Arthur stared at Sophia for a long, tense mont, his expression unreadable, but inside, a storm raged.
The mont her words reached his ears, an awful, suffocating tension coiled within him, gripping his chest like a vice.
He had known this was inevitable—he had accepted it from the very beginning. Yet, nothing had prepared him for the hollow, gut-wrenching sensation that now consud him.
Forcing a smile, he acted as though her words ant nothing, as if they hadn’t just carved into his very soul. His voice, however, was devoid of warmth, sharp and deliberate.
"You can be rest assured that my n will co to take you afterward. Make sure you abort the child," Arthur stated coldly, his gaze never wavering.
Sophia nodded, her expression blank, and in that mont, an unbearable silence settled between them, stretching endlessly.
Arthur’s small, forced smile faltered as he blinked, struggling to maintain his composure.
He gripped the brown envelope in his hands, its edges digging into his palms, grounding him.
Without another word, he turned on his heels and strode toward the door. His man, standing by, imdiately pulled it open for him.
As he stepped into the dimly lit hallway, sothing inside him snapped. Without warning, he veered toward the wall, pressing both palms flat against it, his forehead resting heavily against the cold surface. His breath ca out in ragged, uneven waves as if the weight of his own actions had finally crashed down upon him.
A sudden, frustrated slam of his palm against the wall sent a dull echo through the hallway. His fingers curled into a tight fist, his entire body trembling. For a split second, his vision blurred—not from rage, but from the sting of unshed tears.
Distress churned within him, an uncontrollable storm of anger and regret. He couldn’t believe what he had just done, couldn’t escape the tornt of her words replaying over and over in his mind.
But wasn’t this exactly what he had always wanted? If so, then why did his chest feel so unbearably tight, as if sothing inside him was fracturing? What was the point of mourning over a decision he had set in motion himself?
He forced himself to stay composed, though the very act of keeping his emotions in check felt like a slow, rciless form of torture.
Sophia—she was unlike anyone else. He knew deep down that there wouldn’t be another like her. She was special in ways he couldn’t even begin to articulate, a presence that had once felt like a quiet solace in his otherwise ruthless world.
And yet, she wasn’t fighting him on this. She wasn’t challenging his decisions or questioning his thods. She was simply... accepting them. It should have been a relief. After all, wasn’t this exactly what he had wanted? A clean, untangled outco?
So he had to push forward, had to take what he had always claid to want. He knew this move would destroy Tryson, and that alone should have been enough to steel his resolve. He couldn’t afford to let his emotions betray him now—not when he was so close to his endga.
"Boss."
The voice cut through his thoughts, grounding him back in the mont.
Arthur exhaled sharply, the storm within him montarily caged as he straightened his posture. He turned his gaze toward one of his n approaching, his expression once again unreadable.
"Sir, do you need us for anything?" one of Arthur’s n asked, his voice cutting through the heavy silence.
For a mont, Arthur was still, his mind racing as he shook his head, trying to steady the turmoil inside him. But then, the weight of his decision settled over him, and he spoke with a asured calmness.
"Sophia should be released and taken to the hospital. Ensure that she is safely escorted to the car, and make sure she reaches the mansion without any issues," Arthur said in a flat, businesslike tone. His words were precise, like an order he had already given a thousand tis before. His man nodded imdiately, acknowledging the command without hesitation.
With a quick glance at the door, Arthur adjusted his suit, smoothing the fabric as though preparing himself for whatever was to co next. He couldn’t afford to show any sign of weakness, not now. He had to keep up the façade, maintain control. He had what he wanted—what he had planned for so long. It didn’t matter how it made him feel inside.
The harsh truth was that he had gotten exactly what he wanted, and that was what he had to focus on now. Nothing else mattered.
Once he was sure he had composed himself completely, Arthur moved through the hallway, his footsteps echoing as he walked with purpose. His mind was eerily calm as he reached Angel’s room.
The door opened automatically, and he stepped inside, his gaze instantly finding her standing in front of the window.
The room fell into an unnatural silence. Angel stood there, her arms folded tightly across her chest, her eyes fixed on the view outside. She didn’t acknowledge his presence, not even a flicker of recognition in her stance.
Arthur, undeterred, took a seat on the couch, crossing his legs casually as he studied her from behind. He didn’t rush her, didn’t press her to turn around. Instead, he allowed the silence to linger, hoping she might eventually respond.
Finally, breaking the quiet, he attempted to ease the tension with a lighthearted remark.
"Did anyone tell you that you look particularly stunning from this angle?" Arthur said with a small, playful smile, trying to soothe the stillness that hung between them.
Angel didn’t flinch, didn’t so much as glance over her shoulder. Her voice, when she spoke, was flat, cold as ice.
"I’d really prefer if you didn’t try to complint like that," she responded without any emotion, her gaze still locked on the view outside the window. "You talking like that just reminds of Tryson—he’s the one who always throws these stupid complints at ."
Her words hit Arthur like a slap to the face. The ntion of Tryson sent a flicker of anger through him, but he knew better than to let it show. He forced a smile, even though it didn’t reach his eyes.
"I’m sorry if I’ve annoyed you, my Queen," he said, his tone softening but still laced with that sa calculated calm. He could feel the tension between them, thick and palpable, but he wasn’t about to let her see how much it stung.
Reviews
All reviews (0)