Chapter 212

The morning sun cast golden streaks across the bedroom as Evelyn stirred awake. Beside her, Nathaniel slept soundly, his breathing steady. She traced the sharp line of his jaw with her fingertips, a small smile playing on her lips.

The events of last night replayed in her mind—Isabella's sudden reappearance, the tension in the air, and the way Nathaniel had pulled her close afterward, whispering promises against her skin.

Her phone buzzed on the nightstand. A message from Gregory: "Meeting at 10. Client wants revisions. Urgent."

Evelyn sighed. She had hoped for a quiet morning, but work never waited. Carefully, she slipped out of bed, grabbing her robe. The marble floor was cool beneath her bare feet as she padded to the bathroom.

The reflection in the mirror showed faint shadows under her eyes. Too much stress, she thought. Splashing cold water on her face, she willed herself to focus.

Downstairs, Alfred had already prepared her usual coffee—black, no sugar. "Good morning, Mrs. Martin," he greeted, setting the cup before her.

"Morning, Alfred," she murmured, taking a sip. The bitter warmth grounded her.

The front door opened, and Samuel strode in, his expression tense. "Mr. Martin is needed at the office immediately," he said, glancing at the staircase. "There's an issue with the Prescott project."

Evelyn frowned. "What kind of issue?"

Samuel hesitated. "Legal complications. Mr. Sinclair is involved."

Her grip tightened around the cup. Donovan Sinclair. The name alone was trouble.

Footsteps sounded behind her. Nathaniel descended the stairs, already dressed in a crisp navy suit. His gaze locked onto Samuel. "Explain."

"The city council is questioning the permits. Sinclair's people are pushing back hard."

Nathaniel's jaw clenched. "I'll handle it." He turned to Evelyn, his voice softening. "Will you be alright?"

She forced a smile. "Go. I have my own fires to put out."

He kissed her forehead before leaving, Samuel trailing behind.

The silence that followed was heavy. Evelyn exhaled, reaching for her phone again. A missed call from Charlotte.

Before she could return it, another notification popped up—an email from Sebastian Wilson. The subject line made her blood run cold: "Mitchell Designs: Breach of Contract."

Her fingers trembled as she opened it.

"Due to unresolved design flaws in the Summit project, we are terminating our partnership effective immediately. Legal action will follow if reparations are not made within 48 hours."

Evelyn's breath hitched. This couldn't be happening. Not now.

A knock at the door interrupted her spiraling thoughts. Gabrielle stood there, her face pale. "Evelyn, you need to see this."

She handed over a tablet. The screen displayed a gossip column, a bold headline screaming: "Isabella Davis Spotted Leaving Martin Estate in the Dead of Night—Reconciliation in the Works?"

Beneath it was a blurry photo of Isabella stepping into a car, the timestamp reading 2:17 AM.

Evelyn's vision blurred.

The walls were closing in. The contracts, the rumors, the secrets—all of it crashing down at once.

And then, her phone rang again. Unknown number.

She answered, her voice barely steady. "Hello?"

A familiar, honeyed voice dripped through the line. "Evelyn, darling. Did you miss me?"

Isabella.

Evelyn's nails dug into her palm. "What do you want?"

A laugh, light and mocking. "Oh, just to talk. Meet me at the café on Fifth. Noon. Don't be late."

The call ended before Evelyn could respond.

She stared at the phone, her heart pounding.

This wasn't a coincidence.

It was a trap.

And she was walking right into it.

Evelyn remained frozen in her seat for what felt like hours, her mind swirling with turbulent thoughts. Every word Nathaniel spoke mirrored phrases she'd once thrown at him carelessly.

In the sprawling metropolis of Mayby, locating someone was like finding a needle in a haystack. As a newcomer with virtually no connections, Evelyn found even simple tasks daunting.

But Nathaniel Martin wasn't one to forgive easily. Reconciliation seemed impossible.

Drawing a steadying breath, Evelyn forced calm into her voice. "You're right. This was inappropriate of me. We're practically divorced, and Charlotte is my friend, not yours. You owe me nothing. I overstepped."

The logical part of her brain approved this self-admonishment. She couldn't keep relying on others - it would only lead to humiliation eventually.

Rising gracefully, Evelyn met Nathaniel's gaze. "I've lost my appetite. Excuse me."

She allowed herself one final lingering look before turning toward the exit.

Just as her hand touched the doorframe, his voice sliced through the air with surgical precision. "So I'm just a convenient tool to be discarded when useless?"

Evelyn's steps faltered.

Turning slightly, she saw Nathaniel still seated, his posture deceptively relaxed despite the edge in his tone.

"That's not what I meant," she countered.

"Then enlighten me. Do you think you can waltz in and out of my life as you please?"

Evelyn pressed her lips together, brows knitting in frustration.

Then Nathaniel stood, his icy gaze sweeping over her before delivering his parting shot. "If you want my help with Thomas, you'll need to earn it."

With that, he strode past her toward the staircase.

Evelyn stood rooted in place, processing his words.

So there was a path forward.

A difficult one, certainly. But preferable to banging her head against bureaucratic walls with no guarantee of success.

A ghost of a smile touched her lips.

Uncertain how to "earn" Nathaniel's favor, Evelyn settled on the universal language of food. If she couldn't sweet-talk him, perhaps she could cook her way into his good graces.

Nathaniel remained sequestered upstairs all morning - not unusual for a Saturday when the office didn't demand his presence.

Evelyn enlisted Alfred's help to procure ingredients for her signature dishes, then disappeared into the kitchen for hours.

Upstairs in his study, Nathaniel sat reviewing contracts when Alfred entered with his customary coffee. As the butler turned to leave, Nathaniel's voice stopped him. "Where is she?"

No clarification needed.

"Miss Evelyn is preparing lunch, sir. She's insisted on handling everything personally - won't allow the kitchen staff to assist."

Nathaniel gave a noncommittal hum before resuming his paperwork.

The moment the door clicked shut, Nathaniel's focus shattered. Snatching his phone, he dialed a familiar number. When the call connected, his tone was deliberately casual. "What are you up to?"

The response came laced with amusement. "Should I be worried?"