Chapter 115

The morning sun streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Pineview Villa, casting golden streaks across the marble floors. Evelyn stretched lazily in bed, her fingers brushing against the empty space beside her. Nathaniel had already left for work—again.

She sighed, rolling onto her back. The silence of the villa was deafening. Even Alfred, their ever-discreet butler, moved about soundlessly, as if afraid to disturb the fragile peace.

Her phone buzzed on the nightstand. A message from Gregory lit up the screen:

"Evelyn, the client wants revisions on the waterfront project. They’re pushing for a meeting today. Can you come in?"

She groaned. Another day of endless adjustments. Another day of pretending everything was fine.

Dragging herself out of bed, she caught her reflection in the mirror. Dark circles shadowed her eyes. When had she last slept properly?

The shower did little to revive her. As she dressed, her gaze lingered on the framed photo on the dresser—her and Nathaniel on their honeymoon in Santorini, his arms wrapped around her waist, both of them laughing under the Mediterranean sun.

Now, they barely spoke.

The drive to the office was a blur. The city passed by in streaks of gray and steel, matching her mood.

Gregory was already waiting when she arrived, his expression tight. "They want more glass, less concrete. Says it lacks 'warmth.'"

Evelyn resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "It’s a corporate building, not a spa."

He shrugged. "Tell that to the client."

She spent the next three hours redrawing plans, her frustration mounting with each stroke of her stylus. By noon, her head throbbed.

Her phone buzzed again—this time, a message from Nathaniel:

"Dinner with Edward tonight. Be ready by seven."

No "How’s your day?" No "Miss you." Just another obligation.

She exhaled sharply, tossing her phone onto the desk.

Gabrielle, her assistant, peeked in. "Everything okay?"

Evelyn forced a smile. "Just peachy."

The rest of the afternoon dragged. By six, she was back at the villa, slipping into a sleek black dress—something elegant enough for Edward Martin’s standards but not so flashy as to draw criticism.

Nathaniel arrived at six-fifty, his tie perfectly knotted, his expression unreadable.

"You’re late," he said, glancing at his watch.

She bit back a retort. "Traffic."

The car ride was silent.

The restaurant was one of those exclusive places where the waiters knew everyone’s name and the wine list cost more than her monthly rent. Edward was already seated, his sharp gaze assessing them as they approached.

"Finally," he said, not bothering to hide his disapproval.

Nathaniel took his seat without a word. Evelyn plastered on a smile.

The dinner was a minefield of veiled jabs and loaded silences. Edward spoke of business, of legacy, of expectations. Nathaniel nodded along, his responses measured, detached.

Evelyn picked at her food, her appetite gone.

Then Edward dropped the bomb.

"I’ve arranged for you both to attend the charity gala next week. The press will be there. It’s time to show a united front."

Nathaniel’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t argue.

Evelyn’s stomach twisted. Another performance.

As the dessert plates were cleared, Edward leaned in, his voice low. "And Nathaniel, I expect you to handle the Singapore deal personally. No more delays."

Nathaniel’s eyes flickered—something dark, unspoken. "Understood."

The ride home was colder than before.

Evelyn stared out the window, the city lights blurring into streaks.

When they finally reached the villa, Nathaniel headed straight for his study without a word.

She stood in the grand foyer, the weight of the evening pressing down on her.

Then her phone buzzed—a message from an unknown number:

"We need to talk. It’s about Nathaniel."

Her breath caught.

The screen went dark before she could reply.

Evelyn's brows knitted together. "What would I be doing at the hospital? I just came for a routine check-up. I haven’t been feeling well lately."

"Just unwell?" Nathaniel's voice was cool, detached.

"What else would it be?" She met his gaze evenly.

His eyes darkened as he studied her. "Evelyn, are you pregnant?"

The question caught her off guard, but she didn’t let it show. Instead, she tilted her chin up, her expression unreadable. "I don’t know where you got that idea, but no, I’m not."

A beat of silence stretched between them before Nathaniel spoke again, his tone unchanged. "Is it that you're truly not pregnant, or that you are and don’t want the child?"

Now she was certain—he didn’t know.

Evelyn exhaled slowly, keeping her voice steady. "Nathaniel, I said I’m not pregnant. Just because I came to the hospital doesn’t automatically mean that. I was having discomfort during my cycle, and the doctor suggested I rest."

"Is that so?"

"If you don’t believe me, there’s nothing I can do about it."

His gaze bore into hers, unrelenting. "Then let’s do another check-up. Together."

It wasn’t a request.

Evelyn’s fingers curled slightly at her sides, but she forced herself to relax. "Are you implying that if I refuse, it means I’m hiding something?"

Nathaniel didn’t answer, his expression unreadable.

A flicker of something—frustration, perhaps—passed over his features before he spoke again, his voice low. "You’re defensive, Evelyn. Are you afraid of what we might find?"

"What is there to be afraid of?"

"Then let’s go."

Once Nathaniel made up his mind, there was no changing it.

Evelyn pressed her lips together but didn’t resist further. If she kept refusing, he’d only grow more suspicious. She’d go along with it—for now.

Just then, Caroline rushed over, slightly out of breath. "Where are you two headed?"

Relief flickered through Evelyn at the sight of her cousin. She shrugged casually. "Nathaniel seems convinced I’m pregnant. He wants another test."

Caroline shot Nathaniel an amused look. "Mr. Martin, are you that eager for Evelyn to have your child?"

She handed over a folder. "Here are her results from earlier. I brought them down after my shift. Evelyn’s been dealing with irregular cycles—she needs rest and to avoid stress."

Nathaniel didn’t take the file, merely glancing at it. The name was Evelyn’s, the timestamp from an hour ago.

So, she really isn’t pregnant.

Disappointment flickered in his eyes before he masked it. "Evelyn, is this accurate?"

She held his gaze without flinching. "Why would I lie? Thomas was keeping an eye on me before you showed up, and Caroline had already left by then. Do you think we orchestrated fake results just for you?"

She emphasized keeping an eye, making sure her story held no gaps.

Nathaniel studied her, his expression unreadable. He had no choice but to accept it—she wasn’t pregnant. Just unwell.

When Thomas had called, Nathaniel had already prepared himself. If she was pregnant, he’d negotiate—anything to keep the child. But now, faced with the reality that it was all a misunderstanding, a hollow ache settled in his chest.

Finally, he exhaled. "If there’s no pregnancy, then fine. We only just started considering it, anyway."

Evelyn’s lips curved into a humorless smile. "Nathaniel, since when do your decisions override mine?"