Chapter 292

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 latest project—a luxury resort in the Maldives. The design was ambitious, but she thrived on challenges.

A soft knock interrupted her thoughts. Gabrielle, her assistant, peeked in. "Evelyn, Mr. Wilson is here to see you."

Evelyn nodded. "Send him in."

Gregory Wilson strode in, his usual confident demeanor slightly off. He dropped into the chair opposite her, running a hand through his hair. "We have a problem."

She arched a brow. "What kind of problem?"

"The investors for the Maldives project are getting cold feet. They're worried about the timeline."

Evelyn leaned back, tapping her pen against the desk. "We've accounted for every possible delay. What's really bothering them?"

Gregory hesitated. "Rumors. Someone's been whispering that Martin Group is overextending itself, that Nathaniel might pull funding."

Her grip on the pen tightened. "That's ridiculous."

"Is it?" Gregory met her gaze. "You know how the business world loves to talk. And with Isabella back in town..."

Evelyn's jaw clenched. Isabella Davis—Nathaniel's ex, the woman who had once held his heart. Her sudden return had stirred old ghosts.

"I'll handle it," Evelyn said firmly.

Gregory sighed. "Just be careful. The last thing we need is a scandal."

After he left, Evelyn stared at the blueprints, but her mind was elsewhere. She reached for her phone, thumb hovering over Nathaniel's contact. Then she stopped.

No. She wouldn't let doubt creep in.

Instead, she dialed another number. "Caroline? I need a favor."

Her cousin's cheerful voice came through. "Name it."

"Dig up everything you can on Isabella's recent activities. There's something she's not telling us."

Caroline chuckled. "Already on it. You really think she's up to something?"

Evelyn's lips curved into a determined smile. "I know she is."

As she hung up, the office door burst open again. This time, it was Nathaniel himself, his expression unreadable.

"We need to talk," he said, his voice low.

Evelyn's pulse quickened. "About?"

He stepped closer, his gaze intense. "About why you didn’t tell me Isabella contacted you."

The air between them crackled with tension. Evelyn held his stare, refusing to back down. "Because it wasn’t important."

Nathaniel's jaw tightened. "Everything about her is important right now. She’s not here by coincidence, Evelyn."

A chill ran down her spine. "What do you mean?"

He exhaled sharply. "She’s after something. And until we figure out what, we’re both at risk."

Evelyn’s mind raced. The investors, the rumors, Isabella’s sudden reappearance—it was all connected.

And she was right in the middle of it.

The game had just begun.

"Of course." Nathaniel's voice was soft as he stroked Evelyn's hair. "If it's too painful, don't force yourself to remember. Just breathe. I'm right here with you, always."

Evelyn gave a faint nod, but her shoulders remained tense, her fingers twisting the edge of her sweater.

A long silence stretched between them before she suddenly whispered, "Nathaniel... do you hear that?"

His grip on her tightened. "Hear what?"

"A baby... crying."

Nathaniel's expression darkened. He cupped her face, forcing her to meet his gaze. "Evelyn, look at me. You're awake now. Tell me—who am I?"

Her eyes darted away, unfocused. The shadows beneath them were deep, her skin unnaturally pale.

At that moment, Nathaniel knew—something was very wrong.

He stayed by her side until Rosalind arrived to prepare lunch. Only then did he gently disentangle himself. "I need to check on Beatrice. She'll worry if we don't visit. Will you be alright?"

Evelyn nodded absently.

After updating Beatrice on the upcoming hospital tests, Nathaniel hesitated. "Has anyone... unusual come by to see Evelyn recently?"

Beatrice frowned. "No. Why?"

"She hasn't been sleeping well. Nightmares."

"Then stay close, Nathaniel. She needs you now more than ever."

"I know."

Beatrice patted his hand, reassured by his devotion.

Meanwhile, Evelyn sat motionless on the sofa, the television's glow flickering across her hollow expression. She wasn't watching. Wasn't really seeing anything at all.

Rosalind emerged from the kitchen, concern knitting her brow. "Ms. Mitchell, you look exhausted. Are you feeling unwell?"

Evelyn blinked slowly. "Just... bad dreams."

Rosalind pressed a glass of water into her hands. "You must rest. The baby—"

"I know." Evelyn took a sip, then noticed Rosalind fidgeting. "What is it?"

The cook hesitated. "Ms. Mitchell... I've decided to resign."

"Resign?" Evelyn's grip tightened on the glass. "But you said you liked working here. Is it the pay?"

"No! It's not that." Rosalind twisted her apron. "It's just... How long have you lived here?"

Confused, Evelyn answered.

Rosalind lowered her voice. "I overheard something in the elevator. They said... a pregnant girl killed herself in this apartment. Seven months along. Her family refused to accept the baby, so she... burned charcoal."

Evelyn's blood turned to ice.