Chapter 117

The morning sun streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Evelyn's office, casting golden patterns across her drafting table. She tapped her pen absently against the blueprint, her mind elsewhere.

A soft knock interrupted her thoughts.

"Evelyn?" Gabrielle, her assistant, peeked in. "Mr. Wilson is here to see you."

Evelyn straightened, smoothing her blouse. "Send him in."

Gregory strode in, his usual confident demeanor slightly strained. "We have a problem."

She arched a brow. "What now?"

"The Summit Realty project." He dropped a folder onto her desk. "Sebastian Wilson is pushing for revisions—again."

Evelyn flipped through the pages, her jaw tightening. "These changes aren't just adjustments. They're a complete redesign."

Gregory exhaled sharply. "I know. And he wants them by Friday."

Her fingers curled into fists. "That’s impossible."

"Tell that to Jonathan Blake. He’s been breathing down my neck all morning."

Evelyn leaned back, rubbing her temples. "Fine. I’ll handle it."

Gregory hesitated. "There’s more."

She met his gaze. "Of course there is."

"Vanessa called. Isabella’s back in town."

A cold weight settled in Evelyn’s stomach. "When?"

"Last night."

Evelyn forced a steady breath. "And Nathaniel?"

Gregory’s expression darkened. "He knows."

The air between them thickened. Evelyn turned to the window, watching the city below. The skyline blurred as her thoughts raced.

Isabella’s return was never just a coincidence.

Her phone buzzed. A message from Nathaniel:

We need to talk.

Evelyn’s grip tightened around the device.

The game had just changed.

Evelyn's declaration struck Nathaniel like a lightning bolt on a clear summer day. The words hung between them, charged with an electricity that made the air crackle.

His knuckles turned white as his grip tightened on the doorframe. When he spoke, his voice was glacial. "I'll attribute this nonsense to temporary insanity. But mark my words - I won't entertain such foolishness again."

"This isn't impulse," Evelyn countered, her chin lifting defiantly. "I've been considering this since we returned to Martin Estate. Your grandfather understands. Isn't this what you've wanted all along? Your freedom? Your precious Isabella?"

Each syllable fell like a hammer blow. Charlotte, standing nearby, clutched Evelyn's wrist in silent warning, but her friend remained unmoved.

Nathaniel's lips twisted into a mirthless smile. "How convenient. Now you choose to grant my supposed wish? Where was this consideration when our grandfathers orchestrated this farce?" His voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. "Your hypocrisy astounds me, Evelyn."

Evelyn's breath hitched. Though she maintained eye contact, a storm raged behind her composed facade.

Before she could respond, Nathaniel delivered his final blow. "Understand this - the fate of our marriage was never yours alone to decide." With that, he turned on his heel and vanished down the corridor.

Evelyn stood frozen, watching the space where he'd been until Charlotte's concerned touch broke her trance. "Don't let him rattle you. You know how he gets when cornered."

"I'm fine," Evelyn lied smoothly, straightening her blouse. "Let's take that walk. I intend to enjoy my half-day off properly - starting with an early return home."

Meanwhile, Nathaniel stormed through the hospital corridors, bypassing Isabella's ward entirely. Instead, he summoned Samuel with a clipped command. "Escort Ms. Davis to her therapy session. Document every word, every reaction. I want transcripts by tonight."

"Yes, sir."

Nathaniel powered off his phone, craving silence. But when Samuel arrived at Isabella's penthouse, her reaction was volcanic.

"I want Nathaniel! He promised!" she shrieked, her manicured nails digging into the doorframe.

Samuel remained impassive. "Mr. Martin is occupied. I'm to ensure you reach your appointment."

"Get out!" Isabella slammed the door with enough force to rattle nearby paintings. "Know your place, you glorified errand boy!"

Alone, Isabella dialed Nathaniel repeatedly, growing more frantic with each unanswered call. When the automated voicemail greeted her yet again, she hurled her phone across the room. "This is Evelyn's doing," she hissed to the empty apartment. "That scheming witch is poisoning him against me."