Chapter 123

The morning sun cast golden rays through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Evelyn's office, illuminating the blueprints spread across her desk. Her fingers traced the intricate lines of the design—a new luxury resort for the Martin Group. The project was her biggest yet, and the weight of responsibility settled heavily on her shoulders.

A soft knock interrupted her thoughts.

"Evelyn?" Gabrielle, her assistant, peeked in, holding a steaming cup of coffee. "Thought you might need this. You've been staring at those plans for hours."

Evelyn smiled gratefully, accepting the cup. "Thanks, Gabrielle. Just trying to perfect the layout before the client meeting."

Gabrielle hesitated, then lowered her voice. "Nathaniel called earlier. He said he’d be late tonight—another meeting with the board."

Evelyn’s grip tightened slightly on the cup. Lately, Nathaniel had been buried in work, their time together dwindling. She understood the pressure he was under, but the distance between them was growing, and it unsettled her.

"I see," she murmured, forcing a smile. "Tell him not to worry. I’ll probably be working late too."

Gabrielle nodded sympathetically before slipping out.

Evelyn exhaled, turning back to her designs. But her focus was shattered when her phone buzzed—an unknown number flashing on the screen.

Curious, she answered. "Evelyn Mitchell."

"Isabella Davis," the smooth, confident voice replied. "I think we should talk."

Evelyn’s breath hitched. Isabella—Nathaniel’s ex, the woman who had once held his heart. Why was she calling now?

"About what?" Evelyn kept her tone neutral, though her pulse quickened.

Isabella’s laugh was light, almost mocking. "Oh, just a little… family matter. Meet me at The Velvet Lounge. Tonight. Eight o’clock."

Before Evelyn could respond, the line went dead.

She stared at her phone, unease coiling in her stomach. What did Isabella want? And why did it feel like a storm was brewing beneath the surface of her carefully constructed life?

Setting the phone down, Evelyn clenched her fists. Whatever game Isabella was playing, she wouldn’t let it shake her. But as she glanced at the clock, counting the hours until their meeting, one thought echoed in her mind:

Nothing good ever comes from the past resurfacing.

Evelyn hesitated, her brows knitting together as she studied Nathaniel. The memory of the bathtub incident was still vivid, making her refuse instinctively. "I'll call Samuel."

She reached for her phone, but before she could dial, Nathaniel's fingers moved to the buttons of his shirt. One by one, they popped open, the soft clicks echoing as the fabric slid off his shoulders and pooled at his feet.

Her gaze flickered over his sculpted torso—the defined muscles, the droplets of water still clinging to his skin, the way his damp hair framed his sharp features. It was undeniably alluring, a sight that would make anyone’s breath hitch.

Evelyn cleared her throat and averted her eyes, half-convinced he’d done it on purpose.

With a quiet sigh, Nathaniel sank into the warmth of the covers, shifting slightly before his breathing evened out into sleep.

Rolling her eyes, Evelyn turned up the heater before slipping into bed beside him.

They’d shared this space for nearly a year now—had done far more intimate things than simply sleeping side by side. There was no reason for her to retreat to the couch tonight.

But she regretted that decision almost immediately.

Just as she was drifting off, Nathaniel’s arm snaked around her waist, pulling her flush against him. His grip was firm, unyielding, as if he had no intention of letting go.

When his breathing steadied, she tried to pry his hand away—only for him to tighten his hold seconds later, his voice rough with sleep.

"Stay still."

Evelyn froze.

Was he actually awake?

She managed a few more hours of restless sleep before her alarm blared at eight sharp. Today, she had plans to visit the construction site, so skipping the office wasn’t an issue. But Nathaniel remained motionless beside her, his breathing deep.

"Nathaniel?" she whispered.

He shifted slightly but didn’t respond.

Frowning, she reached out to nudge him—only to jerk her hand back the second her fingers brushed his skin.

He was burning up.

"Nathaniel!" She shook him harder this time, but he only groaned, his voice thick with exhaustion.

"Leave me alone."

Evelyn scrambled out of bed, grabbing the medical kit Caroline had insisted she keep for emergencies. The thermometer beeped after what felt like an eternity, confirming her fears—102°F.

"You’re running a fever," she said, her voice tight. "We need to get you to the hospital."

Nathaniel barely stirred. "I’ll be fine after some sleep."

His words were sluggish, his body weak. It had been years since he’d last been sick, and now it had hit him like a truck.

Guilt twisted in Evelyn’s chest. She shouldn’t have left him alone in the bath last night.

After a quick call to Gabrielle to rearrange her schedule, she ordered medicine and whipped up a simple soup. By the time the delivery arrived, Nathaniel had barely moved.

She coaxed him upright, forcing the pills and broth down his throat. Since he had no spare clothes here, she’d ordered two plain T-shirts—though even those looked unfairly expensive on him.

Once the medicine kicked in, some color returned to his face. Evelyn pressed a hand to his forehead.

"You should still see a doctor."