Chapter 101

The morning sun streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Evelyn's penthouse, casting golden patterns across the marble floors. She stood by the kitchen island, absently stirring her coffee while scrolling through emails on her phone. The aroma of freshly brewed espresso mingled with the crisp scent of lavender from the balcony garden.

A notification popped up—another message from Nathaniel. Her fingers hovered over the screen. Three weeks since their explosive argument, and he still texted daily. Persistent as always, she thought, though the corner of her mouth twitched upward. This one read: "Meeting with Edward at 2. He asked about you."

She exhaled sharply. Edward Martin’s inquiries were never casual. The patriarch of the Martin dynasty had a way of weaving questions like spider silk—delicate but inescapable. Setting the phone down, she traced the rim of her cup. The last family dinner had ended with shattered crystal and Isabella’s thinly veiled barbs about "failed commitments."

Her assistant Gabrielle buzzed in. "The contractor for the waterfront project is on line two. Also, Gregory’s here—says it’s urgent."

Evelyn’s spine straightened. Gregory never dropped by unannounced. She swiped the call to voicemail. "Send him up."

The elevator doors parted to reveal Gregory, his usually impeccable suit rumpled, a file clutched under one arm. "We have a problem," he said without preamble. "Summit Realty just filed an injunction against the Heritage Tower bid. Sebastian’s claiming design infringement."

Her nails dug into her palms. Sebastian Wilson. The name alone conjured images of boardroom ambushes and his smirk during last year’s zoning hearing. "On what grounds?"

"He’s citing the cantilevered lobby design. Says it’s identical to their unbuilt proposal for Dubai." Gregory tossed the folder onto the counter. Inside, side-by-side sketches bore unsettling similarities.

Evelyn’s breath hitched. She’d drafted those renderings alone, late nights when Nathaniel was overseas. Only one other person had access to her studio during that time—Isabella, who’d "stopped by for tea" the week before the Dubai bid.

Across the city, Nathaniel’s phone lit up with a calendar alert: Lunch with Isabella – Noon. The screen reflected his grimace. Vanessa’s latest email threatened to leak "compromising photos" unless he reconsidered sponsoring Isabella’s fashion line. He thumbed a reply: "We’ll discuss this face-to-face."

Alfred materialized at the study door. "Sir, Mr. Ellsworth is waiting downstairs. He mentioned something about... a missing contract?"

Nathaniel’s jaw tightened. Thomas only dealt in one kind of contract—the sort that buried scandals. "Tell him five minutes."

As Alfred retreated, Nathaniel’s gaze fell on the framed photo atop his desk: Evelyn laughing on their Maldives honeymoon, sea foam curling around her ankles. The memory of her cold dismissal at the gala—"I’m done competing with ghosts"—clawed at him.

He pocketed his phone. Some battles couldn’t be won with lawyers or money.

Back at the penthouse, Evelyn stared at the blueprints, Gregory’s voice fading into static. The doorbell rang again. Through the peephole, Charlotte’s wide eyes met hers. "You need to see this," her friend hissed, thrusting forward a tabloid.

The headline screamed: "Martin Heir’s Secret Tryst with Ex—Photos Inside!" Below, a blurred but unmistakable image showed Nathaniel gripping Isabella’s wrist in a dimly lit corridor.

Evelyn’s vision tunneled. The timestamp read last night.

Somewhere in the city, a grandfather clock struck noon.

Gregory's assistant responded promptly, "Mr. Wilson called to say he has prior engagements today and won't be coming in."

"Understood." Evelyn nodded and stepped into her office.

She didn’t bother asking why Gregory wasn’t present. She already had her suspicions.

Evelyn settled into her chair just as Gabrielle entered, clutching a stack of documents. "Ms. Mitchell, here’s the report I prepared yesterday."

"Leave it there. I’ll review it later."

Gabrielle hesitated, shifting her weight from one foot to the other.

Evelyn arched a brow. "Something else?"

"Well… I was just curious—"

"Go ahead."

"Can I really ask?"

"You have exactly one chance," Evelyn replied coolly.

Gabrielle blurted, "Ms. Mitchell, is it true you and Mr. Martin are married?"

Evelyn studied her assistant’s eager expression. "Do you think the marriage certificate was forged? Would the Martin Group publicly announce a lie?"

"So it is real!" Gabrielle’s eyes sparkled. "You two are perfect together!" She leaned in conspiratorially. "Was it because of you that Mr. Martin and Mr. Wilson fought last time?"

"No."

"Really? Everyone at the office always assumed you’d end up with Mr. Wilson."

The words slipped out before Gabrielle could stop them.

Evelyn’s gaze sharpened as she flipped open the file. "By 'everyone,' you mean you?"

"Of course not! It’s obvious Mr. Wilson has feelings for you," Gabrielle insisted.

Evelyn’s tone turned icy. "I hired you to discuss my personal life? If gossip is your priority over work, consider this a warning. Inform the team they’re each docked $500 this month."

"Five hundred?!" Gabrielle paled.

"Make it a thousand if you say another word."

Gabrielle clamped her mouth shut, barely daring to exhale.

With a dismissive wave, Evelyn sent her out. The pay cut was an empty threat, but the message was clear.

Alone, Evelyn slumped back, resting a hand on her rounded stomach. What now, little one?

The news of Nathaniel’s marriage had set Mayby’s elite circles ablaze. Though Twitter chatter had waned, high society still buzzed with speculation.

In a hotel restroom, a cluster of socialites huddled by the sinks.

"Mr. Sinclair mentioned Mr. Martin wants an heir. That’s why he went public—Harper must already be pregnant. The Martins would never let a scandal tarnish their legacy."

"Exactly. Even if she’s beneath him, a child secures her position. We’d better tread carefully from now on. One wrong move, and our families could suffer."

Nods of agreement rippled through the group before they filed out, oblivious to the stall door creaking open in their wake.

A woman emerged, her flawless makeup at odds with the venom in her eyes. She gripped the sink, staring into the mirror.

Nathaniel wants a child with Evelyn?

Her knuckles whitened before she schooled her features into calm. Stepping into the hallway, she collided with a smirking Donovan Sinclair.

Forcing a smile, she purred, "Donovan! What a surprise. What brings you here?"