Chapter 138

Chapter 138
NAYA'S POV

When I stepped back into the mansion, I immediately noticed how still everything felt. Too still. Usually, Elijah’s laughter carried through these halls like sunlight spilling across cold floors, but now… nothing. Not even the faint shuffle of feet or the hum of conversation. Just silence. The kind that clung to your skin and made you aware of every breath you took.

For a moment, I told myself he must still be asleep. It wasn’t too unusual. He loved to curl up and nap after a long morning of energy, especially if Arthur had been keeping him entertained. But something in me—it might have just been that motherly instinct, that itch under the skin that mothers seem to always feel—told me this silence was heavier than normal.

“Elijah?” I called gently, as though the sound of my voice might coax him out of hiding. No answer. “Arthur?” My voice echoed off the wide walls, trailing up the stairs, but the mansion only swallowed it back up.

A knot twisted inside me. I tried again, louder this time, “Arthur?” Still nothing.

I set my bag down on the table and rubbed my arms, suddenly uneasy. I knew Arthur wouldn’t just leave Elijah unattended. He was protective in his own, quiet way. But if they weren’t downstairs, there was only one place Arthur would disappear to—his study.

I climbed the stairs slowly, my fingers brushing along the banister. Each step felt heavier than the last, weighed down by the hush in the air. When I reached the hallway, the door to his study was cracked slightly, a thin blade of lamplight slipping into the dim corridor.

I hesitated for a second, then pushed it open.

Arthur stood there, framed by the tall windows, his shoulders straight but his posture heavy, almost slumped as if he carried some invisible load. His back was to me, and his hands were shoved into his pockets. He wasn’t moving, not even a shift of weight from one foot to the other. Just… staring. Out at nothing, or maybe at everything.

The sight made my heart pinch. I knew this stance. It wasn’t the stance of a man reading or thinking casually. It was the stance of a man drowning in something unsaid.

I didn’t call his name this time. Instead, I walked toward him slowly, my footsteps muffled by the carpet. When I reached him, I slipped my arms around his waist from behind, pressing my cheek lightly between his shoulder blades. His body tensed for the briefest second, then eased, like he’d been holding himself so tightly he didn’t even realize it.

“Arthur,” I whispered, though it wasn’t really a question. Just his name, just me reminding him I was here.

I could feel the rise and fall of his chest, too measured to be relaxed. My fingers traced absentminded circles against his shirt, and I listened to the silence stretch between us. He didn’t speak. He didn’t move. And in that quiet, I understood—something was troubling him deeply.

I didn’t ask right away. Sometimes the best way to make someone open up was to simply remind them they weren’t alone. So I held him tighter, willing my warmth into him, hoping it would chip away at whatever shadows he was standing in.

But inside, my mind was restless. What could weigh on him like this? After everything we’d been through, everything happening with Stella, Jordan, the threat still hanging in the air—I knew his thoughts were probably a storm. And yet, there was something different in the stillness of his posture, something that told me this wasn’t just about what was outside these walls.

This was personal.

And the realization sent a quiet shiver through me.

As I held him from behind, I could feel the tension running through his body, every line of him taut with something unsaid. When he finally turned to face me, his arms wrapped around me fully, and for a moment it felt like he was clinging to me as much as I was to him. His breath fanned against my hair, a soft sigh slipping out, heavy and uneven, as if he’d been carrying it for too long.

Then his voice, low and almost reluctant, broke the quiet between us.
“Naya… I read something today. A letter. From my father.”

I froze, my eyes darting up to his face though my arms stayed in place. His father. The weight of those words hit me immediately. His father had been gone for years, and yet here he was, speaking as though the man had just reached across time to touch him again. My heart stumbled against my ribs, a mix of curiosity and dread rising in me.

“What do you mean?” I asked softly, searching his expression as if I could read the words he hadn’t yet spoken.

Arthur’s eyes flickered down, then back up, a storm swirling quietly in them. “He left it for me. Somehow it ended up with my mother, but it was given to me by Aunt Nina just a while ago. I don’t even know why I opened it. But… I did.”

I eased back slightly, just enough so I could see him more clearly while still held within the circle of his arms. My voice dropped. “And what did it say?”

Arthur’s jaw tightened, his lips parting as though the words themselves were sharp. “It wasn’t what I expected. You’d think I’d want answers. Or maybe closure. But instead, it feels like he reached into the place I’d finally managed to lock away and rattled everything loose again.”

I blinked, my throat tightening at the rawness in his tone. I lifted my hand to his cheek, brushing lightly across the stubble there, grounding myself in his presence. “Arthur… what did he say in the letter?”

His breath caught, and he let out a bitter, hollow laugh, shaking his head slightly. “He apologized, Naya. Can you believe that? After everything. After leaving us with the mess he did, after being absent in ways that mattered most—he apologized. Wrote about regret, about the way he raised me, about wanting to make me stronger, but knowing it broke me too.”

I didn’t know what to say right away. His voice wavered between anger and grief, and I could see the boy he used to be, the one who had carried the silence of unmet expectations and unspoken love. My fingers tightened gently on his arm, anchoring him.

“And you don’t know how to feel about it,” I whispered, piecing together the storm behind his eyes.

His gaze locked on mine then, sharp and almost pleading, as though I might have the answer he couldn’t find in himself. “Exactly. Part of me wants to take those words and let them soothe the wounds he left behind. Another part of me hates that he had the audacity to put them on paper when he couldn’t say them while he was alive. I don’t know if I should feel relief or betrayal all over again.”

His voice cracked slightly at the end, and I felt my chest ache with the depth of it. I swallowed hard and shook my head gently. “Arthur, you don’t have to decide right now. You don’t have to know what to feel. Sometimes letters like that… they’re not for easy answers. Maybe they’re just a way to open the door to feelings you’ve buried too long.”

He exhaled slowly, his forehead leaning against mine, as though my steadiness could seep into him. “I thought I buried it all, Naya. I thought I’d left him behind. But reading those words… it was like hearing his voice again. And I can’t tell if it comforts me or haunts me.”

I cupped his face fully then, forcing him to look at me, to see that he wasn’t alone in this. “It can be both. It can comfort you and haunt you. That’s the thing about grief—it doesn’t follow rules, and neither does forgiveness.”

His eyes softened, but the heaviness didn’t lift completely. “What if I never figure it out?”

“Then you don’t,” I said gently, my voice steadier than I felt. “You don’t force yourself to wrap it neatly. You just let it exist. And you let me be here with you while it does.”

For a long moment, he didn’t speak. He just looked at me, really looked, as if my words had carved out a space for him to breathe again. His arms tightened around me, pulling me closer, and his voice was barely above a whisper when he finally spoke.

“Thank you, love. For not telling me what I should feel, and for just… being here.”
He kissed me softly and I smiled at him.
"Then again, the good thing about the letter is that he left it alongside several documents that I could use as leverage against my rivals, including Victor Cain." Arthur smiled at the mention of him.
"Really?" I couldn't believe it but I felt slightly relieved at the news except for the thought of the estate documents that Stella had stolen. I wasn't even sure if I should bring it up to Arthur.
I knew he'd be disappointed but deep down, he deserved to know.
"Yes love," he said as he kissed me again.
Then, in a nervous attempt to tell him about it, I dragged him out of his study and decided go check up on Elijah together w hilst he bragged about how he'd finally get to put Victor Cain in his place.