Chapter 7

The morning sun cast golden streaks across Evelyn Sinclair’s penthouse as she stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, cradling a steaming cup of Earl Grey. The city below was just waking up, but her mind was already racing with the events of last night.

Nathan Blackwood’s unexpected confession still echoed in her ears.

"I can’t pretend anymore, Evelyn. Not when every damn second without you feels like torture."

A shiver ran down her spine. She had spent years building walls around her heart, and yet, in one reckless moment, he had shattered them all.

Her phone buzzed—Victoria Hayes, her ever-efficient secretary, had sent a barrage of messages.

Victoria: The press is already speculating about you and Nathan. We need damage control. Now.

Evelyn sighed. Of course they were. Last night’s gala had been a spectacle—Nathan, the elusive billionaire, pulling her onto the dance floor in front of half of New York’s elite. The cameras had caught every heated glance, every whispered word.

She typed back.

Evelyn: Let them talk. I’m done hiding.

Before she could second-guess herself, another notification popped up—this time from Serena Whitmore, her agent.

Serena: You’re trending. The studio is thrilled. But we need to discuss your next move. Call me.

Evelyn set her phone aside. The world was watching, waiting to see what she’d do next. And for the first time in years, she wasn’t afraid.

A knock at the door startled her.

"Evelyn?" Nathan’s voice, rough with exhaustion, seeped through the wood.

Her pulse spiked. She hadn’t expected him to show up here—not after last night. Not after she’d left without a word.

Swallowing hard, she crossed the room and opened the door.

Nathan stood there, his usually immaculate suit wrinkled, his dark hair tousled as if he’d been running his hands through it all night. His stormy gray eyes locked onto hers, intense and unreadable.

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

Evelyn arched a brow. "You couldn’t call?"

His jaw tightened. "Not about this."

She stepped aside, letting him in. The air between them crackled with tension, thick and suffocating.

Nathan didn’t waste time. "I meant what I said last night."

Evelyn crossed her arms. "Which part? The part where you said you couldn’t live without me? Or the part where you accused me of running away?"

His gaze darkened. "Both."

She laughed, though there was no humor in it. "You don’t get to waltz back into my life after three years and demand answers, Nathan."

"I’m not demanding anything," he said, stepping closer. "I’m asking."

The proximity was dangerous. She could smell his cologne—something woodsy and intoxicating—and it made her head spin.

"And if I say no?" she challenged.

Nathan’s lips curved into a smirk, the kind that used to make her weak in the knees. "Then I’ll just have to convince you."

Before she could react, he closed the distance between them, his hand cupping her cheek. His touch was electric, sending sparks skittering across her skin.

Evelyn’s breath hitched. This was a terrible idea.

And yet—

She leaned in.

The world outside didn’t matter. The press, the rumors, the past—none of it.

Because right now, there was only Nathan.

And she was tired of fighting it.

The moment Evelyn Sinclair and Nathan Blackwood stepped into the room, the tense atmosphere shattered like glass. Every head turned toward them.

The butler moved swiftly to take their coats.

"You're back," Margaret murmured, rising from the couch with a nervous flutter of her hands. She reached for Evelyn's fingers, studying their expressions with cautious hope.

Across the room, Richard maintained his dignified posture, though his gaze betrayed his anxiety.

Margaret had questioned Nathan earlier when Evelyn was taken away that morning, but he’d shut her down with a clipped, "Stay out of it." Richard had simply sighed and told his son to handle the mess—after all, Evelyn had made a grave mistake. If Nathan didn’t resolve it, who would?

They’d braced for the worst—divorce papers.

They hadn’t planned on hosting Sophia Blackwood and her family today, but Sophia had sounded frantic over the phone, insisting she needed to discuss something urgent. So here they were.

And Sophia and her husband, Daniel Prescott, had dropped a bombshell of their own.

Evelyn, following the script of her borrowed memories, offered a detached nod—cool, aloof, utterly indifferent to social graces.

Nathan, ignoring the unspoken questions, greeted Sophia’s family first.

Evelyn’s gaze flicked to the four strangers on the couch.

A stern-faced older woman cradled a frail boy of about eight or nine. He clutched a half-solved Rubik’s cube, his fingers trembling. Beside her sat a lean man in gold-rimmed glasses, smiling but distant. Next to him, a woman with warm features wore a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

Richard and Margaret hesitated to press Nathan and Evelyn for answers. Better to deal with Sophia’s drama first.

Before they could speak, a raspy voice cut through the silence.

"I thought they were divorced? Why are they together?"

The temperature in the room plummeted.

"Mother!" Sophia protested, but her voice lacked conviction. She shot an apologetic glance at Evelyn while Daniel stayed silent, letting his mother snipe unchecked.

Nathan’s jaw tightened, but his tone remained even. "We’re not divorced. Of course we came home together."

Margaret and Richard exchanged startled, hopeful looks. Finally, some good news!

Beatrice Lawson—Daniel’s mother—huffed. "But the rumors are everywhere in high society. They say she—"

Nathan’s patience frayed, but Evelyn beat him to it.

"Since when are the Lawsons part of high society? You’re suddenly privy to insider gossip?"

The Lawsons were middle-class at best. Daniel’s medical career and the Quirks’ backing had given them a foothold, but high society? Please.

Truth stung. Beatrice’s face purpled. "How dare you insult my family?"

Evelyn blinked innocently. "Sensitive much? I stated facts. No insults here."

How’s humiliation taste, old hag? Not so fun when it’s you, huh?

Nathan bit back a smirk. If Beatrice wanted to start this fight, he wouldn’t stop Evelyn from finishing it.

He guided Evelyn to the sofa, ignoring Beatrice’s sputters.

As they sat, Nathan caught his parents’ stunned expressions.

They gaped at Evelyn, bewildered. Had they just—?

Her lips hadn’t moved.

Nathan’s pulse spiked. He glanced at Sophia, who was staring at Evelyn with equal shock.

Meanwhile, Evelyn and Beatrice’s battle raged on.

"Ungrateful brat!" Beatrice hissed.

The Blackwoods’ faces darkened. Evelyn was family. This woman had no right.

Margaret opened her mouth, but Evelyn was faster. "True. No one taught me how to stoop to your level." Her gaze raked over Beatrice with undisguised disdain.

Call me uneducated while you shove your niece at Nathan behind my back? Delusional hag.

Margaret touched Evelyn’s arm gently. "You’re back late, darling. Have you eaten?"

Darling. The endearment sent a shiver down Evelyn’s spine. Orphaned young, she’d never been called anything so tender.

Margaret’s so kind.

Margaret lit up. Evelyn rarely showed affection—always distant. She’s just shy!

Evelyn shook her head.

Margaret beamed. "What would you like?"

"Anything."

"Maria, prepare Evelyn’s favorites," Margaret called, then squeezed her hand. "I’m sorry Nathan didn’t bring you home sooner. You must be starving."

Nathan’s eyebrow twitched. "Mom, I haven’t eaten either."

Margaret waved a hand. "Oh, fine. Make a plate for Nathan too."

Nathan exhaled. Evelyn bit back a laugh but met his gaze and quickly schooled her expression.

A fruit platter slid toward her.

"Snack first," Richard said casually.

Richard’s thoughtful too. They’re such a perfect couple.

Richard sat taller, pleased.

Sophia smiled faintly at Evelyn’s inner monologue and her parents’ reactions—until two icy glares killed her mood.

Her mother-in-law and husband blamed her for the Blackwoods’ "neglect." But Sophia knew better.

Nathan noticed her distress and frowned. His attention shifted to the boy with the Rubik’s cube—quiet, possibly autistic, but clearly bright given the nearly solved puzzle.

Reminds me of Julian and me as kids.

Recalling Evelyn’s earlier thought, he asked, "Who’s the boy?"