Chapter 14 Chapter : 14
Lydia woke slowly ,Her eyes opening up to a new day. there was no fear or even panic in her. Just… warmth. The storm that stayed the entire night was gone, and the air felt dense, quiet, like the world was holding its breath after all that chaos.
Soft yellow light filtered through the tall windows in the bedroom.
For a moment, Lydia didn’t remember where she was, but that didn't last longer. She felt the weight of a different mattress beneath her and he smell of the room was different.
The scent wasn’t hers. The leather. paper. faint cologne. And then there was smoke.
Her eyes opened fully.
"Shit.." She muttered. This wasn’t her room, and the memories of last night returned to her in fragments.
The thunder, shattered glass. And even Arthur’s hands gripping her shoulders.
His voice, low and steady.You’re safe.
Was whaat he said to her. Lydia's heartbeat picked up. Slowly and carefully, she turned her head, she was searching for him. And here he was.
Arthur, The King of Mafia's was on the chair beside the desk. He was still in yesterday’s clothes. One arm resting over scattered files. The other hanging loosely at his side. His head was tilted forward slightly, and his dark hair falling over his forehead.
The man was asleep and still he looked exhausted. But not hardened.
The sharpness that usually defined him all the time, it was gone in sleep. His jaw wasn’t clenched, moreover, his shoulders weren’t rigid either. The constant calculation in his expression had faded and this was something new for Lydia.
He looked younger. Human even. Arthur didn't look like a mafia king this time. Not the man who broke bones without blinking.
But now, he was just a man who hadn’t slept. Because she had been afraid of him. Her chest tightened at that realization and Lydia scanned the entire room.
The desk lamp was still on. Files open but unsigned. And then a pen resting loosely between his fingers.
She slowly pulled herself up and sat down. Lydia couldn't help but think, Arthur must have tried himself from work.
Her gaze then drifted to the bed, he hadn't touched the bed, or even her.
There was distance. A deliberate distance between them. The blanket had been pulled over her carefully. She noticed that now.
Not thrown but placed.
Lydia slowly pushed the blanket aside and stepped stepped onto the cold floor. The chill getting to her.
"Ahhh.. god.." She muttered, walking to the window first.
Outside, Lydia saw men were already repairing the balcony. Broken wood scattered across the garden like evidence of violence that had happened. Even thinking about that night made Lydia trembled.
But inside this room nothing felt violent. Lydia turned to look at him again. Something about the way he slept unsettled her, maybe because he wasn’t watching, and wasn’t calculating, wasn’t guarding.
He looked… defenseless and this was new to her.
Lydia stepped closer, and before she could think herself out of it.
Up close, she noticed things she had never allowed herself to see before.
There was a faint scar near his temple, it was very visible. And a slight crease between his brows, even when he was at rest. And last, there was a shadow under his eyes.
He had been awake most of the night, she though to herself. And for her.
Her fingers hovered before she realized what she was doing with him. And then almost unconsciously Lydia reached out, brushing his hair away from his forehead.
It was a small touch. Soft, very careful.
His skin was warm, real.
For half a second, Lydia let herself see him without titles and without her anger, their history. She just wanted to see a man who had carried her through broken glass. And through the pain of her family.
Her fingers lingered for sometime.
Arthur felt it.
He had been awake for some time now. The moment her breathing changed, Arthur had closed his eyes deliberately. All because he wanted to know what she would do when she thought he wasn’t watching, or attentive.
When there was no pressure on her. No power and no audience.
He felt her approach, felt her hesitation as well.
Something inside his chest tightened in a way violence never could. Arthur did not move or open his eyes. Did not betray that he was aware.
Because if he di, he would reach for her and he knew it. And if he reached for Lydia, he would not stop. Slowly Lydia pulled her hand away abruptly,thinking what she was doing.
Her walls rebuilding again.
She remembered who he was.
Arthur Romero.
The man who forced her into marriage. And the man feared across cities. Who did not deserve gentle touches. Lydia stepped back. And he heard it in the change of air.
And then her footsteps retreated toward the door. And now this made Arthur keep his breathing even and let her go.
The door opened softly and closed. There was silence for once and only then did The King of he Mafia's eyes open. Slowly staring at the doorway long after she had disappeared.
He lifted his hand. Touched the place on his forehead where her fingers had been, to confirm it had been real.
Arthur knew he could have stopped Lydia. Could have said her name and forced her to stay but he didn’t. Because for the first time .... Arthur wanted her to come back on her own.
And that frightened him far more than any rival ever had. Or even death.
From the hallway on the other said of the mansion, there were another pair of eyes and they had seen everything.
Aurora Romero did not move like an old woman she was there observing it all.
She stood straight-backed at the far end of the corridor, and her silver hair perfectly pinned even in this eearly morning. Silk robe draped over her shoulders. She still looked sharp and intentional.
Nothing in this house happened without her noticing and still this was new to her.
She noticed Lydia stepping out of Arthur’s bedroom. And she was barefoot, quiet.
Too quiet.
The maid beside her shifted nervously, clutching a folded towel to her chest and it was as if it was the ladies shield.
Aurora’s gaze did not move from the closed door at the end of the hall. And then she spoke in her smooth but cold tone.
“Why?,” Arora asked, each word measured and slowl.
"Why is she leaving my grandson’s room?”
The maid, on the other hand, she swallowed.
“Ma’am… there was a damage last night. A tree fell onto Mrs. Romero’s balcony and the windows shattered. Mr. Romero carried her to his room.”
Aurora’s eyes flickered and this was not with surprise but with assessment.
“Carried her?” She asked and repeated softly.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And no other room was available in this entire house?” She asked again, The maid though, she hesitated. That was her mistake.
Aurora noticed hesitation the way predators notice weakness.
“We would have had to clean one." the maid admitted. “But most of the guest rooms have not been opened in years and all of them could be dusty.” Aurora’s lips thinned into something almost resembling a smile. SHe was mad now.
“Of course they haven’t.” She said.
Because Arthur did not entertain. She also knew that Arthur did not host, he did not invite.
This house was a fortress, not a home and now a girl from vineyards and a no one had slept in the king’s chamber, like it was her own.
Aurora’s gaze sharpened.
“How long was she inside?”
“All night, ma’am.” She said, too quickly.
There was a pause around her.
“And Arthur?” Arora wanted to know very badly.
“In the chair.” The maid said, and that gave her a fraction of relief. Even her shoulders fell.
But only a fraction. Aurora had watched empires fall because of softer things than love. She had already lost a son before, she was not going to go through that again.
Arora had also seen men who ruled cities brought to their knees by women they underestimated. And here it was again.
Arthur was not weak and she knew that. He was not foolish either. He is King, and had been raised under her watchful eye.
But this girl… She was doing something else here/
Aurora’s gaze drifted again to the closed door of her grandson. She had seen the way Lydia had looked back once before turning the corner. It was not fear in her. No resentment but something else.
Curiosity. And Arora knew that was more dangerous.
“Make sure,” Aurora said quietly, “That every guest room in this estate is cleaned today. Open the windows. Air them out.”
The maid nodded quickly.
“Yes, ma’am.” Aurora turned to leave, silk whispering against marble floors.
“And remind everyone. This house is not a sanctuary for accidents.” She said and her help nodded. Although Arora's mind was already working. Arthur had forced this marriage for strategy, for power and for leverage.
But Aurora knew something Arthur refused to admit.
Time and proximity changes things. A shared storms…make a difference.
Her dislike shifted. Not into emotion but into strategy.
Lydia was no longer just the enemy’s daughter to her anymore. She was becoming something far more inconvenient and Aurora Romero did not allow attachments to grow unchecked in her land.
Not in this house or under her roof.