Chapter 223
Iris's POV
I sat in the Grey family living room, cradling the warm glass of milk William had just handed me. The liquid rippled slightly as my hand trembled, but my thoughts were miles away—back in high school corridors, beside metal lockers where mysterious notes appeared.
Sebastien wrote those love letters? Using his left hand?
The contradiction felt impossible to reconcile. The same boy who barely acknowledged my existence in the hallways, whose cold stares made me feel invisible—he was secretly writing poetry and drawing delicate sketches for me?
I remembered those beautiful notes on distinctive floral paper. How the handwriting had seemed deliberately neat, almost artificial. How sometimes I'd mention the mysterious letters while Sebastien was nearby, watching for any reaction and finding none. Not even a flicker of recognition had crossed his face.
Lost in thought, I didn't notice the milk sloshing until warm liquid spilled across my hand. The sensation yanked me back to reality.
"Oh!" I gasped.
"Goodness, dear, you're spilling everywhere." William quickly grabbed napkins from the coffee table, his weathered hands gentle as he dabbed at the droplets on my skin. "What's got you so distracted?"
I managed a weak smile. "Sorry, Gray Grandfather. I was just thinking about... it's hard to imagine Sebastien writing those letters. We were practically enemies back then."
William's eyes crinkled at the corners as he settled back into his armchair. "Young people's matters often look simple from the outside but are quite complicated within. My grandson has never been good at expressing himself." He sighed. "That doesn't mean there aren't feelings beneath the surface."
I nodded silently, wondering if this explained Sebastien's lifelong inability to communicate—a fundamental barrier that had left countless things unsaid between us.
William seemed to sense my discomfort and smoothly changed the subject. "I hear your recent work has been exceptional. The design that received such high praise—tell me about it."
Grateful for the diversion, I began describing my latest project. We moved to the wicker chairs in the backyard, where dappled sunlight filtered through the trees. William shared stories of Sebastien's childhood that had me laughing despite myself—tales of a serious little boy who once organized all his toys by size and color.
I was mid-laugh when I heard footsteps approaching. My body tensed instinctively, and my heart rate picked up. I smoothed my skirt, suddenly conscious of my appearance.
"Dinner's ready," Sebastien announced from the patio doorway. His voice was neutral, but his eyes lingered on me for a moment longer than necessary.
Back in the dining room, I stared in surprise at the spread before us. Every dish was something I'd mentioned liking over the years—the seafood pasta I'd praised during our first month of marriage, the roasted vegetables with the spice blend I'd discovered in Italy.
"Eat up, Star," William encouraged, using my nickname as he heaped food onto my plate. "Sebastien made everything himself. He's been learning these recipes since your last visit."
I glanced at Sebastien, catching him watching for my reaction. There was an unfamiliar vulnerability in his eyes, a hint of expectation that reminded me of a much younger version of him—one who might have waited anxiously to see if I'd found his anonymous notes.
"It's delicious. Thank you," I said softly, feeling something warm and bittersweet unfurl in my chest.
After dinner, I helped William walk through the garden. The early spring air carried the scent of new growth, and William leaned comfortably on my arm.
"I know many things have happened between you and Sebastien," he said thoughtfully. "But sometimes, things aren't exactly what they appear to be."
I bit my lip. "Are you asking me to forgive him, Gray Grandfather?"
He shook his head gently. "I'm only suggesting you give yourself a chance to learn the whole truth. What we believe is real is sometimes just one face of a many-sided story."
"I know, Grandfather," I whispered. The words were both a concession to him and an acknowledgment of my own curiosity.
Across the garden, I noticed Sebastien watching us from the kitchen window. When our eyes met, he didn't look away.
Later, as Sebastien drove me home, the car filled with a silence so complete I could hear my own heartbeat. I leaned against the window, eyes closed, my mind replaying William's revelations—left-handed writing, flower-printed paper, carefully preserved drafts.
But another thought struck me, sharp and painful: If he had truly loved me then, why had he humiliated me on our wedding day? Why had he remained so cold throughout our three years of marriage?
The contradiction made my chest tighten. I covered my mouth, trying to contain the sudden rush of emotion.
"What's wrong?" Sebastien's alarmed voice cut through my thoughts. His eyes found mine in the rearview mirror. "Are you feeling sick somewhere?"
I took a deep breath, forcing composure. "It's nothing. The light's green."
My phone vibrated with a message from Dina: "Miss, where are you now?"
I typed a quick reply, then looked up to find Sebastien's eyes meeting mine in the mirror again. Something compelled me to speak.
"Did you really want to divorce me?" The question escaped before I could reconsider.
His hands tightened on the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white, but his answer came without hesitation. "No."
"Then why?" I pressed, needing to understand. "Why didn't you show up at the wedding? Why publicly humiliate me like that?"
Sebastien remained silent for so long I thought he wouldn't answer. Finally, he said, "I'll explain everything to you later."
His evasion landed like a stone in my stomach. William's stories suddenly felt like beautiful mirages, insufficient to counterbalance the weight of reality.
I turned toward the window, watching city lights blur into streams of color. I thought about Blake's claims that Sebastien had "his reasons," about William's hints today. But I couldn't accept such vague explanations.
In my world, love meant honesty—it meant trust and facing challenges together. Secrets kept "to protect" were just another form of lies.
I silently resolved: if he couldn't open up to me, the distance between us would remain unbridgeable.
When we reached my building's underground parking, I unbuckled my seatbelt without looking at him. "Thank you for the ride. Please give my regards to Gray Grandfather."
My tone was polite but distant—the way one might speak to an acquaintance. It was the wall I needed to protect myself.
Sebastien seemed about to say something, but only nodded. "Take care. Call me if you need anything."
As I walked away, I didn't look back, but I could sense he hadn't immediately driven off. His car remained, a presence I felt even with my back turned, until the elevator doors closed between us.