Chapter 140: Understanding

Violet,

I felt deeply conflicted about the conversation earlier. The Smith family was yet to be found, and many people who once worked for Silverfangs were still out there, scattered and hidden like fragments of a broken mirror

.. Knowing all that, how could I even consider letting him stay away from me? If he still had his people, his structure, his old system of protection, I would have never worried this much. I would have trusted that instinctively. But now, except for Mark, I couldn’t trust anyone even for a moment, and that constant awareness sat heavy on my chest.

Feeling absolutely torn, I rested my head against the pillow and stared at the ceiling. The faint reflection of city lights shifted slowly above me as cars passed far below. The room felt unnaturally quiet, as if it were listening to my thoughts, absorbing every fear I couldn’t say out loud. The door was still ajar, just slightly open.

Erica had left not long ago, her footsteps measured, her posture stiff, her back straight in a way that spoke of restraint more than dignity. She didn’t look pleased, but she didn’t argue either. Tolerant was the only word that fit.

I could understand her. I truly could. She thought her son was dead. She mourned him, buried him deep in her heart, and learned to survive with that pain hollowing her from the inside. Anyone in her place would want to reclaim every lost second, to grasp time with both hands and refuse to let go again.

But I would be at the company most of the day. Cyrus would be with Julia. Erica would have uninterrupted hours with Knox, time to talk, to sit beside him, to watch his expressions, to know him again without interruption. No one would disturb her. No one would compete for his attention.

So why did it feel like she wanted to pull him away entirely?

Just as my thoughts tangled into something unbearable, the door slowly opened.

I turned my head.

Knox stood there, careful and quiet, as if he were afraid to disturb the room itself. His hand remained on the door handle for a brief second before he let it go, closing the door gently behind him. He walked toward the bed with slow steps, his presence filling the space in a way that instantly shifted the air.

“Cyrus fell asleep?” he asked softly, a smile already on his face, gentle and familiar despite everything.

“Yes,” I replied, sitting up. The mattress dipped beneath my weight. “He was hungry and started making a fuss again, so I made him sleep earlier.”

He sat on the other side of the bed, close enough that I could feel the warmth radiating from him. His hand instinctively rested on Cyrus’s chest, fingers spreading slightly as if shielding him. His thumb moved in small, unconscious motions, following the slow rhythm of our son’s breathing.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. His voice dropped further, thick with sincerity. “I wanted to spend the evening with you and Cyrus, but I had to talk to Mark about the situation with my parents.”

There was genuine guilt in his eyes, the kind that made his brows knit together slightly, his jaw tense and relax again. I couldn’t help but chuckle softly.

“Don’t look so miserable,” I said, trying to lighten the weight pressing between us. “It’s not like I’m letting you go anywhere anymore.”

I stood up and walked toward the mini fridge, my movements slow, deliberate. Grabbing two cans of soda, I felt the cold seep into my palms. When I returned to the bed, I handed one to him. “Here. Chill, Mr. Knox.”

He smiled faintly, the corner of his lips lifting before he took it from me. The soft hiss of the can opening filled the silence between us, sharp and brief.

For a while, we just sat there. Knox leaned back against the headboard, one knee bent, his free hand never leaving Cyrus. I watched the way his fingers curled slightly, as if memorizing the feel, as if afraid that if he let go, something precious might slip away.

“Mark told me more tonight,” Knox said after a moment, his gaze fixed somewhere ahead. “About Silverfangs. About people who might still be watching.” His jaw tightened subtly, the muscle ticking beneath his skin. “I don’t remember them, but I can feel that something isn’t over.”

“That’s what scares me,” I admitted quietly. My voice came out lower than I expected.

He turned to look at me. Really look at me. “You’re carrying too much alone.”

I swallowed, my throat tightening. “I don’t know how not to.”

Silence stretched between us, heavy but not hostile. It wrapped around us like a fragile cocoon. I knew I couldn’t keep what was weighing on me hidden any longer. My fingers tightened around the can.

“Your mother talked to me earlier,” I said finally, my chest tightening as the words left me.

His shoulders tensed slightly. “About what?”

“She asked about our plans once we return to the States,” I said calmly. I didn’t lie.

He frowned. “And?”

I hesitated, watching his expression carefully, noting the faint crease forming between his brows. “She suggested that you live with her for a while. In a separate apartment.”

Knox went still.

He didn’t react immediately. His gaze dropped to Cyrus, his hand pressing more firmly against our son’s chest before relaxing again, as if grounding himself through that touch.

“She wants time,” he said slowly. “She has been a bit clingy.”

“I know,” I replied. “And I understand that. I truly do. But the thought of you staying away, especially now, it frightened me.”

His head turned toward me sharply. “You’re worried about safety.”

“Yes,” I said honestly. “And everything. Right now, physical safety is more important.”

He exhaled slowly. “I also don’t want to be away from you or Cyrus.” His voice dropped. “Although I don’t have any attachments with her, I want to acknowledge her efforts to know me more.”

The tension in my chest loosened slightly. “She cried,” I admitted. “Quietly. So you should put more effort. Knowing that her child was dead, but now all alive, grown up… God knows how much she is in pain.”

Knox’s expression softened, guilt flickering through his eyes. His shoulders slumped just a little. “I understand.”

“I don’t want her to feel pushed away,” I said. “But I can’t ignore reality.”

He leaned closer, lowering his voice instinctively. “You’re not wrong. I’m vulnerable right now. And this—” he gestured between us, his hand hovering briefly over mine, “—is where I feel safest.”

My throat tightened. “I want you to give more thought and take a decision. We can’t ignore her pain either. Also, I have multiple apartments. We can manage one to—”

“We’ll find a balance,” he interrupted gently. “She can stay close. Visit often. But I won’t live apart from my wife and son.”

I nodded, relief washing through me, warm and heavy. And with it came guilt for being so relieved.

His fingers brushed over mine, warm and steady. “You won’t lose me again,” he said quietly.

I stared at his hand where it brushed mine. The scent of orange and grape soda mixed in the air between us. I took a sharp breath, feeling the weight of everything heaving over us.

“When are we leaving tomorrow?” he asked, chugging down the soda.

“In the morning,” I replied. “My private jet will land around seven. We’ll leave around nine.”

He nodded quietly. The silence fell once again, heavy but different now. Our fingers stayed close, not touching, but not pulling away either, bound by an unspoken understanding.

I wished to have my future without anymore distractions.