Chapter 243

The morning sun cast golden streaks across Evelyn Sinclair's penthouse as she paced nervously by the floor-to-ceiling windows. Her fingers trembled slightly as she scrolled through her phone, rereading Nathan Blackwood's last message for the tenth time.

"We need to talk. Tonight. 8 PM. My place."

Four curt sentences that had kept her awake all night.

Lillian Graves, her ever-perceptive assistant, placed a steaming cup of chamomile tea on the marble counter. "You're going to wear a hole in that imported Italian flooring," she remarked dryly.

Evelyn forced a laugh, but it came out brittle. "Just... pre-meeting jitters."

"With Mr. Blackwood?" Lillian arched a perfectly sculpted brow. "Since when do you get nervous about seeing your own fiancé?"

Since I found those damning texts from Victoria Hayes, Evelyn thought bitterly. The memory of Nathan's phone lighting up with his secretary's messages—"You were incredible last night" and "When can I see you again?"—made her stomach churn.

Her engagement ring caught the sunlight, scattering prismatic reflections across the walls. Three months ago, this diamond had symbolized fairy-tale promises. Now it felt like an anchor dragging her into icy depths.

At precisely 7:45 PM, Evelyn stood outside Nathan's Tribeca loft, her knuckles hovering inches from the door. The scent of his cologne—spicy bergamot with a hint of cedar—drifted through the cracks, triggering a wave of visceral memories: his lips tracing her collarbone, strong hands spanning her waist, whispered endearments in the dark.

The door swung open before she could knock.

Nathan stood silhouetted against the dim interior, his usually immaculate appearance uncharacteristically disheveled. Five o'clock shadow darkened his jawline, and his navy silk shirt hung untucked over tailored slacks.

"You're early," he murmured, stepping aside to let her pass.

Evelyn's stilettos clicked against the hardwood as she entered the lion's den. Her breath hitched when she spotted two wine glasses on the coffee table—one still smudged with lipstick the exact shade of Victoria's signature crimson.

Nathan followed her gaze and stiffened. "That's not what it—"

"Save it." Evelyn's voice surprised her with its steadiness. She reached into her Birkin and slid a manila envelope across the glass surface. "I believe these belong to you."

Nathan's tanned fingers made quick work of the clasp. Photographs spilled out—grainy but unmistakable. Him and Victoria emerging from a SoHo boutique at 2 AM. Their heated embrace outside The Pierre Hotel. The damning shot of Victoria slipping a keycard into his pocket.

The silence stretched like a live wire between them until Nathan finally spoke, his baritone roughened with emotion. "Evelyn, I can explain—"

A shrill ringtone cut through the tension. Victoria's name flashed across his phone screen.

In that crystalline moment, Evelyn's decision crystallized. She twisted the engagement ring off her finger and set it atop the incriminating photos with deliberate finality.

"I think," she said softly, "you should answer that."

As she turned toward the door, Nathan's hand shot out to grasp her wrist. His touch still ignited traitorous sparks along her skin. "Wait. Just... let me fix this."

Evelyn met his stormy gray eyes—the same eyes that had once made her believe in soulmates—and gently extracted herself. "Some things," she whispered, "can't be fixed."

The elevator doors slid shut behind her, muffling the sound of Nathan's phone hitting the wall with a resounding crash.

The woman’s delicate fingers toyed carelessly with her sunglasses, the afternoon sunlight glinting off their sleek frames. Dressed in a figure-hugging ensemble that accentuated her toned physique, she exuded confidence with every step. Her arched brows and bold crimson lips gave her an air of effortless allure, a stark contrast to the muted tones of the shopping district around her.

But what caught Evelyn Sinclair’s attention wasn’t just the woman’s striking presence—it was her face.

She looked uncannily like Gwendolyn Brooks.

Is that Vivian Moore?

Nathan Blackwood chose that moment to speak, his voice smooth but laced with mild surprise. "Vivian. You’re back."

Vivian’s lips curled into a knowing smile as she approached. "Just landed this morning. Didn’t expect you to be the first familiar face I’d run into. Since when do you step foot in a mall, Nathan? You’re more of a ‘send-the-staff’ kind of man."

Though her words were directed at Nathan, her sharp, curious gaze lingered on Evelyn, brimming with intrigue but devoid of hostility.

Evelyn offered a polite smile. "Hello, I’m Evelyn."

"Oh, I know," Vivian drawled, amusement dancing in her eyes. "Nathan’s legendary wife. The gossip circles overseas have been buzzing about you. They make you sound like some kind of enchantress." She tilted her head, studying Evelyn with open fascination. "So tell me—how did you manage to thaw this walking ice sculpture?"

After all, even Cassandra—with all her calculated charm—had failed spectacularly. Vivian had nearly laughed herself sick when she heard about the woman’s humiliating retreat before she’d even returned to the country.

Back in their university days, everyone had assumed Nathan and Cassandra were the perfect golden couple. But Vivian had always seen through the façade—one clueless, the other pretending. A hollow performance.

What really grated on her was how Cassandra had slithered back after Nathan’s marriage, stirring up trouble like some desperate antagonist in a bad drama. Pathetic.

But Evelyn? Now she was interesting. Anyone who could crack Nathan Blackwood’s infamous emotional fortress was worth knowing.

Vivian’s bluntness was tempered by a playful charm, making her words land with more curiosity than rudeness.

Still, Evelyn couldn’t help but correct her. "Nathan isn’t cold."

Nathan stiffened slightly beside her.

A memory flickered at the edge of his consciousness—

"Honestly, Mr. Blackwood might as well be a robot. Does he even feel anything?"

"You’re wrong. Nathan feels everything. You just don’t see it."

His gaze softened as it settled on Evelyn, warmth bleeding into his usually impassive expression—so palpable that even Vivian noticed and suppressed a shiver.

Well, well.

This was going to be fascinating.

She had thought the rumors were exaggerated, but reality proved even more astonishing. It was painfully obvious—Nathan was utterly devoted to his wife.

Vivian nearly burst out laughing. The transformation in Nathan was so drastic it bordered on unbelievable.

"Alright, he's not a robot anymore. He's finally human. But his fashion sense?" Vivian pointed at the swimsuit Nathan had picked out—a frumpy ensemble that resembled a child's beachwear. The top had an awkward drooping neckline that would swallow Evelyn's décolletage, while the shorts came with a ridiculous skirt-like fringe.

On a toddler, it might be cute. On a grown woman with Evelyn's modelesque curves? A crime against aesthetics.

"For a private pool, this is overkill. If you actually let her wear this in public, people would laugh her off the scene. Do you want your wife to become a meme?" Vivian delivered the brutal truth without mercy.

Nathan flushed, his confidence crumbling. Social gatherings weren't his forte—he usually ignored the crowd at pool parties, never paying attention to what others wore.

"Sorry, I didn’t realize," Nathan muttered, his subtle attempt at modesty thoroughly thwarted.

Evelyn bit her lip to keep from defending his choice. Secretly, she’d thought it was sweet.

"Let me handle this. My taste is impeccable." Vivian flipped through the rack before casually asking, "What’s the occasion, anyway?"

Evelyn perked up, her inner gossip radar buzzing.

Nathan didn’t hesitate. "Grayson’s pool party. Everyone’s going."

Evelyn’s eyes darted to Vivian’s face, eager for a reaction.

Vivian laughed. "Perfect. I’ve been meaning to catch up with everyone since I got back. Mind if I tag along? It’ll be a fun surprise."

Oh, this is too good. The real ex shows up while he’s parading around his rebound? The drama writes itself.

Nathan’s jaw twitched.

Vivian caught his expression and arched a brow. "What? Not welcome? Don’t tell me Grayson’s still bitter. We broke up years ago."

Clearly, Grayson’s petty revenge plot—flaunting lookalikes on social media—had failed spectacularly. Vivian hadn’t even noticed. The look on his face when he realized his efforts were wasted? Priceless.

Influenced by Evelyn’s barely contained amusement, Nathan almost smirked—but he remembered Grayson was still his friend. He cleared his throat. "I don’t see why not. If you’re fine with it, we’ll go together."

Vivian shrugged. Why wouldn’t I be fine with it?

Since they were all attending, Vivian needed a swimsuit too. She resumed browsing, her designer’s eye zeroing in on the most daring options—until she felt Nathan’s glare burning into her back.

Right. Maybe not the barely-there bikini.

With a sigh, she settled for something stylish yet modest enough to keep the overprotective husband from combusting.

Evelyn Sinclair was married now, and her husband was right beside her. That’s why she opted for a swimsuit that was stylish yet modest—something elegant but not too revealing.

Her own choice, however, was daring. The moment she stepped out in it, Gwendolyn Brooks nearly choked on her drink.

Nathan Blackwood, ever the gentleman, insisted on paying for everything. Vivian Moore treated them to an early dinner before they headed to the exclusive club.

The trio was escorted to the changing rooms.

Vivian, meticulous as always, needed time to layer on sunscreen and serums before swimming. She waved Evelyn off, telling her not to wait. Evelyn, eager to find Gwendolyn, stepped out first.

And there he was.

Nathan stood near a marble pillar, his swim trunks tastefully understated, paired with an unbuttoned linen shirt that only partially concealed his sculpted torso. The fabric fluttered slightly in the breeze, teasing glimpses of his toned abdomen.

At that moment, he was the center of attention. Tall, striking, effortlessly magnetic. Women passing by stole glances—some bold, some shy—while even a few men did double takes.

His presence was impossible to ignore. Broad shoulders tapered into a lean waist, his posture relaxed yet commanding.

Then, a brave soul approached him.

Nathan, who had been indifferent to every lingering gaze, suddenly looked up.

His eyes locked onto Evelyn.

A flush crept up his neck. His fingers twitched at his sides, as if unsure whether to adjust his shirt or run them through his hair.

Evelyn moved toward him, but before she could reach him, a woman intercepted Nathan with a coy smile.