That gentle gaze, I once believed it, was mine alone.
The live stream had run for nearly five hours before the comments began to flood in.
[So jealous of this girl! Living in a postpartum center that costs 500,000 a month, with a rich, handsome husband!]
[She’s living the dream.]
[Pick me! I want a husband like that, too!]
Before she inherited the Silva Corporation, Dione had been a special forces agent, sharp, disciplined, and private.
She despised cameras.
Even when I asked for a simple photo together, she would turn away with a cold refusal.
But now, for Rupert, she made an exception, broadcasting herself live before a nationwide audience.
Rupert turned to the camera with a radiant smile.
"My wife is amazing. So thoughtful."
Thoughtful?
A dull ache twisted through my chest as I let out a hollow laugh.
Dione had never shown me that kind of softness. Not once.
I remember once asking her to go-kart racing with me.
I had to coax and beg for what felt like forever before she finally gave in.
But after barely twenty minutes on the track, she shut down completely, cold, distant, for the rest of the day.
I showered her with gifts, hoping to soften her mood. But all she said, with visible irritation, was, "Spending time with you is just a waste of my time."
She could be thoughtful. She could spend an entire day with someone for Rupert. But never for me.
Dione must’ve recognized my Instagram handle. She called.
"I’m giving you half an hour. Come pick up your dad’s things from the postpartum center."
By the time I got there, the livestream had already ended.
Rupert greeted me with an overly bright smile. "Brother Atticus, you came to see Dione!"
I walked past him without a word, stepped up to Dione, and held out my hand. "Give it to me," I said flatly.
The curve on her lips vanished, her expression turning cold. "Rupert spoke to you. Are you mute?"
I forced a smile and looked straight at Rupert.
"Congratulations, Secretary Rupert. You seduced my wife and got her to carry your child. What’s next? Marrying into the family through the baby?"
Dione hurled the coffee cup in her hand to the floor.
"If you can’t speak like a human, then shut up!"
Rupert, who had been calmly slicing an apple, slipped. The blade nicked his finger.
Dione’s expression changed in an instant.
"Rupert, be careful! Does it hurt?"
His eyes reddened as he looked at me, voice low and cautious.
"Brother Atticus, I never meant to ruin things between you and Dione. I just really wanted to keep this child. Once her postpartum recovery is done, I’ll leave. I won’t bother her again."
Then he turned his gaze to the cradle, voice trembling.
"Daddy’s sorry for making you lose your mother the moment you were born. But I didn’t mean to. I hope you’ll forgive me."
He looked sorrowful as if drowning in the depths of anguish and grief.
Dione stared at me with eyes sharp as venom, her entire presence turning fierce and terrifying.
“Are you happy now, making him so sad?”
I let out a cold, bitter laugh.
“That pitiful performance? You’re the only one enjoying it.”
My words sparked a fire in Dione.
She yanked the pocket watch my mother had left, raising it high, ready to smash it into pieces.
My pupils tightened as I shouted urgently, “Stop! Don’t!”
But she didn’t hesitate. The watch flew from her hand, crashing to the floor and shattering into a million shards.
I stumbled backward, tripping on the sharp edge of the table.
Pain flared through my knee, and the old injury from saving Dione flared up again.
I cried out sharply.
Dione sneered, her voice icy cold, “That’s what you get for running your mouth.”
“Now get lost. Stop pretending you’re hurt.”
Rupert glanced at me with fake concern, his eyes cold beneath the mask.
