Chapter 325

Realizing her blunder, Evelyn instantly regretted her careless remark.

Nathaniel's gaze darkened as he gave her a pointed look. "Well, it's not entirely impossible," he said, his voice low and measured.

Evelyn's cheeks flushed crimson. She turned her face away, murmuring, "Once Grandma Eleanor fully recovers from her surgery... maybe then we can finalize the divorce."

The moment the words left her lips, the air between them grew thick with tension.

The fleeting warmth that had briefly enveloped them vanished without a trace.

Nathaniel straightened in his chair, his posture rigid. An inexplicable weight pressed against his chest, making each breath feel laborious.

His eyes flickered back to Evelyn. After a pause, he spoke again, his tone deliberate. "You know... a divorce might not be absolutely necessary."

Evelyn froze.

She stared at him, certain she had misheard.

Though she understood every word individually, strung together, they made no sense.

What did he mean by not necessary? Was he implying they could stay married?

Nathaniel shifted uncomfortably under her scrutiny.

"What I mean is," he clarified, his voice rough, "I don’t have any particular expectations for a wife."

His jaw tightened. "Given how much Grandmother adores you, your presence benefits her health. So... I’m considering letting you remain Mrs. Whitmore."

Evelyn’s mind blanked.

The silence stretched between them, heavy and charged.

Slowly, she leaned forward, closing the distance between them.

Nathaniel’s breath hitched as her face neared his.

Her scent—subtle yet intoxicating—filled his senses.

His pulse quickened.

Was she... affected by his words?

Then, without warning, Evelyn pressed her palm against his forehead.

Their skin touched, warm and intimate.

Nathaniel stiffened, his pupils dilating.

But just as quickly, she pulled back.

"Strange," she mused, frowning. "No fever. So why are you talking nonsense like a delirious patient?"

She had married Nathaniel—a man who once seemed like little more than a living statue—partly out of respect for Eleanor, but also because she had genuinely cared for him.

Without that affection, how could she have endured three years as his dutiful wife?

Evelyn crossed her arms. "Besides, just because you have no standards doesn’t mean I don’t."

Nathaniel recoiled as if struck.

Her voice chased after him. "Nathaniel, say something! If you’re sick, go see a doctor!"

He swallowed hard, rising abruptly from his seat.

He strode away, his usually graceful steps now stiff and uneven.

Evelyn watched him leave, calling after him, "Seriously, get yourself checked!"

Nathaniel’s expression darkened further before he disappeared down the hall.

Alone again, Evelyn exhaled sharply and slumped into her chair.

As her heartbeat steadied, Nathaniel’s unexpected proposal replayed in her mind.

Stay married?

Her fingers curled into fists.

After three years of indifference, why would he suggest such a thing now?

If not for Eleanor’s unwavering support, the Whitmore family would have discarded her long ago.