Chapter 92

The morning sun filtered through the sheer curtains, casting a golden glow across the bedroom. Evelyn stirred, blinking against the light, her body still heavy with sleep. The space beside her was empty, the sheets cool—Nathaniel had already left for work.

She stretched, her muscles protesting slightly from the previous night’s events. The gala had been exhausting, but worth it. The Martin Group’s latest project had been unveiled to resounding success, and Nathaniel had been in rare form—charming, confident, and utterly magnetic.

Evelyn reached for her phone, scrolling through the flood of notifications. Messages from Gregory, her business partner, about an upcoming client meeting. A missed call from her sister, Sophia. And then—her thumb stilled.

An email from Isabella Davis.

Her stomach tightened. Isabella, Nathaniel’s ex, had been a ghost from the past for years—until recently. Now, she seemed determined to claw her way back into their lives.

Evelyn hesitated before opening it.

"Evelyn, we need to talk. It’s about Nathaniel."

The words were simple, but the implication was anything but. Evelyn exhaled sharply, tossing the phone onto the bed. She wasn’t going to let Isabella rattle her. Not today.

She dressed quickly, opting for a sleek black pantsuit—armor for whatever the day might throw at her. Downstairs, Alfred, their butler, had already prepared coffee.

“Good morning, Mrs. Martin,” he greeted, handing her a steaming cup.

“Morning, Alfred.” She took a sip, the rich bitterness grounding her. “Has Nathaniel left already?”

“Yes, ma’am. He mentioned an early meeting with Mr. Yates.”

She nodded. Samuel Yates, Nathaniel’s ever-efficient secretary, was likely already briefing him on the day’s agenda.

Her phone buzzed again—another message from Gregory.

"Client moved the meeting to 10 AM. You’re presenting. Don’t be late."

Evelyn groaned. She loved her work, but some days, the universe seemed determined to test her patience.

As she headed out, her phone rang—an unknown number. She answered cautiously.

“Evelyn Mitchell?” A smooth, unfamiliar voice.

“Speaking.”

“This is Vanessa. Isabella’s agent.”

Evelyn’s grip on the phone tightened. “What do you want?”

Vanessa’s tone was honeyed, but there was an edge beneath it. “Isabella would like to meet. Today. She has something important to discuss.”

Evelyn’s pulse quickened. “If it’s about Nathaniel, she can take it up with him.”

A pause. Then, softly, “It’s not just about him. It’s about you, too.”

The line went dead before Evelyn could respond.

She stood frozen on the sidewalk, the city bustling around her. Whatever game Isabella was playing, Evelyn refused to be a pawn.

But first—she had a presentation to nail.

The meeting went better than expected. The clients loved her vision, and Gregory shot her an approving nod as they wrapped up.

“You killed it,” he murmured as they exited the conference room.

She smirked. “I know.”

Her phone buzzed—another message. This time, from Nathaniel.

"Dinner tonight? Just us."

A small smile tugged at her lips. Maybe today wouldn’t be so bad after all.

Then, another notification. A photo.

Her breath caught.

It was Nathaniel—with Isabella.

The caption read: "Some things never change."

Evelyn’s world tilted.

Game on.

"More or less?"

"Why do you ask?"

Evelyn pressed her lips together. "Just typical girl things—probably not wanting to admit someone else is prettier."

Nathaniel chuckled, his voice low and smooth. "She doesn't hold a candle to you."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

Evelyn pulled up to the hotel entrance, shifting the car into park. Before Nathaniel could step out, she turned to him. "Are you really not considering working with Isabella? If it's because of me, don't worry. It won't affect your reputation. We're not close, so there's no reason for you to hold back."

"Are you trying to gauge how much you mean to me?"

Evelyn's brows knitted slightly, her gaze cool and detached, as if silently warning him not to read too much into it.

Nathaniel's expression sobered. "It's not about you or anyone else. It's my own choice. Plenty like Isabella have approached me—people with influence, unique talents, status. I've turned them all down. If I make one exception, the floodgates open. I prefer to stay neutral in industry circles, avoid making enemies. The simplest solution? Say no to everyone."

"What did you tell Isabella in the end?"

"A polite refusal. I couldn't exactly say, 'Ms. Davis, I have no interest in collaborating with you. Kindly stop contacting me,' could I?"

Evelyn smirked. "Another lesson learned. Thanks, Nathaniel."

She watched him disappear into the hotel before driving back to Pineview Villa.

Nathaniel's car was already in the garage, but the house was dark. Had he come home early just to sleep?

Evelyn stepped inside, still lost in thought, when suddenly strong arms wrapped around her from behind before she could even slip on her shoes.

She gasped. "Ah!"

The familiar warmth and scent told her who it was. She relaxed, then sighed. "What are you doing?"

Still barefoot, she was pressed against the wall, his body caging her in. Their faces were inches apart, breaths mingling.

In the dim light, his dark eyes bore into hers, sharp with accusation. His voice was icy. "So, Nathaniel was the friend you hadn't seen in ages—the one worth dolling up for?"

His displeasure was palpable, his handsome features carved in frost.

Evelyn bit her lip. "Yes."

"Evelyn, why do you have so many male friends? Wasn't Gregory enough? Now Nathaniel? What's your game?"

His tone was deceptively calm, but the edge was unmistakable.

Evelyn exhaled silently. "Nathaniel is my teacher's son."

She didn’t understand Nathaniel's sudden possessiveness. He could mention her male friends, but what about him? Didn’t he have Isabella, the woman he’d once loved?

Double standards much?

Nathaniel sighed. "If he's your teacher's son, why not invite him for dinner? We could host him here."

"He doesn’t know we’re married. There’s no need."

"He doesn’t know? You didn’t tell him, or you chose not to?"

His voice was frigid, laced with displeasure.

Evelyn resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "I just didn’t find the right moment to blurt out, 'Hey Nathaniel, guess what? I’m married now!' He’d think I’d lost it."

Their marriage was supposed to be private. If she spilled the secret without his consent, would Isabella be happy? And if Isabella wasn’t happy—wouldn’t that mean he wasn’t?

The irony wasn’t lost on her.

Evelyn didn’t want to argue. She pushed against his chest lightly. "The floor’s cold. I’m not wearing shoes."

Nathaniel stepped back, watching as she slid into her slippers. Then, coolly, he said, "Since you missed the chance to tell him, we’ll invite Nathaniel to dinner while he’s in Mayby. A gesture of gratitude for his father’s guidance. Your teacher should know his prized student is married, don’t you think?"

"Nathaniel, aren’t you worried that if he knows we’re married, Isabella will be upset? Don’t you want him to work with her?"

"Whether they collaborate isn’t my call. If Nathaniel sees something in her, he’ll agree."

"Aren’t you afraid of making Isabella unhappy?"

She searched his eyes.

"We are married. That’s not new information."

His tone was flat, stating facts.

Evelyn blinked. What did that mean?

That Isabella’s happiness—or lack thereof—was already a given? That it didn’t matter anymore?

She exhaled. "I can’t promise anything. I’ll have to ask Nathaniel first."

"Fine. I’m sure Mr. Whitman will be agreeable."

"I’ll confirm with you after I speak to him."

Relief washed over her as Nathaniel finally dropped the subject.

Exhausted, Evelyn showered and climbed into bed.

But questions swirled in her mind. Nathaniel had been different lately—more controlling, more possessive.

What was going on with him?

With those thoughts, she drifted into sleep.

Nathaniel stayed up longer. Listening to her steady breathing, he slipped out of bed, soundless, and stepped onto the balcony. He dialed a number.

"What did you find?"

"Mrs. Martin and Mr. Whitman have known each other since high school. His father was her homeroom teacher. Their relationship stems from that."

"Is that all?" Nathaniel’s voice was devoid of inflection.

Samuel replied, "Yes. From what we’ve gathered, those who know them describe their bond as sibling-like. Nothing more."

"Siblings?"

Nathaniel’s face darkened, his eyes turning glacial.

Samuel continued, "That’s the extent of it. Mrs. Martin spent most of her high school years at the Whitman residence due to her grandmother’s poor health..."

"The Mitchells really let their daughter live elsewhere without a second thought?" Nathaniel’s voice dripped with disdain.

Then, softly, he added, "If the Mitchells are so negligent, let’s see how far they’ll go. Their new project is about to launch, correct? Spread the word—the Martin Group won’t be backing it."

"Sir, won’t this upset Mrs. Martin?" Samuel asked cautiously.