Chapter 4 #2
Two glasses down, a light buzz spread through the study.
Cecilia leaned against the sofa, watching the red liquid swaying in her glass, smiling somewhat dreamily. "Damian, remember that diamond necklace you gave me? It's still my most precious possession."
"Too long ago. I don't really remember." I turned away, unwilling to continue this topic.
But perhaps because of the alcohol, Cecilia kept going. "You know what? Just now, seeing you buy Ivy that gift, I really... really envied her... someone once treated me like that too..."
"Someone will treat you like that again." I sighed. "We're over, Cecilia. You're drunk."
Cecilia smiled and shook her head, saying nothing more, but when she downed her third glass, her body suddenly swayed.
"Damian..." She murmured, then, without warning, leaned over, resting her slightly cool forehead on my shoulder.
My body instantly tensed. Rational adult judgment told me I should push her away immediately—boundaries between men and women, especially since I was married.
But before I could raise my hand, I heard her suppressed, broken crying.
I felt the fabric on my shoulder quickly soaking with warm liquid.
My hand, poised to push her away, hung in midair, hesitating for a moment before finally dropping, just sighing quietly. "What's wrong? Still worried about the Paris case?"
"No... not that."
Cecilia sat beside me, grabbing the hem of my suit jacket, voice trembling. "Damian, these past few days staying at the manor, watching you with your wife... watching her make your coffee, watching you come home on time to be with her. I... it hurts so much."
She pointed at her heart, lifting her head, tear-streaked face looking at me. Less than four inches from my face.
"I can't help wondering—if two years ago I hadn't been so proud, if I hadn't gone to Paris for some damn career... would the person standing here with you, taking care of you, be me now?"
God, if she hadn't gone to Paris then, I might have lost Ivy? Absolutely not!
Looking at that face, so fragile in tears, something complicated and weary flashed through me.
"Cecilia, let the past stay in the past. You're drunk." I turned my head, creating some distance, keeping my voice as rational as possible. "You're an excellent woman. You'll meet someone better—I'll introduce you to the best circles."
"Better? But none of them are you!"
Cecilia's voice suddenly rose, startling me.
Her hands climbed up my shoulders. "Damian, look me in the eyes and tell me.
When you married Ivy... it was really just to spite me, wasn't it?
To prove to everyone that without me, Cecilia, you'd be just fine.
Otherwise, why would you marry such an ordinary girl from the bottom?
Besides cooking and caretaking, can she give you even the slightest help in your career or intellectually? "
My breath caught.
Cecilia's words were a sharp knife, ruthlessly exposing that most hidden psychology from two years ago.
In that moment, I had to face a truth I'd avoided for too long.
Every word Cecilia said was right. Marrying Ivy back then had indeed been like some childish, silent revenge.
I resented Cecilia's resolute departure, and simultaneously needed someone obedient and clean, someone I could completely control, to patch up my ego—to announce to the world how little I cared.
But that was the past. Why bring it up now? To prove I'd wronged Ivy?
Cecilia's words echoed in the quiet study, but they only grated on me.
I suddenly realized my patience with her was declining at an alarming rate. Why did she keep clinging to the past?
But beneath that irritation, a shadow of doubt flashed through.
I'd always thought Ivy and I were just suitable, that I'd fulfill my duties as her husband, but—why did the mere thought of someone other than Ivy being beside me in this manor instinctively terrify me?
I seemed to have developed feelings for her beyond my control. That wasn't normal.
It's fine.
I took a deep breath, reaching into my suit pocket, fingertips lightly brushing that box, exhaustedly reassuring myself—Ivy and I had plenty of time, a whole lifetime. There'd be time to figure out all this inexplicable anxiety. Tonight, once I finished here, I'd go upstairs and give her the gift.
But right now, I needed to deal with this drunk woman in front of me.
"Enough, Cecilia."
I stood, lifting her off my shoulder, voice returning to its usual calm coldness.
"I won't deny it—choosing this marriage initially did have spite in it. I wanted to prove your leaving meant nothing to me."
Cecilia stumbled, falling into my arms. "Damian... we still have a chance, as long as you and she—"
I steadied her, positioning her an arm's length away, looking at her coldly.
"But, Cecilia, since I married Ivy, I'll take responsibility for this marriage.
I won't be some coward who cheats. Responsibility is my bottom line.
That will never change." Saying this, my eyes flickered.
Two years of marriage—how could it only be about responsibility?
I liked what Ivy brought me. That couldn't be denied.
But could that count as love? I didn't know, and I had no intention of discussing it with Cecilia.
Talking about my feelings with others felt like putting myself in a weak position—I hated that uncontrolled feeling.
Besides, Cecilia and I weren't close enough for that.
Cecilia looked at me, the hope in her eyes extinguishing bit by bit, finally transforming into bitter self-mockery.
"You're really drunk." I took the empty glass from her hand, checking the time—nearly 2 AM. "Let me get you back to rest. Tomorrow I'll have legal follow up on your case."
I helped the wobbling Cecilia back to her room. She still seemed barely conscious, but I had no intention of wasting more time babysitting a drunk. After instructing a night-shift maid to watch her, I pried off Cecilia's grip on my hand and left directly.
Coming out, my mood was foul. I'd specially detoured today to pick out that gift for Ivy, wanted to be close to her properly, but Cecilia had consumed all my time.
By now, Ivy had definitely gone to sleep. After two years sharing a bed, I knew exactly how terrible Ivy's sleep quality was. Once woken, she could barely fall back asleep.
Whatever. I'd give it to Ivy tomorrow.
Just imagining her delighted expression when receiving the gift made my mouth curve upward involuntarily.
It's fine. Lately, Ivy and I had some discord, but it's fine. We had plenty of time, and I knew she loved me deeply—she wouldn't leave me easily over small things. As long as I made it up to her tomorrow, everything would get better.