Chapter 41 Chapter 41: The Moment Pride Took the Wheel
Auren’s POV
The next thing I knew, I was striding down the corridor with far more force than dignity, the echo of my footsteps ricocheting off the marble walls like a warning shot. I barely registered the portraits watching from their gilded frames or the house staff flattening themselves politely against the walls as I passed. My pulse was loud in my ears, drowning out everything except the sharp, relentless replay of the afternoon. By the time I reached my bedroom doors, my patience had burned down to its last thread.
I shoved the doors open harder than necessary.
Douglas was already inside, sprawled in one of the armchairs near the windows as if he owned the place. He had loosened his tie and kicked off his shoes, looking irritatingly relaxed with a glass of water in hand. The moment his eyes landed on me, his brows lifted in surprise. “Well,” he said slowly, sitting up straighter. “You look like you’ve just declared war on a small country.”
I didn’t answer. I crossed the room and tossed my keys onto the desk with a sharp clatter that made him wince.
“Alright,” he continued, watching me carefully now. “That’s not your usual post-family-meeting face. What happened?”
I dragged a hand through my hair, pacing once across the room before stopping near the window. The city lights had begun to glow in the distance, but I barely saw them. My reflection in the glass looked colder than I felt. “She burned it,” I said flatly.
Douglas blinked. “She… what?”
“She burned it,” I repeated, turning toward him. “My apology. My effort. My attempt to fix this mess. She sent it back in a case like a message from a battlefield.”
For a second, he stared at me as if waiting for a punchline that never came. Then he set the glass down slowly. “You’re serious.”
“Does it sound like I’m joking?”
“No,” he admitted. “It sounds like you’re about three seconds away from flipping the entire mansion upside down.”
I exhaled sharply, frustration tightening my chest. “She sent a note with it. Two words. That’s it.”
Douglas tilted his head. “Let me guess. Not ‘thank you.’”
“Apology not accepted.”
He let out a low whistle, leaning back in his chair. “Ouch.”
“Ouch?” I repeated incredulously. “That’s what you have to say?”
“Well,” he gestured vaguely, “what do you want me to say? Congratulations? That’s brutal.”
I turned away again, jaw tightening. “She humiliated me, Douglas. Do you understand that? She rejected it so publicly that even the staff knew before I did. My father knows. My mother knows. Everyone knows.”
“And that bothers you because…?” he asked carefully.
I spun back toward him. “Because I don’t get rejected.”
He raised both hands. “Ah. There it is.”
I stared at him, irritation flaring. “This isn’t funny.”
“I didn’t say it was funny,” he replied calmly. “I’m just trying to figure out whether you’re angry because she hurt you… or because she bruised your ego.”
“That’s the same thing.”
“No,” he said gently, “it’s really not.”
The room fell quiet for a moment, the air thick with everything I didn’t want to examine too closely. I looked away first.
“She had no right,” I muttered. “None. I tried to make it right.”
Douglas studied me for a long moment before speaking again. “And she decided it wasn’t enough.”
I clenched my fists at my sides. “She insulted me.”
“Or,” he said softly, “she made a point.”
I shot him a glare sharp enough to cut glass. “Whose side are you on?”
“Yours,” he said without hesitation. “Which is exactly why I’m telling you the truth.”
I crossed to the bedside table, still breathing harder than I liked, and snatched my phone from the polished wood surface. The screen lit up instantly beneath my thumb, cold and bright in the dim room. I didn’t even realize how tight my grip was until Douglas spoke again.
“What are you doing?” he asked, suspicion lacing his voice.
I didn’t answer right away. My thumb hovered over the contacts list, scrolling with sharp, impatient flicks. My jaw was locked so tight it ached.
“Auren,” he pressed, sitting forward in the chair, elbows on his knees. “What. Are. You. Doing?”
“I’m calling her.”
The words came out flat and final.
Douglas let out a long breath and leaned back, dragging a hand over his face. “Oh no. No, no, no. That is a terrible idea.”
I shot him a look. “I’m not asking for your permission.”
“You don’t need my permission,” he said quickly. “You need my intervention. Put the phone down.”
“Not happening.”
He stood up now, walking toward me slowly like someone approaching a wild animal. “Listen to me. You are angry, humiliated, and running entirely on wounded pride. This call will end in flames.”
“It already ended in flames,” I snapped. “She made sure of that.”
Douglas stopped a few feet away, folding his arms. “Exactly. Which means you calling her right now will only pour gasoline on it.”
“I don’t care.”
“You will,” he said firmly. “Five minutes into the call, when you say something you can’t take back.”
I scoffed. “You think I’m afraid of a phone call?”
“I think you’re afraid of losing control of this situation,” he replied quietly. “And you’re trying to grab it back the fastest way you know how.”
My thumb hovered over her name. My chest felt tight, restless, like something inside me needed action—needed confrontation—needed an answer.
“She doesn’t get to end this on her terms,” I muttered.
Douglas shook his head slowly. “You’re not trying to fix anything right now. You’re trying to win.”
I looked at the screen, her name glowing back at me like a challenge.
“Maybe I am,” I said.
“And what happens if she doesn’t pick up?” he asked softly.
My grip tightened.
“And what happens if she does?” he added.
The room fell into silence again, thick and heavy, my thumb still hovering just above the call button.