Chapter 310

Nathaniel's eyes trailed down Evelyn's bare legs. Had he not known about her recent drinking spree, he might have mistaken it for a deliberate attempt to tempt him.

Ever since he'd brought up divorce, Evelyn had changed. Every encounter left him irritated yet strangely helpless.

After watching her sleep for a few moments, Nathaniel quietly stepped out of the bedroom.

He found Abigail waiting in the hallway. "When she wakes up, make sure she eats something to sober up properly. She needs to remember this lesson."

"Of course, Mr. Whitmore. I'll take excellent care of Mrs. Whitmore," Abigail assured him.

The title "Mrs. Whitmore" made Nathaniel pause, but he said nothing as he strode away.

Robert stood outside the penthouse, wiping sweat from his brow. He hadn't dared interrupt, so he'd waited anxiously for Nathaniel to emerge.

"Sir!" Robert brightened when he saw him. "The meeting started on schedule. I've already switched it to a video conference. Your laptop is ready in the car."

"Good."

Nathaniel ducked into the backseat, immediately pulling up the meeting on his screen.

If not for Evelyn's antics today, he wouldn't have been this late.

Evelyn stretched as she woke, blinking at the dim evening light filtering through the curtains. She'd only meant to nap briefly, but exhaustion had pulled her into a deep sleep.

A glance at her phone confirmed it was past dinner time.

Thankfully, she'd warned Margaret she'd be working late. If her brothers found out she'd been day-drinking whiskey, she'd never hear the end of it.

"Mrs. Whitmore, you're awake?" Abigail entered with a glass of ice-cold lemon water. "This will help. What would you like for dinner? I can prepare anything."

Evelyn took a sip, the tartness sharpening her senses. "Don't trouble yourself. I won't be staying."

The sooner she left, the better.

With the divorce nearly finalized, lingering here felt wrong.

As she stood, Abigail hesitated. "Mrs. Whitmore, since you're here... could you help me with something?"

Evelyn raised a brow. "I haven't been back in ages. What could I possibly assist with?"

Abigail sighed. "I've been organizing Mr. Whitmore's walk-in closet, but no matter what I do, he's never satisfied. I keep getting scolded."

Evelyn exhaled in sympathy. She remembered those early days, learning Nathaniel's exacting preferences through trial and error.

Stepping into the closet, she surveyed the familiar space—every shelf, every drawer held memories of her three years here.

"Listen carefully," Evelyn said. "On gloomy days, pair this shade of innerwear with this tie. For clear weather, use this jacket."

"If he's in a bad mood, go with this combination. If he's cheerful, stick to the fair-weather outfit."

Abigail frowned. "But how do I tell his mood?"

Evelyn paused. "Simple. Prepare two options and let him choose."

She smirked. "Never decide for him. He's fussy, controlling, and impossible to please. Whatever you pick, he'll hate it."

"Evelyn, is this how you've always described me?"

A deep voice cut through the air.

Silence fell. Abigail paled.

"Sir!" she stammered.

Nathaniel stood in the doorway, his expression unreadable.