Chapter 219

Chapter 219
Aya POV
I clutched my pillow in the William residence, staring at the ceiling with swollen eyes. I wanted to call him. God, every part of me screamed to hear his voice, even if it was just silence on the other end of the line. To tell him I didn’t leave because I didn’t love him—I left because I loved him too much to let him lose everything.
But I couldn’t.
I couldn’t destroy Lisbon for the sake of my happiness. I saw the desperation in the mayor’s smile, the thinly veiled threat in his words: The land or the marriage.
Nathaniel could stand against them. I had no doubt. But the farm? The Lisbon family? The generations who worked the soil, who depended on it for their lives? How could I be the reason it was lost?
So I stayed silent. I folded my hands, tucked my phone under the pillow, and let the tears roll down.
He wouldn’t understand. Not yet.


Nathaniel POV
The nights dragged on. My mother noticed my temper snapping easier, my gaze drifting too long. She whispered Aya’s name like a wound we weren’t supposed to touch.
I stared at the phone again. Her number. Always there, waiting.
But she hadn’t called.
So maybe that was the truth after all. Maybe what I felt was one-sided. Maybe she had only been there because it was convenient, because I was convenient.
My chest burned with anger, with grief, with something I didn’t want to name.
One call. That’s all it would take.
But neither of us called.
And the silence between us grew louder than any confession ever could.

The silence was the worst part. Not the future arguments, not the sharp-edged words we threw like knives. Silence was heavier. It pressed in, filling every corner of my apartment, filling me.
I lay on the couch, phone on the coffee table, screen dark but tempting. My chest ached with the ridiculous, gnawing need to hear her voice. To say something stupid like, Did you eat? or I miss you. Anything.
My fingers twitched. I could end this. I could end the distance.
I reached—hesitated—pulled back. My pride caught me like barbed wire around the ribs. She should be the one calling. She was the one who walked away.
The minutes dragged. The clock ticked loud enough to mock me. Then, as if the universe had a sick sense of humor, my phone lit up. My heart slammed into my throat—her name on the screen.
And at the exact same moment, I had my own thumb hovering over her contact.
We both froze. I didn’t answer. She didn’t either. Just one ring, then it went dark again.
My chest felt like it was caving in. She’d tried. I’d tried. We both almost let go of our stubbornness. Almost.
I pressed the heel of my palm to my eyes, a low, bitter laugh escaping me. We were so damn close to fixing this. One swallow of pride, and it could’ve been over. But neither of us did.
And now the silence roared back, louder than before.



Aya POV

Morning in this house was always noisy, but that day? It was a whole opera of chaos.
Emily, my boss—my friend—sat at the table, still very pregnant, one hand on her belly like she was already scolding the child inside for kicking too much. She was waiting patiently, but the smell wafting from the kitchen was… let’s just say, a personal insult to my profession.
Maria and Dolores had “volunteered” to make breakfast, which was their first mistake. The eggs looked like they’d survived a war—edges blackened, centers still suspiciously gooey. The sausages? Charred sticks of something that maybe used to be pork. Smoke curled from the pan like a distress signal.
I didn’t even think. I marched in, shoved them both aside with a dish towel, and said, “Out. Before you commit another crime against humanity.”
“Excuse you,” Maria huffed, hands on hips.
“Chef’s orders,” I shot back, cracking eggs with the confidence of someone who actually knows what a frying pan is for.
In minutes, the kitchen smelled the way it should—garlic, butter, crisping edges of golden eggs, sausages sizzling properly. When I carried the plates out, the two maids trailed after me like guilty children caught shoplifting.
But of course, breakfast wasn’t going to be peaceful. Not in this house.
“So,” Dolores started, plopping down like she owned the place, “what really happened in Texas?”
And just like that, Maria’s eyes narrowed, Emily leaned in, and suddenly I was trapped at the breakfast table with three women who had the interrogation skills of the CIA.
I sighed, stabbing a fork into my eggs. “Fine. I’ll tell you.”
So I did. Everything about Texas—the mess, the arguments, the long nights, the impossible choice I had to make for Lisbon’s sake. How I didn’t want him—Nathaniel—to carry my burdens. How I’d rather bleed than see Lisbon buried in debt.
Everything.
Everything except the sex. That part was mine. Too private. Too… raw.
But judging by the way Maria’s eyebrow arched and Emily’s smirk tugged at her lips, they knew anyway. Women always know.
When I finished, the table was quiet for all of three seconds. Then Emily, in her calm-but-lethal voice, asked, “Did you even tell Nathaniel your point of view on that matter?”
I froze with my coffee cup halfway to my lips. “…No.”
Maria slapped her hand against the table so hard the plates jumped. “You’re stupid.”
“Excuse me?” I shot back.
“She’s right,” Emily said, pointing a finger at me like a judge delivering a sentence. “Nathaniel is rich.”
“That’s not the point—”
“It is the point!” Maria cut in. “You sacrificed your future, your peace, your happiness, and for what? Pride? Debt?”