She'd made her choice.

The next morning, Sophia's call came like a thunderclap. "Mother used your name to sabotage Isabella. She bribed Isabella's new assistant to arrange an 'accident.' This is your fault. If you'd just stay married—"

"Wait," Evelyn interrupted, blood running cold. "Margaret framed me for attacking Isabella?"

"Exactly. Handle it before Nathaniel finds out and destroys us all."

The line went dead. Evelyn stared at her phone, mind racing. She'd never harm Isabella, despite their rivalry. And if Nathaniel discovered the Mitchells' involvement...

She had to warn Isabella without exposing her family.

Meanwhile, at the photo studio, Isabella examined the mysterious package her agent handed her. "I didn't order anything."

Inside lay a single note. As Isabella read it, her face drained of color. "Where's the new assistant?" she demanded.

Vanessa checked the security footage. "Gone. Left in a hurry twenty minutes ago. All her credentials were fake."

Isabella crumpled the warning note. "This has Evelyn written all over it. She wants me gone."

"But if Evelyn orchestrated the plot," Vanessa reasoned, "why would she send a warning? And if Nathaniel doesn't believe you..."

The question hung in the air: Who really sent the note?