Chapter 8 Chapter : 8

Chapter 8 Chapter : 8
Lydia woke up alone in her room.
The room was too quiet and the kind of quiet that didn't simply exist but pressed, heavy and deliberate, until she became aware of it. For a moment, she didn't move a muscle. Lydia lay there, staring upward, breathing shallowly, as if any sudden motion might fracture the fragile calm holding her together.
Her head throbbed faintly, a dull ache blooming behind her eyes. Not sharp, not urgent. Just present. "Shit" she muttered.
A reminder.
You cried yourself empty last night.
The thought surfaced without accusation, without comfort. Just fact. It was all true about her family and she hated it.
Her gaze drifted to the ceiling, tracing the fine cracks she hadn't noticed before, hairline fractures branching like veins through pale stone. She followed them slowly, methodically, as if memorizing them would ground her. She was that free today.
The other side of the bed was untouched.
Cold.
The sheet lay smooth, unwrinkled, exactly as it had been when she fell asleep.
Good, she thought.
Good.It's not like she wanted to see him here, but this was still better.
She didn't know what she would've done if she'd woken up and found him there. Even though they didn't share the room, she was still not ready for it. Also she didn't want him sitting in the chair, leaning against the doorframe, watching her with that careful, unreadable expression. Pretending concern without admitting it. Offering presence without explanation. She was confused about the Mafia she was married too as well.
She wasn't ready for that.
Lydia pushed herself upright slowly. 
"Ahhhh.." Pausing halfway as her body protested with a wave of lightheadedness.
"Damn it. Why am I in pain?." She muttered, waited it out, breathing through it, until the room steadied again. Weak, but functioning. That was acceptable.
Lydia gathered the blanket around her shoulders and sat there for a long time, just breathing. Feeling the weight of the house around her. The walls. The space. The unspoken rules embedded in every corner.
This house still didn't feel like hers, but she was truly happy to be back as well.
It smelled too expensive here again and polished wood, clean linen, something faintly metallic beneath it all. Too controlled. Even the silence felt curated, as though it belonged to someone else and merely tolerated her presence.
She swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood, barefoot against the cold floor. The chill startled her awake more effectively than any alarm. Slowly, Lydia crossed the room and pulled the curtains back and her blanket still on her body.
Outside, the garden stretched wide and immaculate. Moreover,, the breeze made her feel better.
Her eyes still on the garden and the trimmed hedges formed precise borders. Pale stone paths curved with intentional elegance. Flowers bloomed, their colors balanced and restrained, nothing wild or accidental about them. Even nature here obeyed. She had never seen that before.
Sunlight filtered through tall trees at the far edge of the property, casting long, slanted shadows across the grass. Somewhere, water trickled fountains, perhaps, or a stream designed to sound natural without ever being untamed. She liked it and she was honest about it.
It was beautiful.
And distant, like her.
Lydia stepped closer to the glass, resting her palm against it. The cool surface grounded her. Her reflection stared back faintly, yet again pale, tired, but still standing.
I'm fine, she told herself.
I've always been fine on my own. Still, after a moment, she wrapped the blanket tighter around herself and slipped outside.
The air was crisp, carrying the scent of damp earth and morning flowers. She walked slowly, carefully, following the stone path into the garden. Each step took more effort than she wanted to admit. The headache stirred again, pulsing softly, and a familiar weariness settled deep in her bones.
She reached a bench near the rose bushes and sat down, exhaling quietly. The world felt too large today. Even this controlled, manicured world.
She closed her eyes for just a second and from the terrace above, Gena noticed.
She had been standing there with her morning tea, watching the garden the way she always di. Assessing, observing, guarding what was hers. Her gaze caught on the small figure wrapped in a blanket, moving too slowly, sitting too carefully. She stunned her.
It was Lydia and to her she looked tired.
Gena didn't call out. Didn't interrupt her daughter in law, rather she simply watched, concern settling silently behind her eyes, and made a mental note to check on her later. Subtle, indirect, the way everything in this family was done.
Below, Lydia opened her eyes again, unaware she was being seen in this mansion.
The garden remained quiet around her and she was thankful. And for the first time that morning, she let herself stay still.
IN THE CITY :  
Arthur had been in his office for less than ten minutes and the man already wanted to leave for his house.
The building hummed around him, low, and alive. Phones rang in measured intervals. Elevators went up and down the core of the tower. Men moved with through glass corridors, voices hushed, efficient.
This place responded to him. It always had.
The city bent easily in his presence. Deals closed faster. Doors opened wider. People spoke carefully, choosing their words like currency.
And yet his thoughts were not here.
To him Lydia was alone.
The realization settled in his chest like a stone, unwelcome and heavy. It irritated him how quickly his mind had gone there and how instinctively this was. Lydia had been in this house for days now. Surrounded by guards. Doctors. People whose job it was to keep her safe.
She wasn't helpless.
So why did the idea of her alone feel wrong to him?
Arthur turned his attention to the folder in front of him. And he was trying hard for it. Numbers stared back and profit margins, shipping routes, territorial adjustments. Names attached to faces he barely remembered, men who would fall in line or be removed.
All of it was familiar. Predictable.
He read a line twice and absorbed none of it.
Focus. He thought to himself. Then the air outside his office shifted. Not loudly. Not dramatically.
Just enough.
"Heard she's back," someone murmured beyond the glass.
Arthur didn't look up.
"That woman? Again?"
"She never stays away long. And why is she back again?"
The voices dropped, instinctively cautious. No one ever spoke carelessly on this floor, and that was not without reason.
Arthur closed the folder slowly.
Sofia Marck's arrival was never silent, and he was not ready for it. His ex and he still works with her. moreover he did not care.
Sofia's car slid into the underground lot like it belonged there. Black, polished, expensive in a way that didn't try to be subtle. The engine cut off cleanly. The door opened and she stepped out with deliberate grace, heels striking concrete in sharp, confident echoes. Her posture was relaxed, assured, the kind that came from knowing eyes were already on her and welcoming it.
People watched but never fondly.
"That's her."
"She's trouble."
"Always was."
"She thinks she still has a place here."
Sofia ignored it all.
She removed her sunglasses with slow precision and handed them to her driver, chin lifted, expression a big smrik. The building opened itself to her, as it did for anyone with enough power, but not warmly.
She felt the resistance and she enjoyed it.
By the time she reached Arthur's floor, conversations dipped into silence. Some faces hardened openly and others turned away, unwilling to acknowledge her at all.
Sofia smiled anyway. Arthur finally looked up when she stepped into his office.
"Arthur." Her voice was warm. Familiar. Too familiar, he didn't care but she was a business partner.
He rose from behind the desk, not hurried, not stiff. Controlled. Measured. The way he did everything. They embraced briefly. Publicly appropriate. Nothing more.
"You look well," she said as she stepped back, her eyes already roaming over him, his suit, his posture, the subtle changes time had carved into him.
Then her gaze dropped to his left hand and at the ring caught the light. Her breath stilled. Just for a second.
It took effort not to let the reaction show.
"So it's true," she said quietly, forcing her smile to remain intact. "You really did it."
"Yes." he said, No explanation followed. No apology. The silence stretched.
"I never thought you were the marrying type," she added lightly.
"Neither did I." The words landed sharper than he intended.
Something flickered across her face,, too quick to name, and too controlled to be called hurt. Her smile tightened at the corners.
"Well," she said smoothly, "life surprises us all."
They spoke of work after that. Old territories. Dormant alliances. Names that carried history and blood between them. Sofia leaned closer than necessary when she spoke, lowering her voice, laughing softly at things that weren't amusing.
She touched his arm once. Arthur barely noticed.
Marcus entered halfway through the conversation.
"Sir."
Arthur's attention shifted immediately. He turned toward the window, overlooking the city.
"How is Lydia?" The word landed in the room with quiet authority. That was the first thing he asked, about Lydia. Sofia stiffened.
Marcus answered evenly, professionally. 
"She's resting. Mild fever. Doctor says it's nothing serious."
Arthur's fingers curled slowly against the edge of the desk. Fever. the man's eyes went wide at that statement.
"How high?" he asked. Lines forming on his face.
"Low. But she's exhausted." That was when it hit him. Not the fever.
The exhaustion had got to her.
He saw her again standing in that hallway the night before, spine straight, chin had lifted, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing her break. Holding herself together out of stubbornness alone.
Arthur got up immediately and then he reached for his coat.
Sofia stared at him, disbelief cutting through her composure. "You're leaving?"
"Yes."
"There's a meeting scheduled," she said quickly. "With the southern partners. You said yourself it was important."
"It can wait." the King said, walking past her. Marcus inclined his head once, already understanding the decision.
Sofia's voice sharpened despite herself. "Arthur—"
"I said it can wait." The finality in his tone silenced her and Marcus stepped forward slightly. "I'll handle the rest, sir."
Arthur nodded. "See that you do." and said and walked away. to his wife and this was stunning to her. Sofia said nothing more. She watched him leave, the door closing softly behind him, the ring on his hand burning in her vision.
For the first time since her arrival. S
She understood and she didn't like it. This wife of his was, doing something to Arthur.
______________________________________________________________________________
The house was still when Arthur returned.
Not the controlled quiet of the city. Not the measured silence of meetings and closed doors.
This was different. This was the kind of stillness that settled deep into the walls, heavy and watchful, as though the house itself was holding its breath.
Arthur paused just inside the entrance, listening.
Nothing. No footsteps. No voices. Only the faint, distant hum of the city beyond the gates and the muted rhythm of his own breathing.
The doctor was in the sitting room, speaking softly as he packed his bag. Arthur registered movement more than words.
"...just exhaustion," the man was saying. "A mild fever. Nothing alarming."
Arthur nodded once, distracted. His eyes kept drifting toward the hallway. Toward the bedroom door.
"She's sleeping," the doctor added gently. "That's a good sign."
Sleeping. Arthur waited until the front door closed behind the doctor before he moved.
He walked down the corridor without hurry, each step measured, restrained. The door to the bedroom stood slightly ajar. Light from the hall spilled across the threshold, soft and unobtrusive.
He pushed it open slowly.
Lydia lay on the bed, curled slightly on her side, as though she had folded inward on herself even in sleep. Her hair spread across the pillow in loose strands, darker against the pale fabric. The blanket was drawn up to her shoulders.
Color had returned to her cheeks.
Not much, but enough to ease the tightness in his chest.
She looked peaceful. Vulnerable in a way she never allowed herself to be when awake.
Arthur closed the door quietly behind him and crossed the room. He pulled the chair closer to the bed and sat. He didn't touch her. Didn't brush her hair back. Didn't reach for her hand.
Arthur simply stayed.
Time moved differently in that room. Minutes stretched, uncounted. The only sound was her breathing. slow, steady, grounding. Arthur leaned back slightly, resting his forearms on his thighs, his gaze never leaving her face.
This wasn't duty.
This wasn't obligation.
It unsettled him how natural it felt. At some point, the tension in his shoulders eased. His thoughts slowed. The constant calculation that ruled his life went quiet, it was replaced by something simpler.
Be here. Don't wake her. When Lydia stirred, it was gradual.
A soft shift beneath the blankets. A quiet breath drawn a little deeper. Her brow furrowed briefly, as if she were surfacing from a dream she didn't want to remember.
She opened her eyes slowly. For a heartbeat, she was disoriented. Then she felt it.
The presence.
Her gaze lifted and there Arthur was.
Sitting in the chair beside the bed. Jacket draped over the back, sleeves rolled up to his forearms. His posture was tired but alert, like he hadn't slept at all.
His eyes met hers instantly.
"You're awake," he said. His voice was low. Careful.  She swallowed and nodded once. "How long have you been here?"
Arthur considered the question.
"Long enough."
It wasn't an answer at all but it was the truth.
She studied him quietly. The lines of fatigue around his eyes. The way his jaw was set, not in anger, but in restraint. Something about seeing him like this,, still made her chest tighten.
"Oh." She murmured, unsure what else to say. Neither of them spoke after that.
There was no need.  There was a silence between them and it wasn't heavy. It wasn't awkward. It simply existed, soft, shared, almost fragile.
Arthur remained where he was. Lydia closed her eyes again, not to sleep, but to rest. Knowing he was there changed something. She didn't name it. Didn't examine it too closely.
She just let it be.
Outside, the house settled further into night.
Inside, two people occupied the same quiet space without demanding anything from each other.
And for once. That was enough.
Morning felt different.  Not softer, just clearer.
Lydia woke with sunlight spilling through the curtains, pale gold and unhurried. It brushed her face, warmed her skin, pulled her gently out of sleep instead of tearing her from it.
For a moment, she stayed still.
Then she felt it. That same sense again.
Presence.
Her gaze shifted.
Her husband was still there.
He stood by the window now, back partially turned, phone pressed to his ear. He was already dressed, dark trousers, crisp shirt, sleeves rolled to his forearms. The world beyond the glass had claimed half of him again.
But not all.
She watched him in silence. The way his shoulders were set. The slight crease between his brows as he listened. The tension he carried so easily it looked like part of him.
Something warm, and deeply inconvenient settled in her chest.
"You're leaving," she said. Arthur lowered the phone slowly, ending the call without speaking. He didn't turn right away.
"Yes."
The word was calm. Certain.
"Oh." It came out smaller than she intended. Arthur was forced to turned then, eyes finding her immediately. There was hesitation there brief, but unmistakable.
"I have to," he added, a frown on his face.
"I know." She pushed the covers aside and sat up, the movement deliberate. She wasn't weak anymore. The headache was gone, leaving behind only a faint echo.
She looked at him. Really looked.
"I want to see your office." She said out of nowhere. 
Arthur answered without thinking. "No."
The word landed sharp. Too sharp. Her brows knit together. "Why not?"
"It's not a place for you."
She swung her legs over the edge of the bed, bare feet touching the cool floor. "I'm not porcelain, Arthur."
"I didn't say you were."
"But you're thinking it." He stepped closer, frustration flickering behind his eyes. "I'm thinking it's dangerous."
"And this house isn't?" He knew she had a good point.
"This house is protected."
"So am I," she shot back. "By you. By your men. Or do they only work when I stay where you can see me?"
Silence stretched between them.
It wasn't anger, not really. It was something messier. Worry dressed up as authority. Fear hiding behind control. Arthur exhaled through his nose. 
"You don't need to see that side of my life."
"I already do," she said quietly. And she wanted this "Every day I wake up here."
That stopped him. Before he could answer, the door opened and Marcus stepped inside, and immediately sensed the tension like a physical thing.
"Sir," he began, then faltered when Lydia turned toward him.
Her eyes were calm. Intent.
"Marcus, will you take me to the office?, Arthur won't take me." She asked.
And the poor man froze. Marcus froze like death. Truly, genuinely froze. He looked at Lydia with big eyes. Then....slowly......at Arthur.
This was new territory for both of them. He had guarded Arthur Romero for years. Bled for him. Killed for him. Obeyed without question.
But now.... There was a wife. A mafia wife and she was asking for thing he didn't know how to come in between. Arthur closed his eyes briefly. When he opened them, his gaze softened, not toward Marcus, but toward Lydia.
"Fine," he said quietly.
Marcus blinked. Once. Twice and Lydia smiled. Not triumphant. Not smug. Just... pleased. A small, genuine curve of her lips that lit her face in a way neither man was prepared for.
Marcus cleared his throat. "I'll... arrange security."
Arthur nodded. "Full detail." He needed this.
"Of course." Lydia stood, walking past Arthur toward the bathroom. She paused beside him, just close enough that he could feel her warmth.
"I won't get in your way," She said. "I just want to understand." He didn't look at her, but his voice dropped. "That's what scares me."
She hesitated, then stepped away. Marcus watched them both, expression carefully neutral, mind racing.
He now had two bosses now and somehow, he suspected the quieter, smaller one might be more dangerous.