Chapter 207 Tell Me the Truth
Seraphina stood still, watching Byron’s car disappear into the night. Her eyes narrowed, a flicker of thought crossing her face.
“Are you overthinking this?” she asked, glancing at Freya. “He’s always been cold and indifferent. Today, he stayed with you and barely ate anything. It’s not like him.”
Freya let out a bitter laugh. “But he’s been distracted… You know, lost in thought.”
Seraphina rolled her eyes. “He’s probably just trying to figure out how to handle the substitute. After all, you, the woman he really loved, are back.” She spoke the word “substitute” with clear contempt.
Freya didn’t answer. She simply turned and walked back into the apartment, her mind heavy with conflicting emotions.
Night fell, and the rain began to pour down in sheets, the cold biting at the air. Byron parked the car on a quiet street and sat in the driver’s seat, smoking one cigarette after another, the smoke curling out into the frigid night.
Hours passed. His mind, once filled with clarity, now swirled with confusion and guilt. Finally, he started the car and drove aimlessly through the night. His hands seemed to steer themselves as he found his way near Athena’s apartment, almost as though his body knew it would bring him peace.
Byron parked the car and walked up to her building, his steps slow and heavy with exhaustion. He hadn’t intended to come here—hadn’t planned to see her—but now that he was here, it felt like the only place he could be.
He unlocked the door with his fingerprint, not bothering to knock, certain that she wasn’t home. But as soon as he stepped inside, the bedroom door creaked open. Athena stood there in soft pajamas, her hair messy and her eyes still sleepy.
“Byron?” Her voice was thick with drowsiness, but there was an undercurrent of warmth that made his heart ache.
He froze, then quickly shed his coat and stepped toward her. Without saying a word, he pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly as if she were the only thing keeping him tethered to reality.
Athena winced slightly at the force of the hug. “You’re hurting me,” she said softly, but she patted his back, trying to ease his tension. “Relax.”
Byron pulled back just enough to look at her, his hands lingering on her arms. “Why did you come back by yourself? Are you angry that I didn’t pick you up?” he asked, the words tumbling out in a rush. The thought that she might leave, like she had done before, gnawed at him.
“Am I that picky?” Athena teased, pushing him away lightly. “How many cigarettes have you smoked? You smell awful!”
Byron blinked, realizing the scent of smoke clung to him, along with the faint trace of the hospital. He quickly let go of her, feeling the weight of his unspoken guilt. He had no intention of burdening her with Freya’s situation—not when she had enough on her plate with their own life.
“I’m going to take a shower,” he muttered, ruffling Athena’s hair lightly before turning toward the bathroom.
Athena stood in the bedroom, slightly surprised by his sudden appearance, but the moment he hugged her, that unsettling feeling inside her seemed to fade. She took a deep breath, then walked back to the bed, curling under the covers again.
When Byron finished his shower, he quietly entered the bedroom. He lifted the quilt carefully and slipped in beside her, his movements gentle, almost as if he were afraid of disturbing the fragile peace between them.
Without a word, he pulled Athena into his arms again, this time more carefully. Athena, already half-asleep, placed her hand on the back of his. Byron’s fingers intertwined with hers, the contact grounding them both.
“After the marriage contract is dissolved, the company must be full of problems, right?” Athena asked, her voice barely a whisper.
Byron buried his face in her neck, letting her warmth soak into him. “It’s okay,” he murmured, his voice muffled against her skin. “I’ll handle it.”
Athena’s fingers traced patterns on his hand. “I should’ve come back earlier to help you,” she said softly. “Rose… she vomited blood and had to be hospitalized.”
Byron tensed slightly. “Aren’t you always calling her Madam Stella? Why the change now?” His voice was more alert, his gaze focused on her. “Did she piss you off?”
“No,” Athena replied quickly, but Byron wasn’t convinced.
Before she could say more, he gently rolled her over to face him, his expression intense. “Tell me the truth,” he said, his voice quiet but firm.
Athena was taken aback by his sudden move. She tried to fight him off, but his strength was undeniable.
Byron’s wet hair clung to his forehead, making him look less imposing and more vulnerable than usual. His eyes, though serious, softened as they locked onto hers.
Athena hesitated for a moment, unsure whether to share her thoughts or keep them buried. But the way he was looking at her—the raw intensity in his gaze—made her feel like she couldn’t hide anything from him.