Chapter 160

The morning sun streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Evelyn's office, casting golden patterns across her drafting table. Her fingers flew over the blueprints, making precise adjustments with her mechanical pencil. The scent of freshly brewed coffee mingled with the faint aroma of ink from the prints.

Gabrielle knocked lightly before entering, balancing a tablet and two steaming mugs. "The revised estimates from Summit Realty just came in," she announced, placing one mug near Evelyn's elbow. "Sebastian Wilson's team wants to move up the groundbreaking by two weeks."

Evelyn's pencil stilled. "That's impossible with the current timeline." She took a sip of coffee, the bitterness grounding her thoughts. "Tell Jonathan Blake we need at least—"

Her phone buzzed insistently. Nathaniel's name flashed on the screen. She excused herself with a glance at Gabrielle, who nodded and retreated.

"Darling," Nathaniel's voice carried an unusual tension. "We need to talk about the gala tonight."

Evelyn's stomach tightened. "Is everything alright?"

A pause. Then, "Isabella just confirmed her attendance."

The pencil snapped between Evelyn's fingers. Outside, a sudden gust of wind rattled the windows as if echoing her turmoil. She forced her voice steady. "I see."

"I can have Samuel make our excuses—"

"No." Evelyn wiped graphite dust from her hands. "We'll go. Let's not give her the satisfaction."

The line hummed with Nathaniel's reluctant agreement. As she ended the call, Evelyn caught her reflection in the glass—the determined set of her jaw, the fire in her hazel eyes. Tonight would be a battlefield in silk and champagne.

Gabrielle reappeared, holding out a garment bag. "Your dress just arrived from Seraphina's studio." She unzipped it partially, revealing a cascade of emerald-green fabric that shimmered like dragon scales. "She says it's armored elegance."

Evelyn traced the intricate beading. Perfect. If Isabella wanted war, she'd get it—in a dress that could deflect daggers.

The intercom buzzed. "Ms. Mitchell?" Alfred's cultured tones filtered through. "Your mother is on line two. Something about your sister's graduation?"

Evelyn exhaled sharply. Another crisis. Another role to play. She reached for the phone, already composing her smile. The day stretched before her like a tightrope—one misstep away from disaster.

The internet was ablaze with speculation.

"Didn't they just get married?"

"Was their grand announcement just a prelude to a breakup?"

"Did Nathaniel leave Evelyn for Isabella?"

"Everyone knows Nathaniel never truly loved Evelyn. That marriage was just for show. Now that his real love is back, why pretend?"

"Why the silence? Is this their way of announcing a divorce?"

"Looks like it. The Martin Group hasn’t denied anything."

The rumors swirled, yet Nathaniel and his family remained silent.

Evelyn shut her laptop with a sharp click, her mind racing. What was Nathaniel playing at?

But before she could decipher his motives, the Mitchell household erupted in chaos.

Fresh off their recent success, the Mitchell family now faced disaster. The moment whispers of Nathaniel and Evelyn’s impending split surfaced, business partners withdrew. Contracts dissolved. Promises were broken. The Mitchell Group was bleeding money.

Her parents wasted no time summoning her home.

Evelyn hesitated. "Can’t we discuss this over the phone?"

"Evelyn!" Margaret snapped. "Are you really ignoring your family now? Get back here. Your grandmother is visiting."

Frowning, Evelyn hung up and dialed Beatrice. The line was busy. It was clearly a trap, but she couldn’t risk ignoring her grandmother. Reluctantly, she headed home.

For Evelyn, Beatrice was the only one who mattered.

The moment she stepped inside, she knew she’d been played. She glared at Margaret, frustration simmering. "Was this necessary?"

"If I hadn’t lied, would you have come?" Margaret shot back, unrepentant.

Evelyn’s expression remained cold, though her eyes flashed with irritation.

William cut in. "Enough. This isn’t the time for arguments. What we need to know is—are you and Nathaniel really divorcing?"

Evelyn answered flatly, "No."

"Good." William exhaled. "Then you need to get pregnant. A child will secure your place in the Martin family. Nathaniel’s parents and Edward adore you, but ultimately, your marriage depends on him."

His words were blunt, expecting compliance.

Evelyn stayed silent.

William’s brow furrowed. "Well? Do you have something to say?"

"I won’t do it," she stated, her voice firm.

She met William’s gaze, watching his expression darken, then continued, "I refuse to be a pawn. Nathaniel and I are already planning to separate. Bringing a child into this would only hurt them."

"A pawn?" Margaret scoffed. "How dare you speak like that, Evelyn! After everything we’ve done for you!"

William’s anger flared. "Even if you divorce, it hasn’t happened yet. If you have a child and still split, the Martins won’t abandon you. It would benefit our family."

"And that’s exactly what makes the child a pawn," Evelyn said icily. "Why does our family’s survival depend on Nathaniel’s pity? Have we been beggars all this time?"

"How dare you!" William slammed his fist on the table, his voice thunderous.

The tension in the room spiked.

Just then, the maid announced, "Sir, Madam, Mr. Martin is here."

Evelyn turned—and locked eyes with Nathaniel as he stepped inside.

Her pulse skipped.

What is he doing here?