Chapter 85 Chapter 85. Zephyr’s Crumbling Control
Zoria let out a cold laugh. “You want me to be like before—waiting for you to come home every night, then waiting for you to rape me?”
Zephyr was left speechless.
Zoria’s blue eyes were locked onto his face, missing not a single expression. “I don’t have parents anymore, my body is already ruined, Zephyr. You and I can’t go back to the past.”
“Zoria…” Zephyr called her name hoarsely. Pain spread from his chest throughout his body, like claws raking through his flesh.
The pain in Zephyr’s eyes didn’t escape Zoria’s gaze. The more he hurt, the more satisfied she felt. To her, Zephyr still wasn’t suffering enough.
Zoria lifted a finger and jabbed it straight into his chest, asking coldly, “Does it hurt a little more now?”
Her gaze darkened. “Do you have any idea how much it hurt when you told me that basin of blood from the stillbirth was my child? It felt like my insides were being torn apart, like a knife slicing through my heart. What you’re feeling now doesn’t even amount to one ten-thousandth of what I felt back then.”
Zephyr’s fingers trembled faintly. Zoria’s eyes seemed to bore straight through his chest.
He lowered his head, unable to meet her gaze. Zoria shoved him away and collapsed weakly onto the bed. Her chest rose and fell unevenly as she stared up at the ceiling light, lifting a hand to point at it and murmuring, “Look at that lamp. It looks just like the ones in an operating room.”
“Zephyr, I will never forgive you. Never. If a single apology were enough to wash away all your sins, that would be far too easy for you.”
Zephyr grabbed her hand and held it tightly, his voice hoarse. “Zoria, is there even a shred of love left in your heart for me?”
He knew asking that was humiliating, but he couldn’t stop himself.
“You already had the answer to that same question back when you forced me to sign the bone marrow donation papers for Faye.” Zoria let out a bitter laugh. “Love? Do you really think you deserve my love?”
Zephyr released her hand and stood up. “Get some rest.”
He walked out of the bedroom and into the living room. After standing there in silence for a while, he suddenly lashed out, kicking the leg of the coffee table so hard it flew across the room. A storm churned inside him. His Alpha instincts roared, his blood seemed to boil, and the pressure crushing his chest made it hard to breathe.
The empty room was terrifyingly quiet. All of a sudden, Zephyr remembered how, in the past, he used to come home drunk to this same house. It had been just as empty then, yet the living room lights were always on. The moment he stepped inside, he would see Zoria curled up on the sofa. She had waited for him until she’d fallen asleep without realizing it.
It had only been a year and a half, yet it felt as though a lifetime had passed—so distant it was almost unreal.
None of this should have turned out this way. What madness had he committed to make Zoria look at him with such hatred, to the point where she had lost her child like that?
Zephyr collapsed onto the sofa, clutching his head.
“Alpha, what’s wrong with you?” The servant came out of a room, staring at the mess in the living room in confusion.
“I’m fine.” Zephyr’s voice was rough and drained.
“Has Ms. Zoria woken up? The chef is off today. If there’s anything she wants to eat, I can make it for her.”
Zephyr froze. He had forgotten about that.
The servant studied his expression. “So… what does she like to eat?”
Zephyr’s face darkened. He had known her for over six years and lived with her for four, yet he didn’t even know what Zoria liked to eat.
“Just make something light,” he said at last. “She just had a miscarriage. Make some chicken soup.”
After the servant left, Zephyr rubbed his brow. Forcing Zoria no longer worked; he had to soften his approach. But he didn’t know what she liked, or where he was even supposed to begin to make things right.
The sounds from the living room drifted into Zoria’s ears. She turned her head and stared blankly out the window. The constant cramps in her abdomen reminded her again and again that she had lost her third child.
Even though she acted as if the miscarriage didn’t matter, her heart still ached. She placed a hand over her stomach and whispered hoarsely, “I’m sorry…”
Zoria suddenly thought of Lysander. Perhaps that male really could help her leave Zephyr. After all, every time Zephyr heard Lysander’s name, he would lose control. Zoria guessed that Zephyr and Lysander had known each other for a long time—long enough to understand each other far too well.
…
After the chicken soup was ready, the servant ladled a bowl and asked Zephyr whether he wanted any.
Zephyr shook his head and took the bowl. “This is for Zoria, right? I’ll bring it in to her.”
“Alpha, did you have a fight with Ms. Zoria?”
He was silent for a moment before answering, “Yeah.”
“You two are mates. There’s no argument that can’t be fixed by a good night’s sleep.”
If it really could be settled in bed, he wouldn’t be suffering like this.
Unable to stop himself, he asked, “Lola, if I’ve hurt someone so badly that their heart is completely shattered, what am I supposed to do to make it up to them?”
The servant replied, "Alpha, you should spend more time with Ms. Zoria. Or take her out for a walk. When you’re not home, she often stands by the window, staring outside. If she’s shut in for too long, her mind will break."
Zephyr carried a bowl of soup and opened the door as quietly as he could. Zoria was not asleep. She leaned back against the headboard, staring blankly out the window.
"Zoria, have some chicken soup."
Zoria did not move. Zephyr pulled over a chair and sat down by the bed, scooping up a spoonful and bringing it to her lips. The heat brushed against Zoria’s face, but she remained still, as if her soul had already drifted out of her body.