Chapter 208

Evelyn's lips curled into a frosty smile. "What about Blackwood Industries?"

Theodore adjusted his glasses. "From what I've gathered, they're encountering identical issues."

"Excellent." Her manicured fingers tapped the mahogany desk. "That means we're still neck and neck with them."

"It's not just Blackwood we're up against." Theodore handed her a tablet displaying competitor analytics. "At least ten luxury hotels nationwide are vying for Isabella Laurent's wedding contract."

Evelyn took a deliberate sip of her espresso. "Between Monarch Grand Hotels and Blackwood Hotel, we're the only ones meeting Isabella's standards. She thrives on exclusivity—those boutique venues don't stand a chance."

She set down her cup with a decisive click. "Double our outreach efforts to her team. When Isabella visits Crestview next week, I'll personally ensure this deal is ours." Her emerald eyes hardened. "Nathan Blackwood won't steal this from me."

——

City Hall's entrance buzzed with giddy couples clutching marriage licenses. Laughter and camera flashes filled the air as lovebirds posed beneath heart-shaped clouds.

The arrival of a jade-green Rolls-Royce Phantom drew awestruck whispers.

Evelyn checked her diamond-encrusted watch—9:03 AM.

Theodore snorted. "Fashionably late, as expected of Mr. Blackwood."

"Let him play his games." Evelyn's gaze lingered on a blushing bride adjusting her veil. "This is the last time I'll ever wait for him."

Three years ago, she'd stood alone at these same steps for eight hours without food, her wedding dress wilting in the summer heat. Nathan had sauntered in at closing time without apology, demanding they "get this over with."

Yet that night, she'd traced their marriage certificate with trembling fingers, too euphoric to sleep.

Now the memory tasted like ash.

A yellow taxi screeched to a halt thirty minutes later. Theodore's jaw dropped as Nathan emerged in a charcoal Tom Ford suit, his ice-blue tie mirroring the winter sky.

"Bloody hell," Theodore muttered. "Since when does a billionaire take cabs?"

"Pride won't let him flaunt wealth during a divorce." Evelyn smoothed her Stella McCartney jumpsuit and stepped into the sunlight.

Nathan's presence ignited a wave of hushed admiration. Women nudged their partners, covertly snapping photos of his razor-sharp jawline.

Evelyn's Louboutins clicked against marble as she approached. "Mr. Blackwood, you—"

"Flat tire." His baritone voice carried the barest hint of contrition. "My apologies."

The words hung between them like shattered glass. This was the first "sorry" he'd ever given her.