Chapter 832

Evelyn froze for a split second.

Nathan was walking toward her, carrying a thermos in his hands.

His long, elegant fingers moved with practiced ease as he poured a bowl of soup and slid it across the table.

"Try it."

Evelyn frowned. Something about Nathan today felt... off.

She couldn't pinpoint exactly what it was.

Her gaze dropped to the soup. "Theodore made soup this early?"

Nathan lowered his thick lashes, his dark eyes shadowed. His voice was deep.

"Mhm."

Evelyn wasn't in the mood for soup. She didn’t touch it.

"Aside from blocking me, do you have anything else to say?"

Her tone made it clear—it was time for him to leave.

Nathan's lips pressed into a firm line. A ripple of something unreadable passed through his eyes.

"I'm accelerating the Kingsley Tech project. I poached a high-tech research team from Denmark."

"They'll arrive next month. We'll restructure the entire workflow."

Evelyn blinked, momentarily stunned.

A Danish high-tech team wasn’t just about money—it was nearly impossible to pull off. Core technical staff were harder to poach than security teams. How had Nathan managed it?

Nathan watched her quietly, his presence overwhelming. His next words were deliberate.

"So, Preston Sinclair can hurry back to where he came from."

He had spent a fortune just to speed up the timeline—all so Preston would leave sooner.

The farther Preston stayed from Evelyn, the better.

The air between them turned icy.

Evelyn inhaled sharply. "Mr. Sinclair’s schedule isn’t mine to dictate."

Nathan smirked, his expression a mix of frost and something warmer.

"Evelyn, you know what I mean. If you reject him, I’ll give you anything you want."

Her eyes flashed.

Wow.

The sheer confidence in his gaze was impossible to miss.

Only Nathan could say something like that without sounding ridiculous. He was nothing like those over-the-top "tyrant CEOs" from the novels Theodore had shown him.

If Nathan threw two million dollars at her, she’d feel insulted.

She’d probably bury him under twenty million in cash just to make a point.

To avoid such barbaric displays, Nathan had chosen a more refined approach—investing where it mattered.

Evelyn studied him—his perfect features, those dark, fathomless eyes.

Why do I want to punch him so badly?

"Mr. Blackwood, let me remind you—"

She paused, exhaling sharply. "You’re a beneficiary in Preston’s project too. You’ll profit from your own investment. So why threaten me?"

She was making money fair and square. She wasn’t about to fall for Nathan’s ridiculous demands.

Nathan’s expression darkened instantly.

As the smallest stakeholder, he hadn’t even considered that detail.

Damn it. Oversight.

His lashes lowered, casting shadows over his sharp features. He accepted her criticism with surprising calm.

Finally, he nudged the soup toward her again, his voice steady.

"I was just proving my capabilities. No threats intended."

He paused. "Here. Hydrate."

Hah.

Evelyn nearly laughed in exasperation. It was like punching a cloud.

This man was infuriatingly good at getting under her skin.

She took a deep breath. Don’t get angry. Dying of rage only benefits your enemies.

Her gaze dropped to the soup. She did miss Theodore’s cooking.

Without thinking, she lifted the bowl and took a sip.

Nathan’s eyes flickered.

The next second, Evelyn fought not to spit it out.

Her manners won. She swallowed—like she was forcing down poison.

Nathan watched her, face impassive.

"Good?"

Is poison good? she thought.