Chapter 63

When Evelyn phrased it like that, Cassandra took the bait immediately. She practically squealed, "I'm free, Evelyn! I'd love to help!"

"Thank you so much!" Evelyn handed over the design drafts, relieved she had finally found an excuse to avoid Nathaniel.

Within moments, Cassandra had freshened up and was speeding toward the Whitmore estate in her car.

Before leaving, she had Googled the neighborhood. The search results confirmed it—only the wealthiest families resided there. If Evelyn had described the owner as young and handsome, he had to be the heir to a massive fortune.

Cassandra arrived in high spirits, overseeing the renovation with enthusiasm. But as she stared at the blindingly crimson drapes, she hesitated. Had the workers delivered the wrong fabric?

Not long after, Nathaniel pulled up to his home. Seeing the workers outside, his lips curved into a smirk. Evelyn had to be inside.

He strode into the living room—

And froze.

The blood-red curtains.

The chaotic, asymmetrical patterns.

It was an assault on his refined sensibilities.

Nathaniel scanned the room. "Where's Evelyn?"

"Sir, Evelyn couldn't make it. She's swamped with work. I'm handling everything today. How can I assist you?" Cassandra approached him, starstruck. He was even more gorgeous in person.

Nathaniel's expression darkened. "Tear it all down. Now."

Another second in this eyesore of a room, and he'd need therapy.

Cassandra blinked. "Is there... an issue?"

"Get out."

Before she could protest, Abigail ushered her out unceremoniously.

Nathaniel collapsed onto the sofa, rubbing his temples. He pulled out his phone and snapped several photos. This had to be intentional.

Meanwhile, Evelyn returned home after work. She still hadn’t found the missing folic acid bottle, and the unease gnawed at her.

Her phone buzzed. A familiar number—Nathaniel’s. She knew exactly why he was calling and ignored it.

Evelyn flopped onto her bed and checked her messages. A text from Nathaniel glared back at her:

"Is this your idea of design?"

Attached were photos of the disaster she had orchestrated.

Oh yes, those were her designs.

The clashing asymmetry.

The garish red fabrics.

The flickering, gaudy gold lights.

Evelyn smirked, proud of her handiwork.

Nathaniel, of course, preferred sleek minimalism—clean lines, muted tones. She had done the exact opposite.

If the Whitmores wanted to make her life miserable, she’d return the favor by ensuring their homes looked like a circus tent.

After dinner, Evelyn remembered the prepaid hospital bill.

She retreated to her room and dialed Alexander.

Alexander was in the middle of a board meeting, his stormy expression making everyone sweat. His assistant timidly slid his phone toward him. "Sir, you have a call."

Alexander's glare could have melted steel. "Do I look like I'm free?"

The assistant gulped but pointed at the screen.

The moment Alexander saw the caller ID, his demeanor shifted. He answered, voice warm. "What's wrong?"

"Am I interrupting, Alexander?"

"Not at all. I’m free." He leaned back, feigning nonchalance. "What do you need?"

"I checked the hospital records. Someone prepaid Benjamin’s bills for the next decade."

Evelyn had a strong suspicion who that someone was.

Alexander cleared his throat. "Yeah, that was me. But don’t stress over it. It’s nothing."

"Thank you, Alexander. I’ll work harder to repay you."