Chapter 228: Don't Push Me Away

Matilda froze.

She looked at Wesley, then at Thomas. Her mind went blank.

Wesley took the items from her hands as if nothing were wrong, patting the back of her hand cheerfully.

"Perfect timing—Thomas came home today too. Let's all have dinner together."

Matilda gripped her purse strap tighter.

She'd already come this far. She couldn't just turn around and leave in front of Wesley.

She forced a smile and sat down at the table.

Thomas's seat was diagonally across from hers.

He kept watching her.

After just a few days, her face had visibly thinned.

Her wrists had gotten smaller too. Before, he could wrap his hand around one completely—now it would be even easier.

The silence at the table was suffocating.

Three people sat facing each other, the only sound the clink of silverware.

Wesley took a bite of food, then glanced up at Thomas.

Thomas hadn't said a word since sitting down.

Wesley cursed inwardly. 'Useless.'

The man could tear people apart in boardrooms, couldn't he? Now look at him—sitting there like a statue, not making a sound.

Wesley cleared his throat and smiled at Matilda.

"Matilda, what have you been busy with lately?"

Matilda set down her fork and knife, answering honestly. "I've been working on the company Dad left me. I'm planning a transformation."

"Oh? A transformation?" Wesley put down his silverware, interested. "What direction?"

"Tech."

Wesley nodded, his tone sympathetic. "That won't be easy. Carrying all that alone—you must be exhausted."

Matilda shook her head. "It's manageable. Not too hard."

Wesley's eyes shifted. He picked up his glass, took a sip, and spoke as if the thought had just occurred to him. "Transforming a company on your own—that's complicated. Why not let Thomas help you?"

The moment the words left his mouth, Thomas looked up.

He didn't say anything, but his silverware stopped moving.

His gaze landed on Matilda's face. His throat bobbed slightly.

He was waiting for her answer.

Matilda picked up her water glass, took a sip, and set it down. Her tone was flat.

"No need, Grandpa. I asked one of my college friends to come help. That's enough."

Thomas's grip on his fork tightened.

Wesley paused too, surprised by how quickly and firmly she'd refused.

All Wesley could do was nod.

The table fell silent again.

Wesley glanced around. Matilda ate with her head down. Thomas ate with his head down. Only one seat separated them, but it felt like miles.

Under the table, Wesley kicked Thomas's shin.

Thomas looked up and met Wesley's eyes.

Wesley jerked his chin toward Matilda's plate.

Thomas hesitated for a second, then speared a piece of steak and placed it on Matilda's plate.

"Eat more."

His voice was hoarse.

Matilda's fork froze.

She glanced at the steak that had appeared on her plate. Her expression didn't change.

She didn't eat it. Didn't say anything either.

She just left it there and moved on to the vegetables on the side.

Thomas watched. His jaw tightened, but he said nothing.

The meal was tasteless.

Wesley figured if he didn't do something, these two would keep this up forever.

"Oh, right." Wesley suddenly slapped his thigh as if just remembering something. "A few days ago I had someone bid on a painting at auction. A real Rodney—I heard there are only three in the world. Cost me a fortune to get it."

Matilda looked up.

Rodney.

She loved that artist.

In college, she'd even written a paper analyzing Rodney's technique.

Wesley caught the flicker of light in her eyes and pressed his advantage.

"I hung it in the study upstairs. Why don't you and Thomas go take a look? I won't go up—you two go ahead."

Matilda opened her mouth to say she could go alone.

But Wesley was already waving at the staff. "Turn on the lights in the study."

Matilda had no choice but to stand.

As she climbed the stairs, footsteps followed behind her.

She didn't turn around, but she could feel Thomas half a step behind.

Thomas had followed her up.

The study door opened. The lights were already on.

On the wall directly across from the door hung a painting—unmistakably Rodney's work.

Matilda walked over, her gaze settling on the date in the lower left corner.

"It's actually from his middle period." She spoke softly, her finger hovering near the frame without touching the canvas.

"This was right after he came back from abroad. His colors are much bolder than in his early work."

She tilted her head, studying the brushstrokes carefully.

Seeing the painting seemed to ease something in her. She spoke to herself, absorbed.

There was no sound behind her.

Matilda frowned and turned around.

Thomas stood less than three feet away.

He wasn't looking at the painting at all.

From the moment they'd entered, he'd been watching her. His eyes were dark.

Matilda's gaze collided with his.

She frowned and moved to step past him.

But in the next second, he grabbed her wrist.

Thomas yanked her toward him and pulled her into his arms.

Matilda crashed into his chest.

He held her tight.

One arm locked around her waist. The other pressed against the back of her head. His chin rested on top of her head. Their bodies pressed together without space between them.

"Don't go."

The words scraped out of his throat, rough and raw.

Matilda went rigid.

Her nose pressed against his collarbone. She could feel his heartbeat racing unnaturally fast.

"Thomas, let go."

"Give me a chance."

"I'm handling Daniel's situation." Thomas tightened his arms, his voice serious. "I've flown in the best orthopedic specialists from overseas to consult on his case. Whether he can get a prosthetic after the amputation, what level of function he can recover—I'm arranging everything."

Matilda's body trembled.

"I'm covering all his medical bills and rehabilitation costs."

Matilda said nothing.

Thomas's voice dropped lower. "I'm also investigating who hurt Daniel. No matter who it leads to, I'll give you an answer."

The hallway was silent. Matilda clenched her fists.

"Thomas."

Her voice was soft but clear.

"You always do this."

"Something goes wrong and you throw money at it. Like everything can be fixed with cash."

She lifted her hand and pushed against his chest. He didn't budge.

"But some things can't be bought back."

Thomas looked down at her.

Her eyes were red, but she refused to let the tears fall.

She'd been exhausted these past few days. The company. Daniel. She'd been carrying it all alone.

But she didn't want to cry in front of him.

"Grandpa's still waiting downstairs. Let me go."

Thomas didn't release her.

"Matilda."

He called her name, his voice wrecked.

"You can hate me. But don't push me away. Please."