Chapter 200

The morning sun streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the penthouse, casting golden streaks across the marble floors. Evelyn stretched beneath the silk sheets, her fingers brushing against the empty space beside her. Nathaniel had already left for the office—again.

She sighed, rolling onto her back. The weight of last night’s argument still lingered in the air. Isabella’s sudden reappearance had stirred old wounds, and Nathaniel’s evasive answers only fueled her unease.

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

"Meeting with Summit Realty at 10. Sebastian’s pushing for revisions. Need you there."

Evelyn groaned. Sebastian Wilson was relentless, always finding flaws in their designs. She typed a quick reply before tossing the phone aside.

Downstairs, Alfred stood by the dining table, arranging breakfast with practiced precision. "Good morning, Mrs. Martin," he greeted, his voice smooth as aged whiskey.

"Morning, Alfred," she murmured, pouring herself a cup of coffee. The rich aroma did little to soothe her nerves.

The doorbell chimed.

Alfred moved to answer it, returning moments later with an envelope in hand. "For you, ma'am."

Evelyn frowned. The thick, cream-colored paper bore no return address. She tore it open, her breath hitching as a single photograph slipped out.

It was Nathaniel.

And Isabella.

Locked in an embrace outside a hotel she didn’t recognize.

Her fingers trembled. The date stamped in the corner was from last week—the same night he’d claimed to be working late.

The coffee turned bitter on her tongue.

A knock at the door startled her. Caroline stood on the threshold, her expression grim. "We need to talk," she said, holding up an identical envelope.

Evelyn’s stomach twisted.

This wasn’t a coincidence.

Someone was playing games.

And she intended to win.

Evelyn knew Nathaniel didn’t want to discuss it, but she stopped pressing and simply said, "Did Isabella tell you what happened between her and Nathaniel? Why not summon them both back to the Martin Estate like before? That way, you can keep an eye on them, and it might help mend things faster."

"Feel free to share your plans with me, but don’t mention them in front of Isabella. Otherwise, she might refuse to step foot in the Martin Estate ever again."

Evelyn’s eyes widened in shock.

Richard responded, "Let them handle their own affairs. As elders, we can’t interfere indefinitely."

Edward’s brow furrowed slightly, his stormy gaze heavy with unspoken thoughts. After a long pause, he finally spoke, his voice eerily calm. "If they truly divorce, that ungrateful bastard will never be welcome here again."

The declaration left Richard and Evelyn utterly stunned.

Neither dared to argue—they understood better than anyone how deeply Edward cherished Nathaniel. If he had made such a decision, there had to be a reason.

Even after returning to her room, Evelyn couldn’t shake her unease. Nathaniel was away on business in Dovie. After some deliberation, she decided to call him.

Nathaniel had just arrived back at his hotel. He tossed his suit jacket onto the sofa before striding toward the floor-to-ceiling window, answering the call. "What is it?"

"When are you coming back?"

"Two days."

"What’s keeping you in Dovie for so long? Can’t you delegate to your team?"

"Mother, I’m the CEO of Martin Group. Handing off critical projects to subordinates would show a lack of commitment. If you’re truly concerned about my workload, convince your husband to return and assist me."

Evelyn glanced at Richard, who was absorbed in a book on the sofa, and replied coolly, "Don’t even think about it."

"So this was just performative concern?" Nathaniel chuckled dryly.

Evelyn scoffed. "Insufferable."

"What did you really want to say?"

"Isabella was in a car accident today."

His voice sharpened instantly. "When? Is she hurt?"

"Stop exaggerating. It was a minor collision—she’s fine," Richard interjected. "Nathaniel isn’t even home. There’s no need to worry him unnecessarily."

"Would he even care? I doubt he’d notice if his wife vanished," Evelyn muttered bitterly.

Nathaniel’s tone turned icy. "You spoke to Isabella? What did she say?"

"Yes. She said she’s done with you. Maybe you should reflect on that."

With that, she abruptly ended the call.

Richard frowned at her. "You’re only making him feel worse."

"If he feels guilty, good. At least that means he still cares. What terrifies me is if he doesn’t—if he’s completely lost to Isabella."

Evelyn sighed, knowing she couldn’t push too hard. Nathaniel was still her son.

But her words had struck a nerve. Nathaniel stood frozen by the window, his grip tightening around his phone until his knuckles turned white. His expression darkened, a storm brewing in his eyes.

So eager for a divorce that she’d say it to my parents?

His jaw clenched. Finally, he dialed a number.

Evelyn had just reached her apartment. Before she could unlock the door, her phone buzzed in her bag.

She pulled it out, her breath hitching at the name on the screen. Her lashes fluttered as she hesitated—then answered just before it went to voicemail.

"Hello?"

"Were you in an accident?"

Nathaniel’s voice was low, devoid of emotion.

Evelyn blinked in surprise. He must have heard from Evelyn.

"It wasn’t serious," she murmured.

His tone turned dangerously soft. "What would you consider serious?"