Chapter 34 Can I Come Home with You?
Nathan and Chloe exchanged a loaded, heavy glance before sliding into the sleek interior of the Bentley.
Outside on the sidewalk, a few mothers waiting by the school gates watched them with sharp, hawkish eyes.
"Was that young woman next to Professor Archer his new girlfriend?" one mother whispered, pulling her coat tighter.
"Obviously. Why else would a man like him bring her to pick up his teenager?"
"She looks impossibly young. Barely out of college. Is she really going to be Mason's stepmother?"
"Please. A wealthy, distinguished older man and a beautiful young girl? We all know how this works," another woman scoffed. "He's paying for her youth. Who knew the famously stoic Professor Archer had such a cliché weakness?"
"Ah, poor Mason. If they get married and she pops out a new baby, that boy is going to be pushed right out of the picture."
The venomous whispers faded into the freezing wind as the Bentley pulled away from the curb.
Twenty minutes later, the maître d’ at the Taylor Street Steakhouse led them to a plush, semi-circular leather booth by the floor-to-ceiling windows.
Nathan and Mason slid into one side of the booth. Chloe sat entirely alone on the opposite side, directly facing them.
The dim lighting and rich atmosphere invited relaxation, yet Chloe sat rigidly, her heart hammering as she kept her gaze fixed on the teenager across from her.
Nathan took the leather-bound menu from the waiter, opened it, and gently slid it in front of Mason. "What are you hungry for?" he asked, his voice effortlessly warm.
"The filet mignon," Mason declared flatly, not even bothering to glance at the menu.
"I'll have the same," Chloe chimed in quickly, desperate to share something—anything—with her little brother.
Nathan smiled faintly, handing the menus back. "Three filet mignon sets. Replace the wine with fresh grapefruit juice for the table, and cook the steaks medium-well."
"Right away, sir."
As soon as the waiter vanished, Chloe sat forward, eager to strike up a conversation. But before she could open her mouth, Mason unzipped his backpack, pulled out a thick calculus workbook, and aggressively buried his face in it.
Nathan noticed the immediate, crushing disappointment on Chloe's face. He nudged his son’s elbow. "Mason, you can do your homework when we get home. Give your brain a break."
Mason’s pen stopped dead on the page. A flash of sharp, territorial displeasure crossed his face. He shot a dark glare across the table at Chloe.
Sensing the boy’s hostility, Chloe quickly waved her hands in surrender. "No, no, let him do it! Finishing early means he can go to sleep sooner tonight."
Mason scoffed quietly, returning to his equations. He was radiating a suffocating aura of refusal.
"Mason studies so hard," Chloe tried again, her voice painfully bright. "His grades must be excellent, right?"
"They are," Nathan answered smoothly, trying to bridge the gap. "He's always first in his class. Top three in the entire grade."
"Wow. That's incredible," Chloe praised him with absolute, genuine sincerity.
Mason didn't even look up. What is wrong with Dad? he thought, his jaw clenching. Is this the kind of cheap, brainless gold digger he brings around now?
Without a word of thanks, Mason snapped his workbook shut, held his hand out to his father for his phone, and immediately booted up a mobile game, effectively building an impenetrable wall between himself and the table.
The two adults fell into a heavy, agonizing silence. Nathan pressed his fingers to his temple, a headache building. He hadn't expected Mason to be this overtly hostile. The boy was usually so polite and sensible.
"Do you guys come here often?" Chloe asked softly, desperate to fill the dead air.
"Yes. Mason loves it here," Nathan replied, his dark eyes fixed entirely on her. "The cuts are incredibly tender, and the reduction sauce is perfectly balanced. You'll like it."
"If Mason likes it, I'm sure it's amazing," Chloe smiled.
The flattery fell on entirely deaf ears. To Mason, this woman—who looked young enough to be his older sister—was nothing but a beautiful parasite draining his father's attention.
When the heavy ceramic plates finally arrived, the table smelled of seared butter and rosemary.
"Mason. Food is here. Put the screen away," Nathan ordered, reaching over to take the phone.
Mason snatched his hands back defensively. "You won't let me do my homework, and you won't let me play my game? What do you want me to do, Dad? Sit here and awkwardly stare at the two of you making eyes at each other?"
Nathan’s expression darkened into a harsh, authoritarian warning. He opened his mouth to scold the boy, but Chloe instantly intervened.
"Nathan, stop. Forget it," she pleaded softly. "Just let him do what he wants."
Nathan looked at her fiercely indulgent, protective expression and couldn't help the helpless, defeated smile that tugged at his lips. He shook his head.
Decades ago, when they were newlyweds talking late into the night about having kids, Chloe had aggressively declared that Nathan’s temperament was way too soft. She had sworn she would have to be the strict disciplinarian because he would spoil their children rotten.
Looking at her now, desperately letting Mason walk all over her just to see him comfortable, she had clearly been full of hot air.
As the dinner progressed, Chloe’s stomach tied itself into anxious knots. By the time she was halfway through her massive steak, she couldn't force down another bite.
Without thinking, driven by years of ingrained muscle memory, she picked up her fork and seamlessly slid the remaining half of her steak directly onto Nathan's plate.
Nathan didn't pause. He didn't blink. He simply took his knife, meticulously sliced the meat she had just abandoned, and began eating it alongside his own.
Across the table, Mason froze. He watched the exchange with utter, cold disgust.
His father was notoriously reserved. He never shared food. But he was eating this woman's leftovers with an effortless, domestic intimacy that made Mason's stomach violently turn.
Just how far has this gone? Mason thought, his grip tightening on his fork. If they were sharing food without a second thought, their physical relationship had to be intensely, sickeningly intimate.
The meal ended in a suffocating, unbearable tension.
When the Bentley pulled up to the old, brick apartment building, Nathan shifted the car into park.
"Let me walk you up," Nathan murmured softly, unbuckling his seatbelt.
In the back seat, Mason looked out the window. His blood instantly ran freezing cold.
He stared at the peeling brick, the familiar wooden stairs, the rusted railing. He recognized it immediately.
"She lives here?" Mason asked, his voice dropping into a lethal, shaking register.
"Yes," Nathan nodded quietly.
Mason turned his head away, his lips pressing into a bloodless line. His entire body trembled with sudden, explosive rage.
He had lived in this house until he was six. It was his parents' house. It was the only place in the world that still held the ghost of the mother he had never met. Even after they moved into the mansion, his dad had refused to sell it. They came here twice a month to clean it together like it was a sacred, untouchable shrine.
And now, his father had moved his young mistress into his dead mother’s home.
It was the ultimate, unforgivable desecration. For the very first time in his life, Mason felt a violent, blinding hatred toward his father.
As Chloe climbed out of the car, she couldn't resist glancing back through the tinted window.
Mason was staring right at her. There was no teenage annoyance in his dark eyes anymore—only pure, unadulterated venom.
Chloe flinched, her heart cracking. She turned away and walked numbly up the stairs, listening to Nathan’s heavy footsteps behind her.
When she reached her door, she fumbled with the keys and unlocked the deadbolt.
Nathan stood in the dim hallway, his massive frame practically swallowing the space. "I'm heading back. Call me if you need anything tonight. I'll be outside tomorrow morning to take you to work."
He turned to leave.
"Nathan."
He stopped, his broad back tensing. "Hmm?"
Chloe kept her hand on the doorknob. She slowly lifted her head, stripping away every last ounce of her pride, her eyes blazing with an intense, desperate longing.
"Can I come home with you?" she whispered, her voice trembling in the quiet hall. "I want to live with you."
Nathan went utterly still.
"You didn't remarry," Chloe pushed, stepping closer, her chest rising and falling rapidly. "That means I am still your wife. Right?"
She forced a fragile, begging smile, but the raw terror in her eyes gave her away. "So... can I please come home with you?"
Her cautious, desperate vulnerability wrapped around Nathan's throat like a wire. He wanted nothing more than to drag her against his chest, carry her down to the car, and lock her in his bedroom forever. He almost nodded. He almost shattered right there in the hallway.
But he couldn't.
He violently tore his gaze away, staring at the peeling wallpaper. "Chloe. I know you want to come back. But I need you to reconsider."
"What is there to reconsider?" Chloe demanded, a frantic edge bleeding into her voice. "Is it because of Mason? I can win him over! I swear I can!"
"It's not Mason," Nathan rasped.
"Then why?!" Chloe cried out, grabbing the lapel of his coat. "What obstacle is possibly left between us?"
Nathan closed his eyes, his jaw clenching as a wave of agonizing self-loathing washed over him.
"It's me."