CHAPTER 164: SILENCE AND CHOICE

In a quiet residential area, Theodore Marston, aka Simon Cladwell, stepped into his villa with slow, unhurried strides. The evening’s chill followed him inside, clinging to his coat until he removed it along with his round hat.

The housekeeper set both aside as Theodore moved to the living room. When he extended his hand, the housekeeper quickly grabbed the cigar case and handed him a cigar. With practiced ease, the housekeeper lit it.

The first drag filled his chest, the exhale curling smoke into the air. His expression was complex.

On the ride back, Theodore’s mind had not left the cafe. He had followed Aveline discreetly, just to observe her actions during the crisis, to measure her. And what he witnessed was not ordinary.

Seraphina Astor and Aveline Laurent... those two women, cut from different cloth, standing across from one another in a cafe. One was venomous, sharpened in her cruelty, hiding behind elegance. The other was calm, composed, her fury measured carefully, never used wildly.

It was fire against ice, destined to sizzle brightly.

He had almost thought Seraphina had gained the upper hand and Aveline would bow down to political power. But Aveline had won.

Not by brute force, not by raising her voice or showing her cards. She had provoked Seraphina deliberately, smoothly baiting her into exposing her intentions.

The scene replayed in Theodore’s mind like a movie. Aveline’s sharp words, her control, the way she shifted from feigned outrage to calculated silence.

To Theodore, it was not just a confrontation. It was a stage Seraphina had prepared, but Aveline had designed a test, and Seraphina had failed.

That was the problem. Anyone who faced Aveline directly was destined to lose. Damien had been the first. Seraphina, the latest.

Theodore wasn’t naive enough to think he would fare better. Aveline was too cool-headed, too strategic for her own good. Going against her head-on would only ensure his downfall, considering the Laurent family’s power and Alaric’s support.

No, he would never allow himself to be played like a ball on her field, tossed around without realizing it until too late.

The enemy of my enemy is my friend. The old saying looped in his mind, he could take advantage of Aveline’s enemies.

He considered, briefly, whether Seraphina or the Astors could be used as leverage. Seraphina wasn’t reckless, but she underestimated Aveline, dismissing her as merely young.

The Astors had reach, wealth, and the arrogance of political power. But there was another danger lurking around them, he would be caught in Lancaster’s crosshairs.

Edward Lancaster was not a man to be trifled with. Theodore knew well enough that a single whiff of his association with the Astors would bring his destruction. Edward would crush him before his company in Velmora even found its footing, he would swallow him whole or flick him away like a speck of dust.

Theodore had no illusions of surviving a head-on clash with Lancaster power.

So the Astors were discarded from his mind.

Then there was Aveline, the one he had to make suffer.

He needed no grand schemes, no open blows. Instead, quiet pressure, hidden hands, while he dug his roots deeper into Velmora through Damien’s connections.

The cigar burned lower between his fingers, leaving a thin trail of smoke curling upward. Theodore leaned back against the couch, exhaling steadily.

Alaric Lancaster was not easy prey, nor was Aveline Laurent an easy opponent. But Theodore knew his game.

His game would be played in silence. And silence was the sharpest weapon.

At Blackwood Residence

After everyone recovered from the shock, Aveline spoke to her parents about her meeting with Seraphina.

"I knew Seraphina Astor was pulling strings to get to me, to rile me up so I would react instead of dodging like I did last time. I still took the bait and met her." Her words were steady, her tone even.

The Laurents listened carefully. Margaret’s eyes were protective, Charles’s watchful, Henry’s frown tight with concern.

"I... slapped her... three times." Aveline shrugged softly when she saw Margaret’s jaw drop. "And she revealed that she caused trouble to separate us." She ended by turning to Alaric.

She didn’t repeat every word, only enough to convey the meaning, the threat, the attempt to divide them.

She chose not to mention Seraphina’s scheme to claim Lancaster’s wealth by getting rid of Alaric, wanting to discuss it with him first.

"Why?" Margaret probed.

"For Dahlia Astor?" Henry asked.

Aveline had to lie. "Maybe..." Then she continued, "She gave me two choices: the fall of the Laurent family if I choose Alaric."

As she recounted the events, her own clarity became sharper.

There had been no fear, no doubt, not even for a moment had she considered letting Alaric go to protect the Laurent family. Instead, the confrontation had stripped away her last hesitation.

She didn’t want distance.

She didn’t want to guard herself from another heartbreak. What she wanted was him.

Alaric Lancaster.

Who stood by her side, quietly shielding her, giving her space, accepting her as she was, never forcing her, expecting nothing but her safety and well-being.

She didn’t want to lose him.

Alaric remained silent, processing her words.

Even when someone tried to pull them apart, she hadn’t retreated. She hadn’t given up on him. She had chosen him. That realization settled deep within him.

For Alaric, that choice meant everything.

"What the fuck," Charles hissed.

"The Astors do consider themselves supreme," Henry scoffed.

Margaret was glad Aveline didn’t succumb to Seraphina’s threats. "She was acting high and mighty at the party. Here are her true colors."

Aveline flashed a faint smile at her mother. She’s more vicious than that, Mom, she thought.

"So yeah, I want them begging for mercy in front of me." Though she sounded casual, everyone there knew she wasn’t making offhand remarks born of recklessness, but expressing a resolve, a decision made with calm strength.

The silence deepened into acceptance and preparation for what was coming next.

The butler’s voice broke the quiet. "Supper is ready." It was late, and no one had eaten dinner.

They gathered at the dining table. The food was simple, almost forgotten in the day’s worries, but the atmosphere softened. Charles and Margaret exchanged small remarks, Henry teased about nothing in particular, and the edges of tension slowly eased.

Aveline found her shoulders relaxing as she joined in lightly, her voice gentler.

Alaric remained quiet, eating without much comment, though his gaze swept across the table more than once. What he saw was not just the meal, but the harmony, the easy flow of a family bound together, beyond their troubles.

He remembered his own parents. Trained all her life in etiquette, Isabella always maintained formal smiles and measured tones. His parents held a kind of harmony that excluded him.

But this was different. This was warm.

Aveline noticed it too, his attention on the simple conversation despite his quietness. She didn’t just want to be the one receiving all his care and concern. She wanted to give him something he’d never had: a place where he belonged.

A home.

When supper ended, everyone assumed Alaric would prefer to leave, and Aveline would stay behind. After all, it was her home.

But when Alaric rose, she stepped to his side and calmly said, "We’ll get going then."

Alaric said nothing, surprised.

Margaret’s lips parted as if to argue, but she stopped herself. She could read the choice in Aveline’s stance. And after what had happened during the day, it was natural for them to have things to discuss. So she simply nodded in acknowledgment.

Charles’s brow lifted, ready to offer the guest room to Alaric, but one look at Aveline was enough. He simply said, "Drive safe," and gave Henry a pointed nudge.

Henry, caught off guard, muttered, "Yeah. Rest well."

Alaric, who rarely needed words, felt the weight of that moment. Her choice spoke volumes.

She hadn’t hesitated when she placed herself where she wanted to be, beside him. She had chosen him, and she was choosing him again.

At Ivory Towers

Aveline freshened up in her apartment and changed into soft sleepwear. But instead of lying in her own bed, she went upstairs to the penthouse.

Alaric was already in bed, showered, leaning against the headboard in his dimly lit room. He didn’t move when he heard the door unlock downstairs in the silence of the penthouse.

He didn’t panic. He just waited.

When she entered his room, she smiled, slowly climbing onto his bed and setting her phone on the bedside table. "I’ll sleep here."

Alaric resisted smiling. Yes, she always voiced her feelings, but some of her recent actions were louder than her words.

He doubted he would be able to sleep next to her after everything she was doing for him. He grazed her chin with his fingers. "Just sleep!?" His voice was low, teasing, rougher than usual.

She hadn’t thought further than cuddling him to sleep. But his husky voice stirred something deep, curling inside her. She shifted, straddling his lap.

His hand moved on its own, sliding down the dip of her waist to her thighs as she leaned closer, her breath brushing his ear.

Her words came as a whisper that trembled with heat between them. "Maybe hear you moan..." She nibbled at his ear, her breath teasing his sensitive skin, his body stiffening at her touch, "...and groan."

Alaric’s restraint snapped. In the next heartbeat, she was beneath him, his body pressed close, his control unraveling against the choice she had made... to be his.