Chapter 207

The morning sun streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Evelyn's office, casting golden patterns across her drafting table. Her fingers hovered over the architectural blueprints as she chewed her lower lip in concentration. The new commercial complex project for Martin Group was proving more challenging than anticipated.

A sharp knock interrupted her thoughts. "Come in," she called without looking up.

The door swung open to reveal Nathaniel, looking devastatingly handsome in his tailored navy suit. "Working through lunch again?" His deep voice held a note of affectionate disapproval.

Evelyn's pencil stilled as she finally looked up. "The structural calculations for the west wing aren't—"

"Not another word about load-bearing walls," Nathaniel interrupted, rounding her desk with purposeful strides. He plucked the pencil from her fingers. "You've been at this since dawn. Even brilliant architects need to eat."

She opened her mouth to protest when her stomach growled loudly. Nathaniel arched an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching. "Your stomach agrees with me."

"Fine," Evelyn conceded, pushing back from her desk. "But only if we can discuss the cantilever design over—"

Nathaniel silenced her with a finger to her lips. "No shop talk during lunch. That's our rule." His touch lingered just a moment too long, sending a familiar warmth through her.

As they stepped into the elevator, Evelyn's phone buzzed. She glanced at the screen and stiffened. Isabella's name flashed across the display with a text that simply read: "We need to talk."

Nathaniel noticed her reaction immediately. "What's wrong?"

Evelyn quickly locked her screen. "Nothing important. Just Gregory confirming our meeting tomorrow." The lie tasted bitter on her tongue, but she couldn't bring herself to mention Isabella's name—not when things between them had been so perfect lately.

The elevator doors opened to the lobby, where Alfred stood waiting with an umbrella. "Sir, madam," he greeted with a slight bow. "It's begun to rain."

Nathaniel took the umbrella and held it over them as they stepped outside. The sudden summer shower had transformed the city streets into glistening mirrors. Evelyn instinctively moved closer to Nathaniel, her shoulder brushing against his arm.

At the bistro, their usual corner table waited. The waiter brought Evelyn's favorite sparkling water without being asked. Nathaniel ordered for them both—another of their rituals that had developed over months of shared lunches.

Halfway through their meal, Evelyn's phone buzzed again. This time, the message was longer: "I have information about the night of the accident. Meet me at Café Blanc at 3."

Her fork clattered against her plate. Nathaniel's concerned gaze met hers. "Evelyn?"

She forced a smile. "Just... remembering I have that site visit this afternoon." The words felt heavy with deception. "I should probably head back soon."

Nathaniel studied her for a long moment before nodding. "Let me walk you to the office."

As they stepped back into the rain, Evelyn's mind raced. What could Isabella possibly know about that terrible night? And why reach out now, after all this time?

Nathaniel's hand found hers beneath the umbrella, his fingers intertwining with hers in silent support. Evelyn squeezed back, her heart torn between the comfort of his touch and the growing dread about what secrets the afternoon might reveal.

Evelyn strode to her desk, placing her purse down with deliberate calm. She waited for Nathaniel to finish his call before responding in an icy tone, "Grandfather is hospitalized. This has nothing to do with the Martins. It was Nathaniel and the Martin Group's decision."

"Evelyn, are you siding with Nathaniel now?"

"I'm not. I'm stating facts."

William's anger hadn't dissipated, his expression still stormy. "I don't care about your facts. Remember—you're a Mitchell, not a Martin. Think carefully. And Beatrice hasn't been well lately. Your mother and I believe you should decide for yourself. If you want to take her to Mayby for treatment, you'd better settle things with the Martins quickly and issue a public apology to the Mitchell family!"

Evelyn's brows knitted together, her voice tight with concern. "Grandmother is ill?"

"So think about it. For Beatrice's sake, perhaps it's time to have a serious discussion with the Martins," William said, his words laced with unmistakable threat.

Evelyn narrowed her eyes slightly, her tone deceptively composed. "What exactly do you want me to discuss with them?"

"You're married to Nathaniel. You have influence in the Martin Group. When you married him, Edward promised you shares, didn’t he? Isn’t it time he honored that? Has Nathaniel never mentioned this to you?"

William fired off question after question, none of which concerned Evelyn personally. Every word revolved around the Mitchells' interests.

Yet Evelyn truly hadn’t known Edward intended to give her shares. Whether he fulfilled that promise or not didn’t matter to her. Compared to wealth and power, she valued sincerity far more.

Faking kindness for a day was possible, but maintaining a facade for over three hundred days? Impossible.

The Martins had been genuinely good to her.

A faint, humorless smile touched Evelyn’s lips. "So you want me to take my share from the Martins and then cut ties completely?"

Her expression darkened, her gaze turning glacial.

William met her eyes before speaking again. "Evelyn, don’t think I’m being cruel. I have no choice. And you might not know this—Beatrice isn’t your mother’s biological mother. Your mother and I agree that since Beatrice raised you, you should be responsible for her. We have no obligation to care for her."

Evelyn could hardly believe what she was hearing.

If Beatrice wasn’t Margaret’s biological mother, then she wasn’t Evelyn’s blood grandmother either. And yet, they had been content to leave her in the care of someone unrelated by blood.

What were William and Margaret thinking?

Evelyn stared at him in silence, her eyes cold and distant. Any lingering guilt she might have felt toward the Mitchells evaporated in that moment.

As for Beatrice—blood or not—her gratitude was boundless.

At the thought of her grandmother, Evelyn’s expression turned icy. Her voice was even colder as she said, "I’m sorry. I can’t help you. Grandfather is hospitalized because of this, and I can’t persuade Nathaniel either. There’s nothing I can do."

"What do you mean nothing? You can’t even handle something this simple?"