Chapter 127: He Deserves A Little Punishment....
The car glides through the darkness like a blade through silk, the city lights bleeding into streaks of gold and amber along the windows. The engine hums low and steady beneath us—a quiet, mechanical heartbeat filling the space between words left unspoken.
I sit behind the wheel, my hands resting loosely on the steering wheel, every movement calm and deliberate. My face is a mask of blank indifference, carefully constructed to hide everything simmering beneath it.
Beside me, Silas sits in the passenger seat, his presence a quiet weight at the edge of my awareness. A silence stretches between us—one I created deliberately. I have no intention of breaking it.
The bouquet he brought for me rests on the back seat, fresh roses filling the car with their sweet fragrance. The scent lingers in the enclosed space, soft and persistent, curling through every quiet breath.
I catch it with every inhale.
But my expression never changes. My gaze remains fixed on the road, my features carefully composed. Though it takes more effort than I’d ever admit.
I glance at him from the corner of my eye. Just enough to see him without being seen.
His head is lowered. His shoulders curve inward, making him look smaller somehow, as though he’s trying to disappear into the seat. His hands rest quietly on his lap, his fingers twisting together in restless little motions, searching for something to hold on to—a word, a touch, a sign that everything between us is still alright.
The sadness on his face is unmistakable. It lingers in the slight furrow of his brows, in the uncertain line of his lips, in the quiet way he avoids looking at me.
He’s waiting. Waiting for me to break the silence. Waiting for me to speak. Waiting for me to look at him.
I don’t.
I keep driving, my hands steady on the wheel, my gaze fixed on the road ahead.
After a long moment, he finally moves.
He reaches into his coat and pulls out his small notebook and pencil. Every movement is slow, hesitant, carefully measured, as though he’s afraid of making the wrong move.
He writes something. The tip of the pencil scratches softly against the paper, the only sound inside the quiet car.
When he’s finished, he carefully places the note on my lap. Lightly. As though he’s afraid it might burn me.
I don’t look down. I don’t acknowledge it. My gaze remains fixed on the road, my expression unchanged.
He disappears without a word, leaves me worrying about him for days...
And now he thinks a single note can make everything alright?
His eyes remain on me.
Patient. Hopeful. Quietly pleading.
I can feel them without looking, their silent weight settling over me, waiting for even the smallest reaction.
I refuse to give him one.
Maybe...
He deserves a little punishment.
His expression changes.
I catch it from the corner of my eye. The hope in his eyes quietly fades, replaced by that familiar look of disappointment.
My little puppy.
For a moment, he stays still.
Then his hand lifts hesitantly before gently tugging at the sleeve of my coat. Just the fabric. Just enough to ask for my attention.
I still don’t look at him.
"What?"
My voice is cold. Dry.
He tugs again. Stubborn. Insistent. A quiet plea that refuses to be ignored.
Look at me. Please.
Finally, I glance at him. Just for a moment. Just enough to let him know I see him.
He quickly picks up the note from my lap and holds it in front of me, his eyes searching mine.
Are you angry at me?
I shift my gaze back to the road. My expression remains unreadable.
"Why would I be?"
He blinks, confusion flickering across his face as though he’s trying to read the thoughts hidden behind my mask.
He lowers his head again and writes another note, his pencil moving a little faster this time. When he’s finished, he carefully places it on my lap.
You’re lying. You look angry.
My gaze dips to the note for only a second before settling back on the road.
"Why would I lie?"
Another note. More desperate this time. When he’s finished, he carefully places the note on my lap.
Then why are you avoiding me? Why won’t you talk to me?
I stay silent. The road stretches ahead, endless and dark, and I let it fill the space where words should be.
Another note follows, softer this time, the letters a little less steady.
If you’re angry about me leaving so suddenly, I’m sorry. I can explain. Please let me explain.
"I don’t want to hear any explanation."
My voice is steady. Cold. A door closing between us.
I still don’t look at him.
"And I don’t care whether you came back or not. I had a good time without you."
He goes still for a moment.
The silence that follows is different—heavier, more fragile, like something held together by the thinnest thread. Then his pencil moves again, scratching softly against the paper, and I feel the note settle onto my lap.
But I missed you so much. I finished all my work as fast as I could. Just so I could come back to you.
"But I didn’t miss you."
He lowers his gaze slowly.
His fingers tighten around the pencil. He bites his lower lip, his expression crumbling into something so painfully sad that even I have to look away for a second.
I glance at him again from the corner of my eye.
My little sad puppy.
The corners of my lips threaten to lift, but I force the smile back beneath the cold mask I’ve built.
Maybe...
A little more teasing won’t hurt.
"I even enjoyed spending time with my friends while you were gone."
He doesn’t look up. So I push just a little further, my voice calm, almost casual.
"Especially my Omega friends."
He doesn’t write another note. He doesn’t move. He simply sits there with his head lowered, his silence suddenly louder than anything he could have written.
The car slows. Then comes to a stop. I unbuckle my seatbelt without looking at him.
"We’re here."
He doesn’t move.
I push the door open, but before I can step out, something makes me pause. The cold night air slips into the car, carrying the faint scent of rain and winter jasmine.
Slowly, I turn to look at him.
And freeze.
Tears slide silently down his cheeks, catching the dim light like scattered pearls. They gather at the curve of his chin before falling onto the notebook resting in his lap, leaving dark, uneven spots across the paper.
His head remains lowered.
His hands still clutch the notebook and pencil, his knuckles pale with the force of his grip, as though they’re the only things keeping him from falling apart.
My expression falters.
The teasing. The satisfaction. The petty little punishment. It all vanishes in an instant, replaced by something tight and unfamiliar in my chest.
My eyes widen. Just slightly.
He’s crying.