Chapter 78

The moment Nathaniel stepped into the grand hall of the Martin estate, the air shifted. His presence commanded attention, his sharp features set in a mask of cool indifference. But Evelyn knew better—she could see the storm brewing in his stormy gray eyes.

"Evelyn," he said, his voice low and controlled. "We need to talk."

She swallowed hard, her fingers tightening around the blueprints in her hands. "Now isn't the best time, Nathaniel. I have a meeting with Gregory in twenty minutes."

His jaw clenched. "This can't wait."

Before she could protest, he took her wrist—gently, but with enough firmness to make it clear he wasn’t asking. He guided her into the private study, shutting the door behind them with a quiet click.

Evelyn exhaled sharply. "What’s going on?"

Nathaniel ran a hand through his dark hair, frustration evident in the gesture. "Isabella is back."

The name sent a jolt through her. Isabella Davis—Nathaniel’s first love, the woman who had once held his heart before Evelyn came into the picture.

"And?" Evelyn forced her voice to remain steady. "What does that have to do with us?"

His gaze darkened. "She’s been spreading rumors. About you. About us."

Evelyn’s stomach twisted. "What kind of rumors?"

"That our marriage is a sham. That you only married me for the Martin name and fortune."

A bitter laugh escaped her. "That’s ridiculous."

"Is it?" Nathaniel stepped closer, his eyes searching hers. "Because people are starting to talk, Evelyn. And if this gets out, it could damage your reputation—and the company."

She stiffened. "I don’t care what people think."

"You should." His voice dropped to a whisper. "Because I do."

The raw honesty in his words caught her off guard. For a moment, the mask slipped, and she saw the vulnerability beneath—the man who had fought so hard to protect what they had.

Evelyn reached out, her fingers brushing his. "Then we’ll handle it together."

Nathaniel’s grip tightened around her hand. "Isabella won’t stop easily. She’s determined to ruin this."

A slow, defiant smile curved Evelyn’s lips. "Let her try."

Outside, the wind howled, rattling the windows like a warning. But inside, the fire burned bright—and so did their resolve.

The game had just begun.

Evelyn stood waiting until Nathaniel and Isabella arrived.

The trio got into the car and headed back to the Mitchell Manor.

Margaret voiced her displeasure. "What's with Isabella? She knows someone as prestigious as Julian Mercer and didn’t even mention it. We were humiliated in front of everyone. If this gets out, people might think we’re mistreating her. And why did she gift that painting to Edward in her own name? It should’ve been from the Mitchell family."

"Why are you always so cold toward Evelyn, Mom?" Sophia challenged before Margaret could finish.

Silence filled the car.

Margaret turned sharply. "What are you talking about?"

Sophia met her gaze steadily. "Isn’t Evelyn your daughter too? Why do you and Dad publicly doubt her? Doesn’t she belong to this family?"

Her words left both Margaret and William speechless.

After a long pause, Margaret softened her tone. "Sophia, did she complain to you?"

"No."

"Sophia, you’ve grown up surrounded by love. You’re kind-hearted, and I understand your concern. But this time, Evelyn didn’t consider the family’s reputation—"

"Mom!" Sophia cut in sharply. "Evelyn hasn’t said a word. I just see how you treat her. Is this because of me?"

Sophia didn’t know the real reason behind Margaret’s coldness, so she blamed herself.

She disliked Evelyn’s aloofness—her unshakable pride, even under pressure.

Yet, she envied her.

For her honesty, for needing no pretenses.

Nathaniel didn’t go to the office. Instead, he drove straight to Pineview Villa.

He strode upstairs and pushed open the bedroom door.

The dim light revealed a slight figure curled beneath the sheets. He flicked on the lamp, hesitated, then murmured, "Evelyn... wake up. We need to talk."

It wasn’t late enough to disturb her rest, but she didn’t stir.

Frowning, he reached out to nudge her cheek. The moment his cold fingers brushed her burning skin, alarm shot through him. He pressed a palm to her forehead—scorching.

"Evelyn, you’re burning up. We need to get you to the hospital."

Her head throbbed, her body heavy. She barely cracked her eyes open before swatting his hand away. "Leave me alone."

Startled by her sharpness, Nathaniel scooped her up. "At least take medicine. You can’t ignore this."

Evelyn finally glared at him, irritation flaring. "I don’t want medicine. My health is my business. If you’re so concerned, go check on Isabella."

Nathaniel’s jaw tightened.

She didn’t spare him another glance, collapsing back onto the bed.

But the fever raged through the night. Despite her refusal, Nathaniel tried cooling her with a damp cloth—useless.

By dawn, he called Dr. Harrison. Aware of her pregnancy, the doctor prescribed safe medication and stressed hydration.

When Evelyn woke, Nathaniel was already beside her, holding a glass of water and pills.

Weak and flushed, her lashes fluttered as she registered his presence.

"Take these," he urged. "The kitchen’s making soup."

"No."

"Evelyn, don’t be stubborn. You’ve been feverish all night. Dr. Harrison said—"

At the doctor’s name, her expression flickered—then hardened at the sight of Nathaniel.

"I’ll take them later," she said icily.

"Evelyn, what’s this about?"

Her sickly calm cracked. "You accuse me of making trouble when I’ve done nothing. Is Isabella the only one allowed to be perfect?"

"Why bring her up?"

"Because she’s always the answer, isn’t she?" Her laugh was brittle.

Nathaniel exhaled, offering the water. "Take the pills first. Then we’ll talk."

"I can do it myself. Put them down."

"Evelyn, must I force you?"

"I said I’ll take them!"

His patience snapped. He set the glass aside and hauled her against him. She stiffened, his scent enveloping her, her hands shoving uselessly at his chest.

Water sloshed onto the sheets, soaking them both.

Finally, stillness.

Evelyn wrenched free, coolly repeating, "I’ll take them later."

She slipped out of bed and vanished into the bathroom.

Nathaniel ignored her rejection.

She was his wife. Caring for her wasn’t optional.

His gaze lingered on the closed door before he left just as she emerged.

Evelyn’s illness dragged on, their interactions strained. Nathaniel tried; she remained indifferent.

Too drained to care, she barely registered Caroline’s early call.

"Isabella’s the laughingstock of the circle after Edward’s party," Caroline crowed. "She stole endorsements, and now karma’s biting back."

Evelyn sighed. "She brought it on herself."

"True." Caroline paused. "Feeling better?"

"Much."

Work had stalled. Pregnancy demanded caution.

Isabella’s drama meant nothing—just gossip to forget.

Caroline hesitated. "Evelyn… are you and Nathaniel not divorcing? Will you tell him about the baby? It’ll be obvious soon. He’s your husband—doesn’t he suspect?"