Chapter 231

After exchanging warm greetings, Evelyn Hartley drove the group to The Crimson Spoon.

Once settled in a private dining room, Eleanor Sinclair glanced around expectantly. "Evelyn, where's Nathan?"

Evelyn hesitated, a flicker of discomfort crossing her features before she forced a bright smile. "He's buried under work and couldn't make it this time." She kept her tone casual. "Running a corporation isn't easy, you know."

Eleanor nodded, her expression understanding, though the faint shadow of disappointment didn't escape Evelyn's notice.

Sensing it, Evelyn leaned in playfully. "What's this? Are you upset because Nathan didn't come? Do you like him more than me now, Grandma? I'm wounded."

Eleanor's lips curved into a smile, and she gave Evelyn an indulgent look. "Since when did you become so childish? You're far too old for this."

"I'll never be too old to be your favorite!" Evelyn retorted with a mock pout.

Eleanor chuckled, shaking her head. "Alright, alright."

"You will always be my favorite."

"That's more like it," Evelyn said, grinning.

She noted with satisfaction that the disappointment had vanished from Eleanor's face. The topic of Nathan was dropped, and they moved on to enjoy their meal, the room soon filled with lively chatter.

Meanwhile, at Blackstone Industries, Nathan's phone buzzed.

He glanced at the screen—Dylan Reeves. With a sigh, he answered.

"Nathan," Dylan's voice came through, strained. "I need a favor. Take Serena out to dinner. Now."

Nathan's brows furrowed, irritation flashing in his eyes.

Dylan exhaled heavily. "Serena hasn't eaten properly in days. She picks at her food, barely managing a few bites. If this continues, she'll collapse. Her therapist says her condition is deteriorating. We have to intervene. If you sit with her, she’ll eat. Otherwise, her health—both physical and mental—is at risk."

Nathan’s expression darkened, a storm of frustration and reluctant obligation brewing within him. He couldn’t deny his role in this mess. Serena’s spiral into depression years ago had been partly his fault, and now, with her relapse, the guilt was a noose around his neck.

Refusing wasn’t an option. And that knowledge only soured his mood further.

"Fine. I’ll handle it," Nathan bit out before ending the call abruptly.

For a long moment, he sat in silence, the weight of obligation pressing down on him. Then, with a sharp exhale, he dialed Serena’s number.

Hearing Nathan’s invitation, Serena barely contained her triumph. The moment the call ended, a smug smile curled her lips. Dylan’s plan had worked flawlessly. As always, the mention of her "worsening condition" had yanked Nathan’s guilt strings. It was a card they played often—one that never failed.

Nathan and Serena sat across from each other in an elegant, dimly lit restaurant. Serena, though inwardly elated, maintained a carefully crafted facade of listlessness, pushing food around her plate. Across from her, Nathan barely touched his meal, his expression unreadable.