CHAPTER 436: QUARREL OF TRUST-II

Noah had just stepped out of his chamber with Atlas when the sharp crack of a door bursting open startled them both. Their eyes snapped toward the source of the noise. Out of the room stormed Arabella, her hair in disarray, her lashes clumped from tears she had stubbornly rubbed away.

She looked as though she was determined to hold herself together, determined not to let those tears fall even though her eyes were rimmed red.

Trailing after her was Cassius. The vampire king— usually untouchable, usually composed in that terrifying way that set others quaking— was anything but calm now. Desperation sharpened his voice as he called her name, his steps quick to catch her. Yet Arabella did not yield, her back stiff, her anger carrying her forward as though she could outrun the weight of his presence.

Cassius stopped at the threshold of the room, his hand twitching with frustration. Then, in a burst of temper, he drove his boot into the wooden door. The crack of splintering wood rang down the corridor, the doorframe trembling from the force until the panel gave way and broke.

"I don’t think kicking the door will solve the problem," Atlas remarked, his tone casual but edged with amusement, a smirk lifting his lips as he observed the rare sight of their mighty king so utterly undone. "Tell me— what on earth did you do that could possibly make her, out of everyone in this world, so furious with you?"

"I kept a secret from her," Cassius admitted curtly, his jaw tight as his tongue clicked against his teeth.

Atlas’s eyes gleamed, the corners of his mouth curving higher as though he had already unraveled the entire tale. "And let me guess," he began smoothly, "you lied to cover it, she found out, and when she confronted you, instead of offering a proper apology you decided to justify it, telling her you had done it all for her sake."

Cassius turned his gaze sharply on him, his crimson eyes narrowing in a look that seemed to question whether Atlas had suddenly inherited Xavier’s gift of foresight. The sheer accuracy of the accusation was almost insulting. Atlas, however, only straightened his back and puffed out his chest with exaggerated pride, grinning from one ear to the other.

"Don’t look at me like that!" he laughed, hands spread as if to ward off suspicion. "I don’t see the future, I just happen to know the mistake because I’ve made the exact same one before. Right, Noah?"

Noah, caught in the middle, blinked slowly. His red eyes were wide with innocence, his expression blank and confused. "I’m not Lady Circe, Sir Atlas," he answered plainly, his voice calm but baffled.

Atlas blinked, then rubbed the back of his neck, clearing his throat as if only now realizing he’d asked the wrong person. "Oh. Right." His grin, however, returned almost immediately as he swung his gaze back toward Cassius.

"Have you done the same as I did as well?" Cassius asked, his frown drawn deep, his voice heavy with equal parts suspicion and reluctant curiosity.

Atlas nodded with no hesitation, even with a touch of pride. "Plenty of times. More than I can count. I’m an absolute fool for her. Imagine how many secrets I’ve tucked away, secrets so many I’ve lost track myself. I don’t mean to lie, but how in the world do I tell her something like: ’Hi love, I just killed four hundred men again because they refused to kneel to a king who keeps a witch at his side’? Of course when she eventually found out, she exploded like the sun itself. You should count your blessings, Cassius. Bella is a gentle girl. If it were Circe in her place, she wouldn’t simply storm away— she’d already have thrown something sharp at your head."

Atlas’s grin widened as he leaned closer, his voice lowering to a conspiratorial murmur. "Last time, it was a pair of scissors. Missed me by only a second. One more heartbeat and my skull would have been split clean open. Nearly left me looking like the southwest door, the one with the gaping hole through it. So, my king, trust me when I say— you got off easy."

Cassius recalled faintly that one of the servants had once asked Arabella, during the castle’s remodeling, whether she wished to replace the battered door at the southwest wing. The reason had been a large, unsightly hole. At the time, he hadn’t cared enough to inquire further. Now, however, the image of Atlas being nearly skewered by a flying pair of scissors filled in the mystery. Who would have guessed it came from nothing more than a lover’s spat?

"Then," Cassius folded his arms tightly across his chest, his crimson gaze narrowing, "what did you do for her to accept your apologies?"

There was a strange weight to his voice, not demanding, not mocking, but genuinely searching—as if this one question was far more important than the counsel of a thousand generals.

Atlas almost laughed. He could wager his entire fortune, his rank, and perhaps even the kingdom itself that Cassius had never been told to apologize in his entire life. The vampire king lived unapologetically, wielding his arrogance as armor, as weapon, as crown. For Cassius, apologies were beneath him. But the same rule could not be applied when it came to Arabella—the one woman who had wormed her way past that impenetrable armor and become the center of his world.

"You must feel frustrated," Atlas said, his grin curving toward sympathy this time. "But tell me truthfully—have you apologized yet?"

Cassius stilled. His brows pinched slightly as his thoughts turned back to the argument, his lips tightening in silent admission. Hadn’t he met her accusations with counterarguments? Hadn’t he tried to reason with her rather than offer remorse? If anything, he had defended his choice instead of lowering his pride.

Atlas, seeing the flicker of realization, leaned forward. "Don’t argue with her statement. Don’t say she’s wrong. And for gods’ sake, don’t tell her you did it for her own good. Tell her you won’t repeat it." He jabbed his index finger against Cassius’s chest—a gesture bold enough to earn most men instant death, yet Atlas carried on, grimacing at the sensation of pressing into what felt like solid iron. "But the key, Cassius, isn’t in the words. It’s in whether you mean it. Reflect on your mistake. Learn from it. Sincerely tell her you’ll never make her carry the same wound again. That’s all women want—your understanding. Not excuses, not justifications. Just the knowledge that you’ve listened."

Cassius pressed his lips into a thin line.

That—understanding—was the hardest part. His heart still insisted that shielding her from the truth was the only way to preserve her peace. That ignorance, for her, might have been mercy. And yet—Arabella would never accept that kind of protection.

"But I did it to protect her," Cassius muttered, his voice low, almost defensive, but with an undertone of helplessness that rarely colored his tone.

Atlas’s eyes softened. His sharp grin gave way to something gentler, his bright blue gaze narrowing into a crescent. "And what if she had done the same to you?"

Cassius’s head turned, his expression faltering. His crimson eyes flickered with the weight of the thought, with the ugly realization that Atlas had trapped him with.

"Yes," Atlas continued, steady and unrelenting. "If Arabella had kept something from you—something vital, something that endangered her very life—all while insisting it was to protect you, would you really not be furious? Would you stand aside and thank her for lying? Or would you burn with the same rage she feels right now?"

The realization struck deep. Cassius’s face hardened, then flickered again, betraying the silent storm brewing within him. Atlas had cornered him with the simplest of truths: in protecting her, he had betrayed her trust.