Chapter 267

Nathan's lips thinned into a tight line, his voice dropping to a dangerously low timbre. "Serena, I'm still a married man. You know this isn't appropriate."

Serena's cheeks burned crimson, humiliation and hurt flashing in her widened eyes. Her fingers twisted into the fabric of her dress as she stammered, "I—I didn't mean to overstep, Nathan. It was just... a moment of weakness."

Nathan's expression remained unreadable, his gaze icy and detached. Without softening, he clipped out, "Get some rest. I'm leaving."

His tone brooked no argument.

Then, he turned sharply and strode out, the door clicking shut behind him with finality.

Serena stared at the closed door, her chest tightening. She bit down hard on her lower lip, disappointment crashing over her in waves. She had hoped—foolishly—that Nathan might stay. That tonight would be different.

But no.

Ten minutes.

That was all the time he'd spared her before walking away.

Outside, Dylan Reeves—who had been lurking in the hallway, phone discreetly recording through the cracked door—jerked back the second Nathan stepped out. He shoved the device into his pocket and feigned innocence, putting distance between himself and the scene.

The moment Nathan crossed the threshold, his shoulders relaxed marginally. A quiet exhale escaped him.

"Nathan," Dylan called, stepping forward with a carefully constructed look of concern. He lowered his voice, injecting just the right amount of urgency. "Serena hasn't been herself lately. Her mental state is... fragile. If you could just spend a little more time with her—talk to her—it would mean everything."

Nathan turned, his expression unyielding. "What Serena needs," he said coolly, "isn't me. It's a professional. I'll have my assistant arrange for the best psychologist in the city."

Dylan stiffened, caught off guard. His brows knit together in confusion. Since when did Nathan suggest therapy? Since when did he not indulge Serena's whims?

"But Nathan, you've always—"

"I'm done here," Nathan cut in, his tone leaving no room for debate. "The psychologist will be arranged by tomorrow."

Without waiting for a response, he walked away, his footsteps echoing down the hall with unshakable finality.