Chapter 90

The morning sun cast golden rays through the floor-to-ceiling windows of our penthouse, painting the marble floors with streaks of light. I stretched lazily, the silk sheets sliding against my skin as I turned to find Nathaniel already awake, his piercing blue eyes watching me with that familiar intensity.

"You're staring," I murmured, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.

A slow smirk curved his lips. "Can't help it."

Before I could respond, his phone buzzed on the nightstand, shattering the quiet moment. He glanced at the screen, his expression darkening.

"Work?" I asked, already knowing the answer.

"Edward wants an urgent meeting." He sighed, running a hand through his tousled hair. "Something about the Summit Realty deal."

I sat up, frowning. "I thought that was finalized."

"So did I." His jaw tightened as he swung his legs off the bed, the muscles in his back flexing as he reached for his shirt. "I’ll handle it."

I watched him dress, the effortless grace in his movements making my pulse quicken. Even after all this time, he still had that effect on me.

Downstairs, Alfred had already prepared breakfast—fresh fruit, pastries, and steaming coffee. Nathaniel barely touched his plate, his mind clearly elsewhere.

"You should eat," I chided gently.

He shot me a distracted smile. "Later."

The doorbell rang, and Alfred moved to answer it. Moments later, Samuel Yates, Nathaniel’s ever-efficient secretary, strode in, his tablet in hand.

"Mr. Martin," he greeted briskly. "Edward’s waiting at the office. He’s brought Jonathan Blake with him."

Nathaniel’s eyes narrowed. "Blake? Why?"

Samuel hesitated, then lowered his voice. "There’s been a complication with the zoning permits. The city council is raising objections."

I set down my coffee cup, unease prickling at the back of my neck. This wasn’t just a minor hiccup—it was a potential disaster for the project.

Nathaniel stood abruptly. "Let’s go."

He leaned down, pressing a quick kiss to my forehead. "Don’t wait up. This might take a while."

I nodded, forcing a smile. "Good luck."

As the door closed behind him, I exhaled slowly, my fingers tightening around my cup. Something about this felt off. Edward Martin didn’t make unannounced visits unless it was serious.

And if he’d brought Jonathan Blake into it?

This wasn’t just business.

This was a power play.

And Nathaniel was walking right into it.

Evelyn couldn’t fathom why Nathaniel had been acting so childish lately, picking petty arguments with Gregory as if they were schoolboys.

She didn’t dwell on it, though. Instead, she glanced at the clock and said, "It’s getting late. You should eat. I still have work to finish, so I’ll let you go now, alright?"

Nathaniel didn’t respond—whether he was upset or not, she couldn’t tell—but he ended the call abruptly.

When she returned to the sofa, Gregory had already set the table. He waited for her to sit before placing a piece of chicken on her plate. Evelyn raised a brow. "Aren’t you eating?"

"I was waiting for you."

The words caught her off guard, and for a moment, she just stared. Gregory didn’t elaborate.

His dark eyes held a quiet warmth as they lingered on her. He always waited—even when he knew it might lead nowhere. Some habits were hard to break.

After dinner, Evelyn reviewed the blueprints and documents one last time before instructing Gabrielle to send them to Daniel.

With no site visit scheduled, she spent the afternoon at the office, going over quarterly reports and other projects with Gregory.

Though their firm was small, their roles were clearly defined. Gregory handled operations and client relations seamlessly, leaving her free to focus on design. It was a partnership that worked—efficient, balanced, and refreshingly stress-free.

As they wrapped up, Gregory leaned back in his chair. "The Martin Group has a bid next month. It’s right in our niche. Should we go for it?"

Evelyn’s fingers stilled on the keyboard. She took the file he offered, scanning the requirements before exhaling. "I’ll think about it. What’s your take?"

"We could pull it off. Our size doesn’t matter when we’ve got the expertise."

"Mm."

She hesitated. Working with the Martins—even professionally—left a bitter taste.

Gregory read her silence. "If you’re not comfortable, we’ll pass. But given your involvement in their current project, they might come to us anyway. Just… be prepared."

Evelyn nodded. Logically, it was just business. But after everything, she wasn’t keen on walking back into that world. Not unless she had to.

At six, she packed up.

Gregory walked her to the elevator, eyeing her as she checked her phone twice in thirty seconds. "In a hurry?"

"Meeting a friend for dinner."

"Who?"

"Isaac."

Gregory’s brows lifted. "Isaac Whitman? What brings him to Mayby?"

They’d met briefly before—polite nods, nothing more.

"Work, I think—"

Her phone buzzed.

[Downstairs. Come now or I’m coming up.]

She smirked, typing back: [Two minutes.]

Gregory watched her. "You two still close?"

"Always. He helped me through grad school. Acts like a kid sometimes, but he’s got wisdom I still use."

Isaac was over a decade older, their bond forged during his peak fame. Time and distance hadn’t dulled it.

Gregory chuckled. "Evelyn… does he like you? The man’s never been linked to anyone. Is there a reason?"

Her expression iced over. "Don’t. That’s not fair to him—or me. He’s family. If there were anything else, I wouldn’t be here discussing it with you."

Her tone brooked no argument.

Gregory held up his hands. "Sorry. Overstepped."

The elevator dinged. They parted ways in the garage.

Evelyn pulled up to the building’s entrance, spotting Isaac’s car immediately. She rolled down her window. "Get in."

He slid into the passenger seat, tugging off his cap and mask. "That was more than two minutes."

"You once said waiting for a woman is a man’s privilege."

"Now you weaponize my words against me."

Laughing, she merged into traffic, following his directions to the restaurant.

They chatted easily, unaware of the sleek black sedan trailing them. Its driver watched, expression unreadable.

At the private dining room, their guest hadn’t arrived. Evelyn teased, "Must be a big favor you owe. They’re keeping you waiting."

"At my age, punctuality is overrated."

"Spoken like a man in his seventies."

"Compared to you, I might as well be."

She grinned. "Exactly. So, respect your elders and call me more. Don’t make me chase you down."

Isaac’s voice was light, but his eyes softened as he ruffled her hair.

Evelyn swatted at him. "Stop! You’ll regret it when I walk out looking like a mess."

"I don’t mind—"

The door swung open.

Both froze mid-tussle.

Four pairs of eyes locked—three surprised, one unreadable.

Isaac withdrew his hand smoothly. "Mr. Martin. It’s been a while."

Nathaniel stepped inside, Isabella on his arm. "Mr. Whitman."

Isabella beamed. "I’m such a fan! Isabella Davis."

"Ms. Davis." Isaac’s smile was polite but distant.

Evelyn stayed silent. Of all people, she hadn’t expected Nathaniel and Isabella to be Isaac’s guests.

Then Nathaniel’s gaze cut to her, cool and deliberate. "Mr. Whitman, won’t you introduce your companion?"