Chapter 31

The morning sun streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows of our penthouse, casting golden patterns across the marble floors. I stretched beneath the silk sheets, my fingers brushing against the cold emptiness of Nathaniel's side of the bed. Again.

My phone buzzed on the nightstand. A text from Gregory: "Emergency meeting at 9. Summit Realty is pulling out of the waterfront project."

I groaned, rubbing sleep from my eyes. This project was supposed to be my comeback after the Pineview Villa fiasco. Now it was crumbling before we'd even broken ground.

The shower did little to wash away my frustration. As I towel-dried my hair, my reflection in the fogged mirror showed dark circles under my eyes. The stress of the past month was written all over my face.

The kitchen smelled of freshly brewed coffee. Alfred, ever efficient, had laid out breakfast. "Mr. Martin left early again, ma'am," he informed me as I grabbed a croissant.

I nodded, chewing mechanically. Nathaniel had been distant since the gala, buried in work or... I didn't let myself finish the thought.

My phone buzzed again. This time it was Caroline: "You'll never guess who I just saw at The Grand having breakfast with Sebastian Wilson."

A photo followed. My stomach dropped.

There, at a corner table of the most exclusive hotel in the city, sat Nathaniel deep in conversation with Isabella Davis. Her perfectly manicured hand rested on his forearm, her crimson lips curved in that familiar, predatory smile.

The croissant turned to ash in my mouth.

Gregory was pacing when I arrived at the office. "They're citing 'creative differences,'" he said, throwing air quotes around the words. "But we all know what this is really about."

I didn't have to ask. My falling out with Edward Martin had sent ripples through the entire industry. No one wanted to cross the Martin family, not even for a Mitchell.

My computer pinged with a calendar reminder: Lunch with Victoria Martin - 12:30.

Right. My mother-in-law's monthly interrogation disguised as a social call. Perfect timing.

The morning passed in a blur of damage control calls and revised blueprints. At 11:47, my office door flew open without warning.

Nathaniel stood in the doorway, his tie slightly askew, eyes blazing. "We need to talk."

Gabrielle hovered nervously behind him. "I tried to stop him, Evelyn—"

"It's fine," I said, though nothing about this felt fine. "Close the door on your way out."

The moment the latch clicked, Nathaniel tossed his phone onto my desk. The screen displayed the same photo Caroline had sent me.

"Before you jump to conclusions," he said through clenched teeth, "it wasn't what it looked like."

I crossed my arms. "Then enlighten me. What exactly was my husband doing having a cozy breakfast with his ex at the same hotel where he proposed to me?"

His jaw worked. "She reached out about a business opportunity. I was going to tell you—"

"When? After the next photo op?" I pushed back from my desk, needing space. "Do you have any idea how this looks? Especially now, with everything that's happening?"

Nathaniel ran a hand through his already disheveled hair. "That's exactly why I didn't mention it. I knew you'd overreact."

"Overreact?" My voice climbed an octave. "Our biggest client just dropped us because of your family, and you're sneaking around with Isabella?"

"I wasn't sneaking!" His shout made the glass walls vibrate. Lowering his voice, he added, "I'm trying to fix things, Evelyn. But you're so busy assuming the worst of me that you can't see that."

The intercom buzzed. Gabrielle's voice, tense: "Evelyn, your mother-in-law is on line two. She says she's waiting at the restaurant."

Nathaniel and I locked eyes in a silent standoff.

"Go," he finally said, stepping back. "We'll finish this tonight."

As I grabbed my purse, my fingers brushed against the small velvet box in the side pocket. The pregnancy test I'd taken three days ago. Positive.

Somehow, in the middle of all this chaos, I'd forgotten to tell my husband we were having a baby.

Evelyn looked up at him, her eyes narrowing slightly. "How is that possible?"

"What exactly are you implying?"

"I didn’t do anything wrong."

"We usually have dinner together, but today, I didn’t hear a word from you. Is this how you fulfill your duties as my wife?"

Nathaniel’s tone was sharp, laced with unmistakable displeasure.

Evelyn responded with a bitter smile. "Nathaniel, you’re willing to neglect your own health for Ms. Davis. How was I supposed to know if you’d even come home for dinner? And if I called, there’s no guarantee she wouldn’t answer. Why bother?"

She was still seething over last night—how he had ignored his well-being, something she couldn’t simply overlook.

But Nathaniel didn’t see it that way.

"Are you still upset about what happened at the restaurant?" he asked coolly.

"Are you referring to you choosing to dine with Ms. Davis instead of Victoria and me? Or the way she clung to you right in front of us?"

He shouldn’t have brought it up, but he did—deliberately.

It was like pouring salt into an open wound, and it stung.

Nathaniel’s gaze darkened. "It was a misunderstanding. Did you expect me to let her fall?"

"I never said that."

"But that’s what you meant, isn’t it?"

"Nathaniel, if you already think so little of me, why bother explaining?"

Evelyn was beginning to realize she no longer recognized the man standing before her.

The tension between them thickened.

Alfred, the butler, chose that moment to bring Nathaniel’s dinnerware to the table. Sensing the charged atmosphere, he quickly retreated without a word.

Once seated, Nathaniel finally spoke again. "You knew I was having Italian with Isabella, so you deliberately brought my mother along? Haven’t I made it clear that during this marriage, I wouldn’t humiliate you? Why must you provoke me?"

Evelyn was speechless.

She stared at him, incredulous. "So you’re accusing me of scheming to bring Victoria? Nathaniel, you can favor Isabella all you want, but don’t twist the truth. She chose the restaurant. How was I supposed to know you’d be there?"

Nathaniel studied her, as if weighing the sincerity of her words.

His response was ice-cold. "Didn’t you hear her mention Italian food when I was on the phone with you?"

"If you’ve already decided it’s my fault, then fine," she said, too exhausted to argue. What was the point? His mind was made up.

Loving someone meant they could hurt you in countless ways.

This past year of marriage—respectful yet distant—had almost fooled her into thinking this was normal. But now she understood: it was only because Isabella hadn’t been around.

This was the reality of her marriage to Nathaniel.

She had tried, over and over, to salvage it, to hold on to him. But it was futile. His eyes only ever saw Isabella—never her.

And if it was going to end in his contempt, she’d rather cut it clean now.

Dinner was unbearable. Nathaniel’s accusations had killed Evelyn’s appetite. She felt sick—physically and emotionally. She barely kept anything down, making sure to avoid Nathaniel when she excused herself.

The next morning, Evelyn left early for work, taking her own car instead of waiting for Nathaniel.

At the office, Gregory handed her a document. "Here’s the signed contract with Summit Realty. Want to review it?"

Evelyn shook her head. "You handle it."

Gregory set it down, then took a seat across from her. His gaze was steady. "In a few days, we’ll meet with Summit Realty’s head at Martin Group to present our designs. We’ll be collaborating closely with them for the next six months—which means running into Nathaniel. What’s your plan?"

Evelyn hesitated. "Plan?"

"About the divorce."

"Edward is still in a coma. The divorce has to wait. As for the project, we worked hard for this. We have to see it through. The profits will benefit the company long after I’m gone."

No matter what, she wouldn’t leave her team without a future.

That was her principle.

Gregory’s expression was unreadable, his scholarly features shadowed with something deeper.

Finally, he nodded. "Alright. I’ll support whatever you decide."

Evelyn pressed her lips together. She knew what he wasn’t saying. "Gregory… you don’t have to keep sacrificing for me. I—"

"Evelyn," he interrupted gently, "some choices aren’t sacrifices. They’re just what makes us happy."

He had told her this before—that she shouldn’t feel guilty. This was his choice.

She didn’t argue further. Their eyes met, and for a brief moment, they shared a quiet understanding.

Evelyn worked late, not returning to Pineview Villa until nearly seven.

As she pushed open the gates, something felt off.

Then she saw them—ladies’ flats by the entrance.

Her stomach twisted. A terrible suspicion formed, but she clung to one last shred of hope.

Stepping inside, her gaze landed on the living room sofa—where Isabella sat, right beside Nathaniel.

Evelyn’s chest tightened.

It hurt.

But worse than the pain was the numbness settling over her.

Alfred descended the stairs just then, spotting her. "Ah, Evelyn, you’re back."

She murmured a response, and both Nathaniel and Isabella turned to look at her.

Evelyn met their gazes coolly. This is still my home. If anyone should feel uncomfortable, it’s not me.

She walked forward.

Alfred followed. "Nathaniel, the guest room is ready. If Ms. Davis needs anything else, just let me know."

"Thank you," Nathaniel replied softly.

Alfred retreated to the kitchen.

From his words, Evelyn pieced it together. She turned to Nathaniel, her voice icy. "She’s staying here?"

Nathaniel didn’t flinch. "Isabella was discharged today. She hasn’t found a place yet, so she’ll be staying with us for a while."

Isabella quickly added, "Evelyn, I hope this isn’t an inconvenience. You don’t mind, do you?"

Evelyn ignored her, keeping her eyes locked on Nathaniel.

"You’re telling me she’s moving into our home?"

Her voice was steel.