Chapter 7

On Wednesday afternoon, Silas had just added the final lighting render for the lobby of The Haven to the export queue when his phone buzzed.

It was a message from an unsaved number, but the name on WhatsApp read Carlton Unger.

Silas leaned back in his ergonomic chair and stared at the name. They didn't exchange their contact information during that welcome-back party, but then again, Carlton was a big shot in the investment circle. For him to get someone's number from Bellmere's business circle was as easy as a piece of cake.

He tapped into the chat and read the message.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Langston. I was busy getting over the jetlag and dealing with some projects the last few days, so I never got the chance to have a proper chat with you. Are you free for a drink tonight? It'll be just the two of us."

He showed just the right amount of politeness and grace. Even the pretentiousness of his words wasn't quite enough to be taken negatively.

Silas' gaze lingered on the last bit, about it being just the two of them. He could've easily scrounged up an excuse to refuse. He could say he had a deadline to meet. He could even just act as if he never read the message.

But in the end, he tapped out a one-word reply.

"Alright."

He wasn't going to be able to get a clear read of certain things if he spent all his time holed up in the kitchen. Since the other party was going to bring the chessboard to his doorstep, he didn't mind seeing what pieces were actually in play.

At 8:00 pm, Silas arrived at Galaxy Bar.

It was a lounge bar specializing in whiskey, tucked inside an old villa. There was no blasting bass music, only a vinyl record player in the corner spinning slow blues.

When Silas entered, Carlton was already seated in a semi-private booth at the back.

He wasn't dressed formally. A top-quality gray cashmere sweater peeked from under a long coat. He lounged in his seat, radiating the confident ease built from money and pedigree.

When he spotted Silas, he didn't even bother rising from his seat. He simply raised his hand with a faint smile and called, "Over here. Evening traffic in Bellmere is the worst. I already ordered us a bottle of Macallan. Hope that's alright with you."

Silas sat down on the other side and placed his car key on the table. Carlton was a whiz at making himself seem like the one in command, no matter where he went or who he dealt with.

A server brought over two whiskey glasses with large ice cubes.

"I should've invited you out sooner," Carlton said as he tapped his glass lightly against Silas' glass. "But Teresa has kept me busy lately, going over all the details of that deal with Seek Capital. I couldn't find the time at all. I'm sure she often vents about work to you at home, right?"

What a calculated move. It was a test—a trap.

Silas' fingers curled a little more tightly around the glass. In reality, Teresa never discussed work at home. She didn't even know he was handling a multi-million-dollar project like The Haven, let alone vent about her work to him.

But Silas simply lowered his gaze, took a sip from the glass, and calmly answered, "She has people like you, who are familiar with the industry, to help her handle the work. We don't talk about those things at home."

A flicker of surprise crossed Carlton's eyes. He'd assumed that just this simple but loaded remark would've been enough to crack the dignity of a mere househusband like Silas, making him feel either embarrassed or cornered.

He'd underestimated Silas' ability to keep his composure, but nevertheless, those involved in investments had more than enough patience to spare.

"That's true. Teresa has always pushed herself way too hard. Work matters more to her than her life," Carlton remarked.

Setting down his glass, he leaned forward a little, as if to share a secret with Silas. "But she wasn't like that in the past, you know."

There it was again. Silas knew what Carlton was trying to do.

"Back when we were in college, even though she was quite the high achiever, she was still far livelier and more cheerful."

Carlton seemed to be looking past Silas as he reminisced about the past. "During our sophomore year, when it was my birthday, she skipped a notoriously strict professor's lecture, dragging me out with her, just so we could walk around the old district for an entire afternoon while she looked for a gift for me."

He looked at Silas and smiled faintly, as if amused by the fond memory. "She's actually a huge fan of the arts, you know. Before I went to Nesselton as an exchange student during our senior year, I made her an oil painting.

"Sadly, I'm not very gifted when it comes to such things. It took me three sleepless nights to complete the painting. But she was thrilled when she got it. She kept telling me it was the best gift she had ever received."

Carlton let out a lamentful sigh before adding, "Unfortunately, when she first started building up the company, she had to move a few times, and the painting ended up getting lost. She even mentioned it to me when we shared a meal two days ago. She said she felt bad that she lost my painting."

Silas listened in silence. The whiskey burned as it went down his throat, stinging him from the inside.

As a designer, he knew better than anyone what it meant to stay up several nights creating an artwork for someone.

Carlton had deliberately chosen to expose that piece of information in front of him, Teresa's husband, and someone who knew the meaning behind a gesture like that.

This killing blow of this information came from the fact that it proved how Carlton had not only been the one who occupied all of Teresa's youth but was still the one whom she thought of with regret.

Meanwhile, Carlton swirled the ice in his glass, his tone taking on the measured air of someone with greater knowledge. "While she may seem like a pretty cold-hearted person with a heart of steel, she has a sensitive soul. I hope you can show her more patience and tolerance, Silas."

Silas looked at the chatty man in front of him. A clueless passerby would've assumed he was just an older brother giving some advice to his sister's husband.

But Silas picked up on the meaning behind those words, of course.

Carlton was trying to say that Silas only knew the cold, unapproachable side of Teresa, while he was the one who received all of her affection and tenderness.

Silas was just the butler responsible for tending to her daily needs.

"She's my wife. It's only natural for me to be patient and tolerant with her," Silas replied. He set down his glass and looked Carlton straight in the eye. "You needn't worry about that, Mr. Unger."

At last, Silas' calm, unfazed manner made Carlton's smile stiffen. His usual method of dropping indirect barbs had failed against this man, so he decided to drop his gentlemanly act altogether.

He refilled Silas' glass before saying in a low voice, his tone provocative, "We're all smart people here, Silas, so let me be frank."

Staring fixedly at Silas, he declared, "You know, if Teresa's mom hadn't been adamantly against my decision to further my career abroad and forcibly separated us back then, you wouldn't be the one who gets to call himself her husband now."

The song on the record player came to an end with a high-pitched scratch.

This was the real trump card Carlton had been holding onto all along. He wanted to use it to eviscerate all of Silas' psychological defenses—by telling him he was just a replacement, a lucky bastard who got to reap the rewards because extenuating circumstances had separated the true lovers.

The air around them seemed to freeze over.

Carlton leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms, prepared to witness Silas' breakdown.

He waited to see Silas slam his hand on the table, turn red in the face, and refute him in every possible manner. He would even settle for seeing Silas droop his head in sorrow and despair.

As long as Silas got emotional, it would mean that Carlton had won this hidden battle.

But Silas' expression didn't change at all, not even a twitch of his brow. He simply stared at the ice in his glass.

Racing through his mind were the memories of the things Teresa had previously said to him. He recalled her words at their wedding three years ago, promising to do her best to be a good wife. He remembered the look of annoyance on her face as she told him to grow up a few days ago.

He thought about that photo he saw of their candlelit dinner, complete with wine.

It all lined up neatly at last.

Teresa wasn't incapable of love. She wasn't born a profit-driven robot. She'd merely given all of her passion, tolerance, and romance to a man by the name of Carlton Unger. And for a woman whose heart was already occupied by another, the food he spent hours laboring over in the kitchen was indeed just some petty and trivial matter.

"Is that so?" Silas asked, finally lifting his gaze to Carlton.

His eyes were clear, as if he'd just heard a client rejecting a proposal.

"But that's all in the past, no?" His voice remained steady. In fact, he even raised his glass in Carlton's direction. "I'm now Teresa's legally wedded husband. As for why you two failed to get married back then…"

Smirking, he continued, "You're an investor, Mr. Unger. You know better than I do what a sunk cost is. Those in the business world who spend all their time obsessing over sunk costs usually end up losing a great deal more."

For the first time, Carlton's expression went cold, his gaze sharpening. He finally realized that Silas, the man whose main responsibility in life was to cook for his wife, was far more indomitable than he'd expected.

He was the kind of man capable of maintaining his composure and keeping a clear head even after repeated jabs and setbacks.

Carlton scoffed, finally dropping his previous underestimation of Silas.

"You're right, Mr. Langston. Come, let's drink."

The two whiskey glasses clinked in the air. Both men downed their drinks in one go.

Outside, the night air was chilly, even though it was early fall.

Carlton's Maybach was parked by the side of the road. He opened the door before waving at Silas, his attitude now perfectly gentlemanly once more. "It was nice talking to you today. Till we meet again."

"Drive safe."

Once the black car disappeared into the night, Silas stuck his hands in his coat pockets and wandered aimlessly along the streets.

The whiskey was finally upsetting his stomach. Even his chest seemed to burn a little.

In all honesty, he wasn't as calm and unaffected as he'd seemed back in the bar. No man could be indifferent to hearing another man openly stake a claim on his wife.

Like a demolition expert, Carlton had planted a series of explosives on the already fractured marriage Silas and Teresa shared. The lost painting and the declaration that Silas wouldn't have gotten the chance to marry Teresa if not for the forced separation were like blades sawing back and forth in Silas' mind.

Suddenly, he felt an intense aversion to going home. He didn't want to go back to that apartment filled with shades of gray, black, and white, devoid of all other colors. He definitely didn't feel like dealing with Teresa's display of perpetual rationality.

Once he reached the riverside path, he rested his hands on the cold railing and looked at the neon sign on top of TRS Group's office building across the river.

Throughout these years, he kept thinking that as long as he showed more consideration and took greater care of her needs, he would one day be able to fully win her heart.

But drinking that shot of whiskey Carlton poured for him tonight had finally made him see the light.

It wasn't impossible to win Teresa's heart. She just didn't want to let him in.