Chapter 4: The Breaking Point

“This girl has been frail since she was a child,” Lana continued, her voice dripping with fake honey. “I have to look after her so carefully.”

Aaron didn’t look up. He gave a sharp, curt nod. “Then you should probably focus on your own plate. Stop worrying about everyone else.”

The subtext was loud and clear: Shut up and eat.

Stunned by his coldness, Lana could only manage a stiff, awkward smile. She glanced at Victor for help, but he signaled her to stay quiet. Unable to lash out at Aaron, she funneled all her simmering resentment toward Zoe.

Under the table, Aaron stopped retreating. He shifted his legs, and in a sudden, predatory move, he clamped his thighs shut, trapping Zoe’s straying foot between them.

Zoe froze. She tried to yank her foot back, but it was too late. His thighs were like bands of steel, locking her ankle in place.

She looked up at him, her eyes wide with genuine shock. Aaron remained a mask of icy composure, calmly sipping his tea, but there was a flicker of a mocking smirk at the corner of his mouth.

He looked down slightly, then used the back of his hand to lazily stroke the sensitive arch of her bare foot.

An involuntary shiver racked Zoe’s entire body. She struggled to break free, but his grip was absolute. If she moved too violently, the table would shake, and their little secret would be out.

“Zoe, what is wrong with you?” Victor snapped, his eyes narrowing in warning. “Can’t you sit still for one meal? Have some respect for our guest.”

Zoe flinched, quickly lowering her head. “Sorry... my legs are just a bit cramped.”

Aaron’s smirk deepened. He was clearly enjoying her predicament.

“Is Miss Thorne feeling unwell?” he asked, his voice smooth as velvet. As he spoke, he pressed his thumb into the center of her sole, tracing slow, agonizingly light circles that made her toes curl.

“Ah—” Zoe nearly gasped aloud. She caught herself just in time, biting her lip so hard she could taste copper. A faint, feverish flush crept up her pale neck.

“Well?” Aaron prompted, his voice a low vibration.

Zoe gritted her teeth. “I’m fine... perfectly fine.”

Seeing Aaron’s gaze fixed on Zoe, Lana reached out and gripped his sleeve, trying to claw back his attention. “Aaron, are you free this weekend? I was hoping you’d accompany me to a concert.”

“We’ll see,” Aaron replied distractedly. Every ounce of his focus was centered on the game beneath the table.

It was fascinating. The little cat who always showed her claws turned out to have such a sensitive weak spot. Watching her face contort in a struggle for control only fueled his curiosity.

Suddenly, he released her. Zoe let out a jagged breath, thinking he had finally grown bored—but she was wrong.

The tip of Aaron’s leather shoe traced a slow, deliberate line from her ankle, up her calf, and disappeared beneath the hem of her skirt.

“You bastard!”

The curse hissed out of Zoe’s mouth before she could stop it.

Though she kept her voice low, the dining room was quiet enough that every word landed like a stone in a pond.

The air in the room turned to ice.

“What did you just say?” Victor slammed his hand onto the table, his eyes blazing.

Lana gasped, theatrically covering her mouth. “Zoe! How could you...?”

Zoe knew she had lost this round. She pushed her chair back and stood up, forcing a stiff, polite mask. “I apologize. I’m not feeling well. Please excuse me.”

Without waiting for permission, she turned and bolted from the room.

Lana watched her go, a flicker of confusion crossing her face. She turned to Aaron, looking properly embarrassed. “I am so sorry, Aaron. I’ve spoiled her too much. Let me go check on her.”

Aaron remained expressionless, his eyes unreadable. He picked up his spoon and continued eating as if nothing had happened. Seeing his indifference, Lana felt a surge of triumph. She was convinced her fiancé had absolutely no interest in that little fox.

She smiled and started to stand, but a servant came rushing into the room, face white as a sheet.

“Sir... Miss Zoe... she’s collapsed in her room!”

The spoon in Victor’s hand hit the porcelain plate with a sharp, jarring clang. His face darkened with irritation.

“Pathetic,” Victor growled under his breath. “Call the doctor for her. Now!”

“Yes... yes, sir!” The maid scrambled away.

An eerie silence fell over the table. Victor stayed in his seat, making no move to check on his daughter. Lana looked vaguely unsettled but didn't budge either.

The sheer, cold-blooded indifference was impossible for Aaron to ignore.

He slowly set his napkin down, his gaze drifting to Victor. “Aren't you going to check on her, Mr. Thorne?” he asked casually. “I was under the impression the Thornes were a devoted family. Or did I hear wrong?”

The question, though delivered softly, hit like a lead weight. Victor shifted uncomfortably. “It’s just a recurring weakness of hers. Nothing to worry about.”

Aaron didn't say another word. He just let a thin, razor-sharp smile touch his lips.

The "perfect family" image was nothing but a hollow shell.

Sensing his displeasure, Lana jumped up. “You’re right, I... I’ll go see her. She probably just skipped a meal and her blood sugar dropped. Please, finish your breakfast, Aaron. I’ll be right back.”

She hurried upstairs, her movements frantic.

“I’m finished. Excuse me.” Aaron stood up, ignoring Victor’s sour expression, and walked toward the stairs.

The doctor arrived and left quickly, offering a vague diagnosis of exhaustion and a need for rest.

As he passed a servant carrying a tray of medication, Aaron asked, almost as an afterthought, “Is she doing any better?”

The maid startled, bowing her head. “Yes... sir. She’s stable now.”

“Good.”

He gave nothing more away. He returned to his room and began packing his things to leave.

While waiting for his car, Aaron stood by the window and lit a cigarette. The gray smoke curled around him, masking his thoughtful expression.

His mind drifted back to the way Zoe’s face had flushed when he teased her. In that moment... she had almost looked vulnerable. But he knew better. Beneath that fragile exterior was a quiver full of daggers.

His private phone rang on the desk.

Aaron paused. This was his personal line—a number known only to a handful of family members. Unless it was an emergency, it didn't ring. He crushed his cigarette in the ashtray and picked it up.

“Hello?”

The response wasn't a family member’s voice. Instead, it was a low, weak moan—a sound that was both pained and dangerously seductive.

“...mmph...”

Aaron’s brow furrowed. He pulled the phone away to check the screen.

An unknown number.

“Who is this?” he demanded, his patience thinning.

On the other end, the heavy breathing grew louder, followed by a shaky, raspy whisper. “Uncle... it’s me...”

Zoe.

How the hell did she get his private number?

“What game are you playing now?”

“I... I can’t... it hurts so much...” Her voice broke, a sob of genuine agony catching in her throat.

Aaron went silent, his jaw tightening. He knew she was a manipulator. This had to be another act. It had to be.

“Not my problem,” he said coldly, his finger hovering over the end-call button.

“Wait!” Zoe sounded desperate, as if she sensed his intent. “Do you really... not care if I live or die?”

“Why should I?”

“I see...” Zoe’s voice trailed off, her breathing becoming labored and shallow. “Then... I guess this is it. I just... I wish I could have seen you one last time...”

Click.

The call went dead.

Aaron stood motionless, his grip tightening around the phone.

Dammit. She hung up? Just like that? Was she testing his patience? Had he been too lenient, giving her the idea that she could pull his strings?

He threw the phone onto the sofa, swearing to himself that he wouldn't fall for it.

And yet...