Chapter 86: A visitor
>Mallory
Before I could even react, he stepped closer again—but this time, not to trap me. His hands went to my clothes instead, gentle and careful. He straightened the fabric where it had been wrinkled, smoothing it down with slow strokes. His fingers adjusted my sleeves, tugged my collar back into place, and brushed imaginary dust from my shoulder.
I stood there, frozen.
My mind couldn’t catch up with my body. My heart was still racing, my skin still hot, yet he was acting calm, almost cheerful. It felt wrong, like two moments that didn’t belong together had been forced into one.
I let out a shaky breath without realizing it.
He noticed.
His movements softened even more, as if he was reassuring me instead of threatening me just seconds ago. He fixed my collar carefully, straightening it until it sat perfectly.
As he finished, he leaned back slightly to look at his work, clearly satisfied. His lips curved upward, and his eyes shone with an almost childish happiness. If I didn’t know better, I would have thought he’d just been praised instead of confronted.
"Done," he said brightly.
I swallowed.
Then he smiled at me—warm, familiar, and dangerously normal.
"Can you stay with me for a while?" he asked softly. "Wife?"
The word made my chest tighten.
Before I could answer, he reached out and took the lunch box from my hands. I hadn’t even realized I was still holding it. He walked back to his glass table and placed it down neatly, lining it up with the rest of the items on his desk like he always did.
"I’m planning to finish my work," he added over his shoulder. "Then I’ll come home with you."
I lifted a hand and rubbed my temples, a dull ache forming between my brows. Everything that had just happened replayed in my head in broken pieces, leaving me exhausted.
I didn’t have the energy to argue.
"Alright," I said quietly.
The word tasted heavy in my mouth.
I walked over to the leather sofa and sat down. The cushions sank under my weight, soft and cool. I leaned back, letting the seat support me, my shoulders finally relaxing just a little.
He came over and sat beside me, close enough that I could feel his presence, but not touching. He picked up his tablet and turned it on, his focus shifting smoothly back to work like nothing unusual had occurred.
"Are you really that busy?" I asked, breaking the silence.
Without looking up, he smiled.
"Would you pat me on the back if I said I am?" he asked.
He finally glanced at me, his eyes full of expectation, like he was waiting for praise.
I stared at him, unsure how to respond.
I could never tell what was going on inside his head. One moment he was terrifying, intense enough to make my body shake. The next, he was acting like a spoiled child, fishing for attention.
What confused me even more was the way my chest reacted to it.
I still found him attractive.
That realization annoyed me more than anything else.
What kind of messed-up taste do I have?
"Do you want me to?" I asked, keeping my voice serious.
The guilt crept in again, that heavy and uncomfortable feeling that always seem to crept up inside me. I knew how much work he had taken on because of me. The thought sat in my chest and refused to move.
"I can even massage you if you—"
"I’m really busy!" he suddenly said, cutting me off.
The sudden change in his tone startled me.
"I haven’t even had any rest this week," he continued quickly. "All I do is work, sleep, and work again. My back hurts really bad!"
I blinked.
Once. Twice.
I had never seen him like this before.
Complaining so openly, almost whining. It didn’t match the composed, controlled man I knew.
I stared at him, completely caught off guard.
"What’s gotten into him?" I muttered under my breath.
I sighed and shook my head.
"Alright," I said. "I’ll give you a massage when we go home."
His reaction was immediate.
His eyes lit up, his posture straightened, and a wide smile spread across his face like he’d just won something.
"Alright," he said happily. "I’ll finish this really quick. You won’t even have to wait that long."
He paused, then looked around the room as if something had just crossed his mind.
"By the way," he asked, "where’s our son?"
"Oh," I replied. "Your grandfather and I met at the entrance earlier. He asked to borrow him for a few hours."
He nodded, satisfied, and returned his attention to the tablet.
While he worked, my eyes wandered around his office.
It was spacious and neat, everything in its place. Large windows, clean desks, polished floors. It looked impressive, but also cold.
There was nowhere that looked comfortable enough to rest, no couch meant for sleeping, no quiet corner to relax.
"May I ask something?" I said after a long stretch of silence.
The only sound in the room had been the soft tapping of his fingers against the tablet screen. He seemed completely absorbed in his work, eyes focused, brows slightly drawn together. For a moment, I wondered if he even heard me.
"Hmm... what is it?" he replied, finally lifting his head to look at me.
His eyes met mine, calm and attentive, as if he was ready to listen now. The tapping stopped, and the tablet rested loosely in his hands.
I hesitated for a second before speaking.
"Do you sleep here when you’re not coming home?" I asked.
I held his gaze, trying to read his expression. Curiosity mixed with something heavier in my chest. I didn’t know why the question mattered so much to me, but once it formed in my mind, I couldn’t push it away.
"Hmm..." he paused.
He leaned back slightly, bringing the stylus to his chin as if he was seriously thinking about it. His eyes shifted upward, unfocused, like he was going through his schedule in his head.
"That’s right," he said after a moment. "Is there something wrong?"
His tone was casual, like it was the most normal thing in the world.
I shook my head slowly.
"No," I said. "Nothing’s wrong."
But the words felt hollow.
I looked away and swallowed, my throat suddenly dry. My eyes drifted around the office again. There was no bed, no couch meant for resting properly. Just places to sit and work.
He was a big person.
Tall, broad, someone who barely fit comfortably in normal spaces. I couldn’t imagine him sleeping here, curled awkwardly on a sofa or slumped in a chair, stealing short hours of rest between meetings.
The thought left a bitter taste in my mouth.
I shouldn’t let him take those unnecessary breaks just to take care of me. I shouldn’t be the reason he pushes himself like this. The guilt settled deeper, pressing down on my chest.
Before I could sink further into my thoughts, a sudden knock broke the silence.
I flinched slightly and looked toward the door.
"Come in," my husband said at once.
His voice shifted instantly. The softness from before disappeared like it had never been there.
The door opened, and a man stepped inside.
It was Noel.
He stood straight, hands neatly at his sides, his expression respectful.
"Young Master," Noel said, giving a small bow. "Mr. Bryce has come to see you."
