Chapter 993

Oliver Sinclair's small hands trembled when Evelyn mentioned she wasn't feeling well. His delicate face twisted with worry.

"I'll call the doctor right now—"

He scrambled for the phone, but Evelyn stopped him. She sighed, amused.

Preston had been seriously ill before, yet Oliver hadn't panicked like this. What kind of father was Preston, raising a son who worried more about her than his own dad?

She smiled. "No need. Some medicine will do. Are you hungry? How about some chicken soup?"

Something light would be best for a sick person. Oliver nodded, then shook his head.

"Cooking is too much work. I can go hungry. I won't let Pretty Lady suffer!"

Evelyn's heart melted. She grinned. "It's fine. It won't be hard. Just takes a little time."

She headed to the kitchen, letting the soup simmer as the sky darkened outside.

After dinner, Oliver dutifully retreated to his room to finish his homework.

Evelyn checked on Preston again, pressing a hand to his forehead. Good, the fever's gone. She exhaled in relief.

Her phone rang.

Bennett.

She answered. "What is it?"

"President, there's an urgent document from the European division. They need your signature immediately. If it's convenient—"

Evelyn didn't hesitate. "Send it to my email."

She hung up, left a note on the table, and went downstairs.

Luckily, they lived just floors apart. It wouldn't take long to return once she finished reviewing the files.

Her study computer was encrypted. She scanned the documents, flagged a few unclear clauses, and waited for Bennett's revisions. Time slipped by unnoticed.

By the time she finished, exhaustion weighed her eyelids down. She checked her phone—no messages, no calls.

Preston was probably still asleep. She wouldn't disturb him.

She washed up and collapsed into bed.

Morning light flooded the room when she woke. She'd forgotten to close the curtains or set them to sleep mode.

No point going back to sleep now.

She stretched, slipped on her slippers, and headed to the bathroom.

Saturday, but work waited. No rest for her.

The moment she stepped out, Preston stood there, holding Oliver's hand. He looked like himself again—warm, composed, fully recovered.

"Good morning," they chorused.

Evelyn smiled. "I slept too late last night. Didn't come back up—"

Preston nodded in understanding.

"I know. The soup was delicious. I finished it all. Here's breakfast—take it to the office."

He handed her a container.

He made breakfast? After being sick all night?

Warmth spread through her chest, followed by a flutter of embarrassment.

She glanced at Oliver's grinning face and felt guilty. "Come in and wait."

Oliver shook his head solemnly. "Daddy says we can't. It's not polite to barge into a lady's home. Might scare you."

Such good manners.

Evelyn ruffled his hair. "I won't get scared."

Preston smoothly changed the subject.

"I'd love to see you off, but my face isn't presentable yet. Drive safe."

One look at him, and last night's kiss flashed in her mind. She turned away quickly.

A hurried nod, and she left.