Chapter 192: Cold Fury
Arthur is sitting quietly at a corner table in the café, working on his laptop. He’s typing furiously. This is the first ti he’s ever been away from his office for this long. He knows Sam is more than capable of handling everything, but so clients still prefer to deal with Arthur himself.
He’s replying to several urgent emails, so he doesn’t pay attention to his surroundings. He doesn’t notice that at a few tables nearby, patrons are looking at him with dreamy eyes.
The staff keep glancing his way, checking in case he needs anything. Even people passing by the café spare him a look.
The staff whisper among themselves.
"Oh wow, he’s so imrsed in his work. Maybe he’s an author of a fantasy love story."
Another whispers, "He’s really good-looking. I wonder if he has a girlfriend."
Arthur is oblivious to all of it. He’s too focused on his work.
The door to the café opens again, and for so reason, Arthur looks up.
He sees Maeve enter. Instinctively, he checks his watch to see if it’s ti for their eting yet. When he realizes there are still thirty minutes left, he looks back up at her.
Maeve looks upset. She scans the café, searching. When she spots him, she heads toward his table, slow at first, then faster, until she’s almost running.
Arthur pushes his chair back and stands. He wants to ask what’s wrong.
But when Maeve reaches him, she stops short and lowers her gaze.
"Maeve?" Arthur asks carefully. "Are you okay?"
Maeve looks up slowly. Her eyes are full of tears.
Their gazes et, and she breaks down.
Arthur freezes for half a second, then does the only thing that cos to mind. He pulls her into his embrace.
"Hey. Hey, hey. It’s okay," he murmurs. "It’s okay. I’m here. I’ve got you."
The café falls silent as Arthur holds Maeve, as if everyone collectively gasps at the sight.
Then, almost in unison, they exhale.
In disappointnt.
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"Look at that! Look, Victor! They’re hugging!" Jonathan hisses. "No one hugs like that if they’re just friends! Friends don’t do that! They must be in a relationship!"
Jonathan is one step away from stomping his feet.
Victor sees it too. Maeve running to Arthur, clinging to him as if they’ve been apart for far too long.
He sighs.
This is not good. Should we cancel the appointnt?
But Jonathan is already turning away.
"Wait. Where are you going?" Victor asks, grabbing Jonathan’s upper arm.
Jonathan jerks his arm free.
"I’m going in there and confronting him," Jonathan snaps. "I want to know what his intentions are with Maeve."
He pulls the café door open and storms inside.
"Jonathan, wait!" Victor mutters, hurrying after him.
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Arthur pats Maeve’s back gently. He can feel her breathing steady.
She pulls away, clearly embarrassed, eyes downcast.
"I’m sorry. I... I’m sorry," she murmurs.
Arthur gives her a faint smile. "Don’t be. As your brother, it’s the least I can do."
Maeve freezes.
She looks up at him, stunned. And she knows instantly that he ans it. He isn’t pretending. He isn’t softening the word.
Her eyes well up again.
Arthur chuckles and pulls a handkerchief from his pocket.
"Here," he says lightly. "Please don’t cry again. People are already looking at
funny."
Maeve lets out a shaky laugh as she takes it.
She’s about to thank him when Arthur’s expression shifts.
"Ah," he says quietly. "Your teacher is here."
Maeve stiffens.
"He’s not alone," Arthur adds. Then, after a brief pause, "And... he looks upset."
Maeve doesn’t dare turn around.
Her gaze drops to Arthur’s chest, unfocused. One hand tightens unconsciously in the fabric of his shirt.
Arthur notices imdiately.
Without comnt, he gently takes her hand, loosens her grip, and guides her to stand behind him, still holding on.
Then he straightens.
A perfect CEO smile appears on his face.
"Good morning, Mr. Ludwig," Arthur says smoothly, extending his hand. "Thank you for coming in early."
Jonathan stares at the offered hand and ignores it.
Arthur doesn’t retract it.
Instead, he turns slightly to Victor.
"Hello. I’m Arthur Montrose. Nice to et you," he says evenly. "Are you a friend of Mr. Ludwig’s?"
Victor hesitates for only a second before shaking Arthur’s hand.
"Victor Langford," he introduces himself. "Jonathan’s friend. Nice to finally et you, Mr. Montrose."
Arthur smiles, polite and immaculate.
"Please, call
Arthur," he replies. "Mr. Montrose is my father."
"Ah, I see. And I take it he’s alive and well," Victor says, trying to break the ice.
He can’t help feeling impressed. Arthur’s movents are smooth and instinctive. The way he subtly shields Maeve, shifts his stance, keeps hold of her hand, and still manages conversation without missing a beat. Jonathan’s refusal to shake his hand doesn’t faze him at all.
"Very much so," Arthur replies with an easy smile. Instinct tells him Victor is the more reasonable one.
"Maeve," Jonathan calls.
The tone makes Arthur’s jaw tighten. It’s the sa tone a father uses when summoning a disobedient child.
Maeve’s hand tenses in Arthur’s.
He feels it instantly.
Arthur’s expression hardens.
"Mr. Ludwig," he says calmly but firmly, "I don’t think she’s ready to talk to you right now. How about we all give Maeve so ti, before—"
"I am her teacher!" Jonathan snaps, cold fury cutting through the café air. "She will talk to
whenever I want her to!"
The words land hard.
"Jonathan!" Victor blurts out, stunned.
What happens next would forever be etched in Victor’s mind.
It happens almost instantly.
Arthur’s face turns cold. His posture straightens, spine rigid, shoulders squared. His blue eyes harden, sharp and unforgiving, and Victor feels it before he understands it.
The air changes.
It turns hot. Not warm. Oppressive. Suffocating. Like standing too close to an open fla, except there is no fla in sight. Victor’s breath catches in his throat, his instincts screaming danger even though his mind can’t na it.
For a split second, Arthur seems to glow.
Just barely.
A faint, almost imperceptible blue sheen around him, so subtle Victor isn’t even sure it’s real. It could be the café’s lighting. A reflection from the window. A trick of the eye caused by adrenaline and fear twisting his senses.
Or maybe it’s nothing at all.
Victor blinks, heart hamring, and the glow is gone. Or perhaps it never existed in the first place.
But the pressure remains.
Silver hair. Blue eyes.
Arthur stands there, restrained, and Victor’s stomach drops.
Cold fear crawls up his spine.
Whatever that was, real or imagined, Victor knows one thing with terrifying certainty:
Jonathan has crossed a line.
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