Chapter 32:

I don't know how long I sit curled up on the floor crying my lungs out, but my eyes feel sore and the tears that poured out in torrents have now slowed down.

The door swings suddenly swings open and the scent of roses flood the room, wrapping around me, invading my senses.

My fingers twitch at my sides. I don't need to turn around to know that Caspian is the one strolling into the room.

I wipe at my face quickly, dragging my sleeve over my cheeks, hoping—praying—I can erase any trace of the tears. 

My heart pounds as I frantically brush at the puffiness under my eyes, willing them to return to normal.

I don't want to seem pathetic. I can't let him see me broken down like this. 

"You didn't come in early," he says.

His voice is smooth, but there's something underneath it—something sharp, something unimpressed.

"I had to go without breakfast today," he continues, walking towards his desk.

I hear the familiar clink of metal against wood as he empties his pockets. His wallet, his phone. Then his rings. 

One by one, he slides them off, setting them down with deliberate slowness. The air in the room shifts as he moves. When he finally sits, I can feel his gaze on me.

I keep my eyes down. I could clean the tears, yes. But I can't erase the redness and puffiness of my eyes and face.

I feel a pang of guilt twists inside me. He had to go on those tiring meetings without breakfast. God knows if I were in his shoes, I would rain hell on me right now.

"I'm sorry," I murmur. My voice is steady, but only just. It cracks a little bit, but not so obvious.

For a long moment, he doesn't say anything. I almost think he's going to let it slide.

But then...

"Why were you crying?" 

I freeze.

A sharp chill crawls down my spine, and my fingers instinctively curl into my sleeves.

"I wasn't," I lie.

"You were," he counters smoothly. "Your chest is heaving like you've been out of breath and your sleeves are damp from wiping away tears and snot. You do a really bad job at lying."

I shake my head.

His sigh is calm. "Is it because you miss your cousin? He did leave without saying goodbye. Mean of him."

My head snaps up so fast my neck protests.

My red, puffy eyes crash into his steel-gray ones.

For a second, he looks surprised. Like he hadn't expected such a strong reaction. Then, his brows pull together slightly, his head tilting as he studies me.

"What?" he asks, confused.

I don't answer. I'm battling keeping myself together at this point, but the mention of him...

"Why are you glaring at me like that?" His tone is more amused than annoyed. "It's fine to cry, you know. Even if it's for an asshole."

My throat tightens and my chest feels like it's caving in. 

I turn away before he can see my face crumble.

The walls are closing in on me, pressing me on both sides like a pimple.

The scent of roses is suffocating.

I need air.

"I'll be back," I mumble, already moving toward the door.

He doesn't stop me or say anything else and I feel his gaze burn into my back as I leave.

The kitchen is quiet when I step inside. The chefs and omegas all seem to be on the brief break before the preparation of lunch.

The steady rhythm of my breathing is the only sound, but even that feels too loud.

I shouldn't have put my emotions first.

That's what I tell myself as I move, my hands working automatically. My fingers pull out ingredients, measuring, mixing. The motions are muscle memory. A distraction.

I made him go without breakfast and now I must seem incompetent to him. I'm only proving myself the weak and pathetic human that I am.

My thoughts claw at me as I prepare something small, something simple. A pre-lunch snack. Just enough to make up for this morning.

By the time I return to his room, he's no longer at his desk.

Instead, he's sprawled across the bed, dressed down in a casual black t-shirt and grey joggers, scrolling through his phone. His hair is slightly messy, a few strands falling across his forehead.

He glances up when I set the tray on the bed beside him.

His gaze flickers from the tray then to me.

Then back to the tray.

"Why'd you bring me food?" His voice is flat, suspicious. "It's not lunch hours yet."

I smooth my sleeves. "It's not food. Just a snack."

His brow lifts slightly.

I clear my throat. "You didn't have breakfast."

For a moment, he just stares at me.

Then, with a quiet sigh, he picks up his fork and cuts into the chocolate cake. He takes a slow bite, chewing thoughtfully.

His eyes are still on me and it takes everything within me not to bolt out of the room, away from this intense pressure.

He looks back down on the tray again and takes another forkful of the cake.

Then, without looking up, he pats the bed beside him.

I don't move.

He exhales through his nose. "Do I have to use words to get you to move?" His tone darkens. "Sit, I said."

I hesitate.

Then, stiffly, I lower myself onto the mattress, keeping a very safe distance between us.

He doesn't say anything at first. He just keeps eating.

The silence between us is uncomfortable...for me, I guess. He just keeps eating his cake without any concerns, then he takes a sip of the orange juice on the side.

He suddenly sets his fork down and leans back against the pillows. "Why were you late this morning?"

I knew he wasn't going to let that down.

I keep my eyes on my hands. "I overslept."

He makes a low sound, somewhere between skepticism and amusement. "You?" He lifts a brow. "Oversleeping? That's new."

I don't respond.

He sighs. Then, with a quiet sort of patience, he asks, "Why were you crying earlier?"

I tense.

"And why do you still look like you're about to break into another fit of tears?

I swallow hard, keeping my eyes down. I can feel his eyes on me as he waits for an answer.

"Eden?" he guesses.

I shake my head and I hear him breathe out a sigh.

His brow furrows slightly. "Then who?"

I grip my fingers tighter, debating whether to tell him or not. What would become of the matter if I do tell him?

And I also can't keep it to myself. The more I hold it in, the more it breaks me. I lift my gaze, meeting his once more.

"It was Theo."

His entire expression shifts.

The amusement in his eyes fades instantly, replaced by something unreadable. His shoulders stiffen slightly, and his jaw ticks as he studies my face.

"Is this because you miss him?"

I shake my head again and his eyes searches mine like there's an answer underneath them.

"What did he do to you?"

There's an urgency in his tone, like he would run after Theo and beat his shit.

If there's one thing I've come to realise from the past month I've been his maid, it's that we've reached more understanding than I thought we would.

It's almost like he cares... genuinely. I can't test my luck or anything, but seeing the controlled anger in his eyes, I think he does.

Genuinely cares, that is.