[EVE]
I stepped further inside, and I noticed the party aftermath—the empty glasses, half-deflated balloons, and the faint scent of cake lingering in the air.
I could picture everyone gathered here, celebrating, waiting for . My chest tightened with the ache of guilt that I hadn't been there.
"Eve!" a voice called out, jolting from my thoughts.
I turned to see Victor hurrying toward , his face a mixture of relief and worry.
The mont he reached , he pulled into a tight hug, catching off guard. His warmth wrapped around , his heartbeat steady and grounding against my cheek.
Despite the shock, I found myself relaxing, the comfort of his embrace easing so of my guilt.
"I was so worried," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "I thought sothing might have happened to you. Thank god you're okay."
"Oh, about that, I'm sorry," I murmured against his chest. "I got ho and . . . I fell asleep. My phone died, and I didn't hear any of your calls or ssages." My voice trailed off, sha coloring my words.
Only then did Victor seem to realize he was still holding , his arms lingering a mont before he quickly released , stepping back as though he'd been burned.
His face flushed as he stamred, "Ah, s-sorry . . . I just—I got caught up in the relief, and forgot my manners."
I offered him a small, understanding smile. "It's alright, really." The hug, unexpected as it was, wasn't really that of a big deal.
I was surprised to find that Victor was more affectionate than his stony face and guarded attitude had led to believe.
"By the way, where's Sinclair?" I asked, scanning the room, hoping to make ands with him as well.
Victor's expression softened. "He's in the study. He was worried about you too."
At the side, Sebastian barked, and Victor bent down to pat his head. "Of course no one forgot about you," he said with a smirk. "Co on, let's go to Sinclair."
"Thanks, Victor. And I'm sorry for not showing up last night. I hope you still had a good ti without ."
Victor chuckled, but I could hear a hint of disappointnt in his voice. "Oh, don't worry. We finished all the sushi and didn't leave you anything. Since you didn't co, you don't get any."
If I didn't know any better, I'd think he was actually mad at for missing the celebration. "I'm sorry, I'm here now, aren't I?"
"Yeah, but it's not your birthday anymore, is it?" Victor shot a look, like a parent scolding a child.
"S-sorry . . ." I stamred, feeling oddly guilty.
Victor led the way towards Sinclair's study, but as we walked, I noticed a small corner decorated with balloons, roses, and even a few heart-shaped lights. It looked oddly out of place, more like a romantic setup than a birthday decoration.
"What's with that spot?" I asked, pointing at it, curious.
Victor's face turned red. "T-that . . . it's nothing," he stamred, glancing away quickly.
"Nothing?" I pressed, grinning. "Then why's it all decorated like it's the most important corner here?"
Victor flushed even deeper and turned on his heel, mumbling under his breath. "It doesn't matter anymore. The timing's off, and it's already ruined," he muttered, stomping off.
I tilted my head, folding my arms as I watched him go. "What's with him?" I whispered, glancing down at Sebastian, who just wagged his tail and barked in response.
Finally, we reached Sinclair's study. Before I could apologize to Victor again, he simply nodded and left without a word, his shoulders tense.
"I wonder what's bothering him? One minute he's nice, the next he's all distant. Is he on his period, or sothing?" I muttered.
Sinclair glanced up from his desk, raising an eyebrow. "You can be really dense," he said, shaking his head. "Or is it only when it cos to other n that's not Cole Fay?"
My face heated instantly. "What? How did Cole get dragged into this? Is this because I missed the celebration last night? I told you, I fell asleep and lost track of ti—I'm sorry!"
Sinclair just sighed and continued signing papers. "Apologies aside, you should know that Victor waited the entire night for you," he said. "And he may have overindulged in sushi, which left him with a stomachache and a fair amount of frustration."
"Huh?" I blinked, caught off guard. "He waited all night? Why?"
Sinclair gave a look as if I'd missed the obvious.
Then it hit . "Because the celebration wasn't complete without , right?" I bit my lip, guilt creeping in. "He probably planned the perfect birthday setup for us, and I ruined it by not attending."
That Victor could be a perfectionist. That must be why he was so grouchy earlier.
Sinclair sighed. "I give up."
Deciding to lighten the mood, I nudged Sebastian forward. "Don't be grumpy, old man. Look, I brought Sebastian with ."
"Call Grandfather," Sinclair replied, finally setting his paperwork aside and grinning as he saw Sebastian. "Co here, boy, I've got a gift for you!"
But Sebastian hesitated, staying by my side. Sinclair's face darkened, clearly displeased, so I gave the dog a gentle push.
Only then did Sebastian trot over to Sinclair, accepting a large bone with enthusiastic tail wags.
"Sebastian, rember, I'm still your owner. Have you forgotten that?" Sinclair chided, pretending to scold the dog, who just started gnawing happily on his treat.
"Co on, Grandfather, don't be so serious," I said, pulling out a small box and placing it on his desk. "I made you sothing."
Sinclair eyed the box suspiciously, then lifted the lid to find a handcrafted brooch inside. He examined it, his face scrunched up in a frown. "What is this supposed to be? It looks like crumpled paper."
I clenched my fists, resisting the urge to snap back. Sure, my crochet skills were amateur, but I'd poured my heart into making that brooch.
"It's supposed to be Sebastian," I said, pointing at the matching one pinned on his collar. "I made one for him too, see?"
Sinclair raised an eyebrow, inspecting the one on Sebastian. "Really? It looks like a wad of thread," he muttered dryly.
An angry vein throbbed in my forehead. "Fine. If you don't want it, I'll just take it back."
But before I could reach for it, Sinclair swiftly snatched it up. "Who said I didn't want it?" he retorted. "It may look like crumpled paper, but it's still a gift. And it'd be rude not to accept."
I forced a smile, masking my irritation.
Rude not to accept, but apparently, not rude to insult the person who made it,
I thought, watching as Sinclair pinned the brooch on his jacket with surprising care.
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