Chapter 42

The morning sun cast golden streaks across Evelyn Sinclair's penthouse as she sipped her coffee, the rich aroma mingling with the crisp air. Her phone buzzed—another message from Nathan Blackwood. She hesitated before reading it, her fingers hovering over the screen.

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

Evelyn exhaled sharply. Nathan had been distant since their last argument, his cold demeanor cutting deeper than she cared to admit. She typed a quick reply—"Fine."—before tossing her phone onto the sofa.

Across town, Nathan stood by his floor-to-ceiling windows, staring at the city below. His jaw clenched as he replayed their fight in his mind. Evelyn’s accusations still stung—"You’re just like your father. Cold. Calculating."

His phone chimed. Her response was curt, as expected.

Victoria Hayes, his ever-watchful secretary, knocked lightly before entering. "Sir, your sister Sophia is on line two."

Nathan dismissed her with a wave. "Tell her I’ll call back."

Victoria lingered, her sharp eyes assessing him. "You should eat something. You’ve barely touched lunch."

"I’m not hungry." His tone left no room for argument.

Victoria sighed but retreated, closing the door behind her.

Meanwhile, Evelyn’s agent, Serena Whitmore, barged into her penthouse, waving a script. "You need to see this! Preston Whitmore wants you for his new project—lead role!"

Evelyn barely glanced at it. "Not now, Serena."

Serena frowned. "What’s going on with you? You’ve been off for days."

Evelyn rubbed her temples. "Nathan."

Serena groaned. "Again? That man is a walking red flag."

Evelyn shot her a glare. "It’s complicated."

Serena crossed her arms. "No, it’s toxic. You’re Evelyn Sinclair—Oscar-nominated actress, fashion icon. You don’t need his drama."

Evelyn didn’t respond. Because deep down, she feared Serena was right.

As evening fell, Evelyn arrived at Nathan’s penthouse, her stomach in knots. The elevator ride felt endless. When the doors opened, Nathan stood there, his dark eyes unreadable.

"You came," he said, stepping aside to let her in.

Evelyn walked past him, her heels clicking against the marble floor. "What’s so urgent?"

Nathan poured two glasses of whiskey, handing her one. "We can’t keep doing this."

Evelyn scoffed. "Doing what? Fighting? Ignoring each other? You’re the one who pulled away."

Nathan’s grip tightened around his glass. "Because you compared me to him."

Evelyn’s breath hitched. She hadn’t meant it—not entirely. But the words had spilled out in anger.

Before she could respond, the doorbell rang.

Nathan frowned. "I’m not expecting anyone."

He strode to the door and yanked it open—only to freeze.

Standing there, impeccably dressed and smirking, was Vincent Holloway, the notorious playboy who’d once tried to sabotage Evelyn’s career.

"Long time no see, Blackwood," Vincent drawled, his gaze sliding past Nathan to land on Evelyn. "And the lovely Miss Sinclair. What a coincidence."

Evelyn’s blood ran cold.

Nathan’s voice turned lethal. "What the hell are you doing here?"

Vincent’s smirk widened. "I heard you two were having… troubles. Thought I’d offer my assistance."

Evelyn set her glass down with a sharp clink. "Get out."

Vincent feigned hurt. "So hostile. And here I was, ready to share some interesting information about your dear Nathan."

Nathan stepped forward, his frame rigid with barely contained fury. "You have three seconds to leave before I throw you out."

Vincent chuckled, unfazed. "Fine, fine. But Evelyn—when you’re tired of his games, you know where to find me."

With that, he sauntered away, leaving behind a suffocating silence.

Evelyn turned to Nathan, her heart pounding. "What was that about?"

Nathan’s expression darkened. "Nothing you need to worry about."

Evelyn laughed bitterly. "That’s your answer for everything, isn’t it? Nothing you need to worry about."

Nathan reached for her, but she stepped back.

"I can’t do this anymore," she whispered.

Nathan’s hand dropped. "Evelyn—"

"No." She grabbed her purse, her voice trembling. "I need space. From you. From this."

Nathan didn’t stop her as she walked out.

The elevator doors closed, sealing her decision.

But as the penthouse faded from view, one thought consumed her:

What did Vincent know?

And why did she have a sinking feeling it would change everything?

No sooner had Genevieve and Sophia reached the top of the stairs than an exhilarated Julian returned with Celeste in tow.

They exchanged brief pleasantries, but Julian kept glancing at his mother, silently urging her to give them privacy. Margaret, perceptive as ever, quickly whisked Evelyn away, leaving the two alone.

The moment they were out of earshot, Julian eagerly pushed the platter of snacks and fruits toward Celeste.

His enthusiasm left her momentarily stunned, as if the boy from her childhood—the one who always saved the best treats for her—had suddenly reappeared.

"Don’t strain yourself. Your injury—" she started.

Julian immediately stilled his bandaged hand, using only his uninjured one to serve her, flashing her a lopsided grin. "I told you, I heal fast. It’s nothing."

Celeste exhaled in relief. "Actually, I came today because there’s something else I need to discuss."

"Go ahead." Julian straightened, his entire demeanor shifting to one of absolute focus, as if nothing else in the world mattered but her words.

Celeste’s brow furrowed. "I need your assurance that our team’s overseas research collaboration won’t be disrupted."

A shadow flickered in Julian’s eyes.

She pressed on, firm. "Working abroad is essential for our project. Your additional conditions made Prof. Holloway hesitate. Now that we’ve settled things between us, I hope you’ll—"

"I’m not using the investment to keep you here," Julian cut in, voice rough. "I’d never stand in the way of your future."

He lowered his gaze, shoulders slumping slightly. "I won’t lie—I had selfish reasons. But staying in the country won’t hinder your research. Hell, I’ll double the funding if it helps."

Celeste’s expression remained unyielding. "Money isn’t the issue. If it were, no one would uproot their lives for five years. We can’t let the Blackwood Group take a loss either. Please withdraw the extra conditions. We need to go."

Julian studied her resolute face, his lips trembling before he forced out, "Alright. I’ll talk to Nathan."

Mission accomplished, Celeste stood abruptly. "Thank you. I should go—we have preparations to make. Every day counts."

Julian shot to his feet.

"Stay. You’re hurt," she said gently, offering a small, final smile. "I wish you happiness."

Then, as if struck by a sudden thought, Julian blurted, "Is this really goodbye?"

Celeste paused, taking in his red-rimmed eyes. Her chest ached, but she’d learned her lesson. She wasn’t ready to trust again—not when the wounds were still fresh.

"Right now, I just want to focus on my work. And honestly? I might not come back after five years. I’m considering settling overseas permanently." She met his gaze squarely. "It’s better this way."

No resentment colored her words—just quiet finality. Without hesitation, she turned and walked away.

Julian stood frozen, tears burning his eyes. The agony of watching her leave was a physical pain, sharp as a blade.

She’s going abroad, not vanishing off the earth! Since when are plane tickets a barrier? A hysterical laugh bubbled up. The Blackwoods own a damn private jet!

Was he really this dense?

Down the hall, Sophia and Genevieve exchanged worried glances before Julian suddenly bolted past them, tears streaming as he sprinted after Celeste.

Later, phone pressed to his ear, Julian made another call. "Marcus, I’m relocating my studio overseas. Want to take on the international market together?"

He’d realized: clinging to Celeste would only reopen old wounds. He refused to be the source of her pain. This might be his only chance to stay close—not as a lover, but as a silent guardian. If she ever needed someone, he’d be there.

The announcement left everyone stunned—especially Evelyn.

Wait, that’s where I work! I haven’t even earned a paycheck yet! Am I getting laid off before I start?!

Julian, mid-plan, overheard her internal panic. On the phone, Marcus mentioned Evelyn too.

Julian glanced at her. "Don’t worry. The transition won’t happen overnight. I’ll set you up before I leave. Marcus promised to line up projects to boost your reputation first."

Evelyn blinked. ...Being unemployed doesn’t sound so bad. Less work.

Genevieve, eavesdropping from upstairs, stifled a laugh. She couldn’t tell if Evelyn had spoken aloud—Julian’s response fit either way.

Back in her room, Genevieve’s phone rang incessantly. She answered to a sharp, "Why didn’t you pick up?!"

The caller caught himself, voice softening. "I worry when I can’t reach you. Don’t do that again."