Chapter 7

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

She sighed, running a hand through her tousled auburn hair. Three weeks since their rushed wedding, and she still woke up expecting to find him beside her. But the CEO of Martin Group had responsibilities that didn't include lazy mornings with his new wife.

Her phone buzzed on the nightstand. A text from Gabrielle: Meeting moved to 10 AM. Client wants revisions on the waterfront project.

Evelyn groaned. She'd spent all night perfecting those blueprints. Throwing off the covers, she padded to the walk-in closet. Her fingers trailed over Nathaniel's impeccably organized suits before selecting a navy pencil dress—professional yet subtly alluring.

Alfred was setting breakfast in the sunroom when she entered. "Good morning, Mrs. Martin. Mr. Martin asked me to inform you he'll be dining with Mr. Prescott tonight."

"Again?" The words slipped out before she could stop them.

The butler's expression remained neutral as he poured her coffee. "Shall I prepare your usual?"

Evelyn forced a smile. "Yes, thank you." She picked at her avocado toast, scrolling through emails. One from Gregory caught her eye—Urgent: Summit Realty deal falling through.

Her stomach dropped. This project was their firm's lifeline. She dialed Gregory's number.

"Evelyn, thank God," he answered on the first ring. "Sebastian Wilson just pulled his funding. Says our designs don't match his 'vision.'"

She clenched her fist. "I'll handle it. Set up a meeting."

"Already did. Noon at their headquarters. Bring your A-game."

Evelyn ended the call and immediately dialed Nathaniel. Voicemail. Of course. She left a clipped message about rescheduling their dinner before rushing upstairs to gather her materials.

The Martin Tower lobby gleamed with cold marble as Evelyn strode in at 11:45 AM. The receptionist eyed her skeptically. "Do you have an appointment?"

"Evelyn Martin to see Sebastian Wilson." She emphasized the surname, watching the woman's eyes widen in recognition.

The elevator ride to the 42nd floor gave her just enough time to steady her breathing. The doors opened to reveal Jonathan Blake waiting with crossed arms.

"Mrs. Martin," he said without warmth. "Mr. Wilson's expecting you."

Sebastian's office was all glass and steel, the city sprawling beneath them. The silver-haired tycoon didn't rise from his chair. "I assumed Gregory would come begging, not Martin's new bride."

Evelyn set her portfolio on his desk with deliberate calm. "Let's discuss why you're abandoning a project that would increase Summit's property values by thirty percent."

Sebastian smirked. "Your husband's influence won't work here, sweetheart."

"Good." She flipped open her designs. "Because these numbers speak for themselves."

Two hours later, Evelyn emerged victorious, contract secured. Her phone buzzed—Nathaniel finally returning her call.

"Evelyn? What's wrong?"

She stepped into the elevator, suddenly exhausted. "Nothing. Just saved our firm. Where are you?"

A pause. "With Isabella. She's... having some difficulties."

The doors closed as ice flooded Evelyn's veins. Of course. His precious Isabella always came first.

"I see," she said quietly. "Well, don't worry about dinner. I have plans anyway."

She hung up before he could respond, pressing a trembling hand to her lips. The reflection in the elevator mirrors showed a woman perfectly composed—if one didn't notice the cracks forming beneath the surface.

Tears spilled down Evelyn's cheeks the moment she stepped out of the hospital ward.

She had thought she was prepared after Nathaniel dropped the word divorce the night before. But seeing him with Isabella still cut deep, like a knife twisting in her chest until the pain dulled into numbness.

She returned to Pineview Villa—the grand estate gifted to them by Nathaniel’s grandfather, Edward Martin, as a wedding present. A year’s worth of memories lingered in every corner, now destined to fade.

Once the paperwork is finalized, I’ll have to leave. The thought settled heavily in her mind. And I should start looking for a new place. The Mitchells won’t welcome me back.

With a deep breath, she decided to inform her family about the divorce before rumors reached them first.

After freshening up, she drove to Mitchell Manor.

She hadn’t visited often since her marriage—Margaret had never hidden her disapproval.

As Evelyn reached the entrance, hushed voices drifted from inside.

"Mom, I heard Isabella woke up from her coma. Nathaniel hasn’t left her side. What if she remembers…?" Sophia’s voice was laced with worry.

"Enough, Sophia," Margaret chided gently. "Focus on your work at Mitchell Group and the upcoming design competition. That’s what matters now."

Evelyn stiffened at the mention of Isabella’s name but didn’t linger. She stepped into the living room.

"Mom, I’m home," she said softly.

Margaret sat gracefully on the sofa, her elegance undeniable, her features bearing a faint resemblance to Evelyn’s. Both women looked up, startled by her sudden appearance.

Sophia’s lips curled into a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. "Evelyn, what a surprise. Did you just arrive? Or were you listening in on our conversation?"