Chapter 138: Duke Remiro
I gaze into his eyes, and it’s striking how they mirror those I love so deeply yet feel so distinctly different at the same time. Just two days ago, our tranquil marriage was disrupted by a letter from Celia’s son, thrusting us into a whirlwind of emotions. We had a long conversation about it, one filled with regret and reflection. Celia was just a child when she had him, and though she left him with his father, I can’t help but feel partly responsible for the situation, because I’m the reason she left him behind in a way.
We decided to travel here first thing in the morning, setting aside our comforts to confront the past. Now, sitting across from Thorne, I can’t shake the suspicion that he may have ulterior motives. Perhaps he intends to extort Celia for money or manipulate her in some way. I’m here to put a stop to any potential schemes because I cannot allow my beloved Celia to fall for tricks that could jeopardize everything we’ve built together.
As I listen to him speak, there’s a part of me that wants to believe him, that wants to trust his intentions.
It seems like Thorne is sincere, but doubt lingers at the back of my mind, whispering caution. This is a delicate situation, and I can’t afford to be reckless.
"Give me time to think about it," I say firmly, the weight of responsibility heavy on my shoulders. I can’t allow anyone to act in my name without proper consideration. The chaos that could ensue is too dangerous.
He pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration, mirroring an action I’ve seen Celia perform countless times. It’s a reminder of their shared blood, their connection—a bond that could easily complicate things further.
"I’m sure your investigation on me will yield results soon," he replies, his tone strained yet respectful.
With a stiff nod, he stands up and leaves the room, the door clicking shut behind him. As I stand there, the tension in the air begins to dissipate, but uncertainty still coils within me. I take a moment to gather my thoughts, running a hand through my hair as I contemplate the implications of Thorne’s request.
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