Chapter 67

The morning sun cast golden streaks across the bedroom as Evelyn stirred awake. Beside her, Nathaniel slept soundly, his breathing steady. She traced the contours of his face lightly with her fingertips, careful not to wake him. Last night had been intense—another argument about Isabella.

Evelyn slipped out of bed, wrapping herself in a silk robe. The penthouse was eerily quiet, save for the distant hum of the city below. She padded to the floor-to-ceiling windows, gazing at the skyline. The view was breathtaking, but her mind was elsewhere.

Isabella had been calling Nathaniel again.

Evelyn clenched her fists. She knew she shouldn’t let it get to her, but the woman was relentless. Just when things seemed to settle, Isabella would reappear like a ghost from Nathaniel’s past.

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

"Meeting at 10. The client wants revisions."

Evelyn sighed. Work was the last thing on her mind, but she couldn’t afford to slack off. Not with the Summit Realty project hanging in the balance.

She turned back to Nathaniel, still asleep. His dark lashes fanned against his cheeks, his expression peaceful. For a moment, she allowed herself to forget the tension between them.

Then her phone buzzed again.

This time, it was an unknown number.

Her stomach twisted as she read the message:

"You think you’ve won him, Evelyn? He’ll always be mine."

No signature. None was needed.

Evelyn’s breath hitched. Isabella was playing games again.

She glanced at Nathaniel, torn between waking him and handling this alone.

But before she could decide, the bedroom door creaked open.

Alfred stood there, his expression grave.

"Madam," he said quietly. "Your presence is required downstairs. Immediately."

Evelyn frowned. "What’s wrong?"

Alfred hesitated. "It’s Mr. Martin. He’s here."

Her blood ran cold.

Edward Martin never visited unannounced.

Something was very, very wrong.

Evelyn attempted to put some distance between them, her voice strained. "Nathaniel, let me go."

"What if I refuse?"

Instead of releasing her, he leaned in closer, his arms encircling her waist from behind. His chin rested on her shoulder, their reflection in the mirror an intimate tangle of limbs and unspoken tension.

She squirmed, but Nathaniel only tightened his hold. "Are you blushing, Evelyn?"

"I'm not—just give me some space. I can't think like this."

"Am I making you uncomfortable?"

His warm breath ghosted over the shell of her ear, sending an involuntary shiver down her spine.

What was wrong with him?

Since when had he become so... possessive?

When she didn’t answer, Nathaniel continued, his voice laced with quiet accusation. "You’ve been avoiding me, Evelyn. Not a single call. Are you trying to force my hand into this divorce? You’re ruthless."

His dark eyes met hers in the mirror, brimming with something unreadable—hurt, frustration, maybe even longing.

Evelyn pressed her lips together, her gaze flickering to the way his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. Then, abruptly, he turned her around, pressing his forehead against hers. His voice was rough. "Do you really want this?"

"You were the one who brought it up first."

How dare he act like the wounded party?

Wasn’t she the one who had been discarded?

"I mentioned it once," he countered, his grip on her waist tightening almost punishingly. "But you? You ran straight to Grandfather. What did you say to him, hm? What words did you use to twist his mind?"

His tone was deceptively soft, but the anger simmered beneath the surface.

Evelyn pushed against his chest, but he was immovable.

"Answer me," he demanded. "Are you in such a hurry to erase me from your life? Are you really that cruel?"

"Don’t rewrite history. You wanted this—to marry Isabella. How dare you turn this around on me?"

Their breaths mingled, heavy with unsaid words.

Nathaniel tilted her chin up, forcing her to meet his gaze. "I haven’t brought it up again. You need to convince Grandfather to drop it."

"No."

His brows furrowed. "Evelyn, be good."

Before she could protest, his lips crashed against hers, hard and demanding. She gasped, shoving at him with all her strength. When he finally pulled away, her voice was barely a whisper. "You can’t keep doing this to me."

It trembled, thick with unshed tears. Her eyes were red-rimmed, her nose stinging with the threat of a breakdown.

The sight made his pupils constrict, something sharp and painful lancing through his chest.

She looked up at him, raw and vulnerable. "Why are you hesitating now that Grandfather is on board? Nathaniel, what do you want?"

Before he could answer, he kissed her again—deep, consuming, leaving her breathless.

When they finally broke apart, his gaze was heavy, lingering on her flushed face.

He still didn’t let go.

Evelyn swallowed. "I’m on my period."

Nathaniel chuckled, low and dark. "I wasn’t asking for anything. What are you implying?"

His laughter echoed in the dressing room, neither light nor mocking—just unsettling.

Evelyn was lost.

Wasn’t he supposed to love Isabella? Then why was he saying these things? Doing these things?

But Nathaniel didn’t offer an explanation, and she wouldn’t ask.

Some answers were better left unknown.

His sudden shift left her reeling.

What game was he playing?

Before she could decipher his motives, trouble found her.

Caroline’s call came through, her voice tense. "Evelyn, someone’s spreading rumors about you. They’re saying you slept your way into the Martins’ good graces, that you—"

"What else?"

"It’s vile. Have you pissed someone off?"

Caroline hesitated before sending screenshots. The rumors hadn’t just surfaced—they’d been circulating for days, spreading like wildfire through their social circles.

Evelyn had only been back in Mayfield for a year, but the Mitchell name carried weight. The whispers were everywhere.

Before she could process it, Margaret called.

Ever since Evelyn had insisted on the divorce, her mother’s tone had been ice. "Is this why Nathaniel wants to divorce you? Because you’ve been whoring yourself out?"

Evelyn went rigid.

Margaret continued, indifferent to her silence. "I may not have raised you, but I taught you better than this. Is this how your grandmother raised you? To be this shameless?"

"Grandmother raised me well," Evelyn snapped. "You don’t get to insult her."

A beat of silence. Then, colder: "So it’s your own doing? You’re dragging the Mitchell name through the mud. How is Sophia supposed to find a good match now? You’re a disgrace."

"You believe every rumor without question? If that’s how little you think of me, then fine. Believe what you want."

Margaret’s voice turned shrill, demanding she fix this before it tarnished the family further.

Evelyn hung up, her mind racing.

This wasn’t random. Someone was orchestrating it.

But who?

At the office, she briefed Gregory.

His expression darkened. "I’ll find out who’s behind this. What about Nathaniel? How will you explain it to him?"

"If I’ve done nothing wrong, I don’t owe him an explanation."

Gregory studied her before nodding. He made a call, then sank into thought. Moments later, he dialed another number.

It was answered instantly.

His voice was steel. "I told you not to cross lines."

The voice on the other end was calm. "I hate her."

"So you ignore me now?"

Silence.

"Don’t do this again. Remember our goal."

"...Understood."

Gregory ended the call, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Who was pulling the strings?

And why?