Chapter 82

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 empty space where Nathaniel should have been. The cold sheets confirmed he'd left hours ago—again.

My phone buzzed insistently on the nightstand. Gabrielle's name flashed across the screen. "Evelyn, the client moved the meeting to 10 AM. And Mr. Wilson needs those blueprints revised before noon."

I groaned, rubbing sleep from my eyes. Another chaotic day at Mitchell & Wilson Architects. The Martin Group project deadline loomed like a storm cloud, and Nathaniel's recent distance wasn't helping my concentration.

The penthouse felt eerily silent as I padded to the walk-in closet. Nathaniel's tailored suits hung perfectly arranged, his citrus-and-sandalwood cologne lingering in the air. My fingers trailed over one of his ties before I shook myself. This wasn't the time for melancholy.

The kitchen smelled of freshly brewed coffee—Alfred's doing. Our butler had left my favorite almond croissant warming in the oven. The small comfort almost made up for Nathaniel's absence. Almost.

My Uber pulled up to the Martin Group's sleek headquarters precisely at 9:45 AM. The glass skyscraper reflected the Manhattan skyline, a monument to the Martin family's empire. Security waved me through with practiced efficiency.

"Mrs. Martin." Samuel Yates, Nathaniel's perpetually harried assistant, intercepted me in the lobby. "Mr. Martin asked me to remind you about the charity gala tonight. He's... tied up with the Tokyo merger."

I forced a smile. "Of course." Translation: Another night alone. "Tell him I'll meet him there."

The elevator doors slid open to reveal Isabella Davis, resplendent in a dove-gray Chanel suit. Her honey-blonde hair cascaded over one shoulder, and her crimson lips curved into a smile that didn't reach her cold blue eyes.

"Evelyn." Her voice dripped with false warmth. "How... domestic you look today."

I glanced down at my tailored navy dress and sensible pumps. Compared to Isabella's runway-ready ensemble, I might as well have been wearing pajamas. "Isabella. I didn't realize Martin Group hired former reality stars as consultants."

Her manicured fingers tightened around her tablet. "Nathaniel values my... unique perspective." The emphasis made my stomach twist. "Oh, didn't he tell you? I'm spearheading the new luxury resorts division."

The elevator dinged at the 42nd floor. Isabella swept past me, her perfume—the same French brand Nathaniel had gifted me last Christmas—lingering like a taunt.

Gabrielle met me outside the conference room, her dark eyes wide with concern. "You okay? You look like you've seen a ghost."

"Just Isabella being Isabella." I squared my shoulders. "Let's get this over with."

The meeting dragged on for two grueling hours. By the time we finalized the resort's structural plans, my temples throbbed. I declined Gabrielle's lunch invitation, claiming a headache. The truth? I needed to see Nathaniel.

His office door stood slightly ajar. Through the gap, I saw him leaning against his desk, phone pressed to his ear. His usually impeccable tie hung loose, and his dark hair looked tousled, as if he'd been running his hands through it.

"—don't care what it takes, get it done before the board meeting." His voice held that dangerous edge I'd come to recognize—the one that meant billions hung in the balance. Then, softer: "Yes, I remember. Seven o'clock at our usual place."

The door creaked as I pushed it open. Nathaniel's head snapped up, his gray eyes widening almost imperceptibly before his professional mask slid back into place. He ended the call with a terse, "Handle it."

"Evelyn." He straightened his tie. "I didn't expect you."

"That much is obvious." I crossed my arms. "Our usual place? Should I be worried?"

A shadow crossed his face. "Business dinner. With the Tokyo investors."

"At seven? The gala starts at eight."

"I'll meet you there." He rounded the desk, his cologne enveloping me as he brushed a kiss against my cheek. "Trust me."

But as I watched him stride away, his phone already back at his ear, I couldn't shake the feeling that the man I married was slipping through my fingers like sand. And Isabella's smug smile haunted me all the way back to my office.

Evelyn's face turned ghostly pale as she stared rigidly at Nathaniel. Her voice was barely above a whisper when she asked, "Nathaniel, are you trying to push me away? I never imagined last night would become such a public scandal. If I had known it would end like this, I wouldn’t have let you leave."

Nathaniel remained silent, his expression unreadable, cold as winter frost.

Seeing him like this, Evelyn felt a crushing weight of despair, but there were words she could no longer speak. She could only do as he suggested, picking up the lunchbox she had brought with trembling hands before murmuring, "Nathaniel, please don’t be angry with me. I truly didn’t mean for this to happen. If you’re upset because picking me up last night made headlines, I’ll issue a statement immediately clarifying that we’re just friends. I’ll even send cease-and-desist letters to those tabloid reporters. Would that make you feel better?"

Nathaniel’s dark eyes bore into her, his face still an impassive mask. He hadn’t uttered a word, but his displeasure was palpable, impossible to ignore.

Evelyn bit her lip, frustration bubbling beneath the surface as her lengthy explanations were met with nothing but silence.

She pressed further, "Nathaniel, why won’t you speak? Are you telling me you don’t plan on divorcing, and that I should stay away from you from now on?"

"Evelyn, when did you become so insecure?" Nathaniel remarked coolly, his brow barely twitching.

His casual words struck her like a slap, leaving her momentarily speechless.

The implication was clear—without Isabella in the picture, she had been more confident, less prone to wild assumptions.

Evelyn wanted to argue, but fearing she’d only worsen his mood, she swallowed her words and left without another sound.

As she stepped out of the office, she nearly collided with Samuel Yates.

Her face was stiff, her eyes rimmed with unshed tears. "Mr. Yates, is Nathaniel upset about today’s trending news?"

Samuel, ever perceptive, noted the untouched lunchbox in her hands and the speed of her departure. Clearly, the visit hadn’t gone well, and the displeasure had been one-sided.

He lifted his chin slightly, his tone neutral. "Ms. Davis, I can’t speculate on Mr. Martin’s thoughts. If you have concerns, it’s best to address them with him directly."

Though irritation flickered in her chest, Evelyn didn’t lash out. She simply nodded and walked away.

Once she disappeared into the elevator, Samuel knocked and entered Nathaniel’s office.

He relayed Evelyn’s words verbatim. Nathaniel showed no reaction, his expression as unreadable as ever.

After a beat of silence, he finally spoke, his voice low. "Cancel tonight’s engagements. I’ll drive myself home."

Samuel blinked in surprise but quickly nodded. "Understood. I’ll arrange it immediately."

Nathaniel’s gaze darkened. "And the matter I asked you to look into—any updates?"

"Nothing significant yet. The usual faces come and go. Nothing suspicious beyond that."

"Keep watching. Don’t miss anyone they’ve been in contact with."

His eyes narrowed slightly, deep and unfathomable, like ancient secrets buried beneath layers of ice. The game had begun, and the players were stepping onto the stage one by one. A storm was brewing, and it wouldn’t be long before it broke.

Isabella had been working nonstop until mid-afternoon before finally returning to the office.

She had grabbed a quick lunch with Gabrielle earlier, but the lingering effects of her fever left her exhausted after minimal effort.

Gregory took one look at her pale face and poured her a glass of warm water. "Isabella, you should go home and rest."

"I can’t. I just discussed some design flaws with Mr. Carter. I need to make the revisions and show him tomorrow."

"Work will always be there. Lie down for a bit. I’ll wake you later, okay?"

Without waiting for a response, he took her laptop and gently guided her to the sofa.

Isabella didn’t protest. For the sake of her health—and the baby—she didn’t refuse.

She slept deeply, undisturbed even as the office quieted down near closing time. Gregory tiptoed in, careful not to wake her.

The fading sunlight cast a golden glow over her sleeping form. Her lashes fluttered slightly, her lips slightly parted, soft and inviting.

Gregory stood over her, his gaze darkening, his throat tightening.

He had loved her for years—first with the hope of being with her, then simply wishing for her happiness. But after she married Nathaniel, she had changed. The light in her eyes dimmed. It pained him. He wanted nothing more than for her to leave Nathaniel and cut all ties with the Martin family.

He knelt beside the sofa, his fingers hovering near her cheek, aching to touch but afraid she might wake. Just as his fingertips brushed her skin, he hesitated.

Unable to resist, he leaned in, intending to press a kiss to the corner of her lips. But before he could, a cold gust of air swept through the room, and a hand yanked him back by his collar.

"What do you think you’re doing?"

The voice was low, icy, restrained fury simmering beneath the surface. Nathaniel’s dark eyes burned with barely contained rage, his refined features stripped of all civility, leaving only ruthless intent.

Gregory smirked. "Isn’t it obvious? Do I need to spell it out for you?"

Before he could react, Nathaniel’s fist connected with his jaw—hard. The impact sent him stumbling back, giving him no chance to dodge.

Nathaniel dragged him out of the office and landed another brutal punch, his expression twisted with unchecked menace.

Gregory didn’t fight back. He hit the ground, Nathaniel towering over him, his gaze murderous. "Stay away from her. You know exactly who she is. If you try anything like this again, I won’t hesitate to make you disappear."

"The Martins have made people vanish before. I don’t doubt it," Gregory said, wiping blood from his lip. Despite his disheveled state, his mocking smile remained intact.

Nathaniel’s frown deepened, but he didn’t engage further. His warning was clear. "Don’t think because you’re her friend, I won’t act. Keep your filthy thoughts to yourself. I won’t have her exposed to your delusions."

"Mr. Martin, on what grounds do you say these things to me?" Gregory looked up, his smile unwavering. "As her husband? It seems, aside from that title, you and Isabella are less close than she and I. After all, the person she loves isn’t you. What does a piece of paper change?"