Chapter 210 I Think I’ve Fallen for Another Woman:
Wesley set his phone face down on the table. He leaned back and stared at Dorian. His friend was slumped forward in the plush seat, his eyes glazed over and his glass empty once again.
"Dorian," Wesley asked, shaking his head. "Why milk tea of all things?"
Dorian did not offer an answer. He just stared blankly at the empty table.
"Why would you even want a sweet drink like that? You always hated anything with too much sugar."
Without a word, Dorian reached out, grabbed the glass bottle of whiskey by the neck, and poured another generous splash into his glass. He lifted it and drank it down in one go.
Wesley let out a quiet breath. He knew he was not going to get a straight answer out of him right now. Not while the alcohol was fully taking over.
So, he decided to shift tactics and try a completely different approach to break through the silence.
"I heard about what happened at that restaurant," Wesley said smoothly.
Dorian’s hand froze for a second, his fingers lingering near the glass.
"The Fister. Naya Whitmore was there. And Veyra too."
Dorian lifted his gaze slowly. His eyes were out of focus, but a sudden spark of tension flickered right behind them.
"Word got out that she slapped Naya," Wesley continued, keeping his voice even. "Right there in front of a whole room of people."
Dorian remained entirely quiet, though his breathing hitched.
"She also slapped Naya’s personal bodyguard right across the face," Wesley added, watching closely. "Right after he laid a hand on Leon."
Those words brought everything rushing back into Dorian’s mind.
He had already seen the security footage. He had watched the entire scene play out on his screen back at the office.
He remembered watching Veyra stand her ground in the middle of the room. He saw her defending her mother, stepping up to protect Leon, and refusing to back down an inch even when cornered.
Naya had tried to insult her, humiliate her, and threaten her with absolute ruin.
Yet Veyra had not flinched. She had not shed a single tear of weakness. She had not turned around and run away.
She had fought back using her voice, her wits, and her sheer courage.
A sudden, sharp ache squeezed tight around Dorian’s chest.
All the memories he tried so hard to bury came flooding back all at once.
He remembered the exact look in her eyes when she had cried in his kitchen. He remembered the desperate way she had held onto him during the storm. He remembered the soft sound of her voice whispering his name in the quiet hours of the night.
He thought of the bright smiles she gave him, the way she fearlessly argued back when he was being impossible, and the steady way she stayed by his side.
The strong attraction, the sudden desire, and all those complicated feelings he had forced down for weeks suddenly broke loose.
They erupted inside him like a dormant volcano.
He realized he could no longer hold them back. The walls he built were shattering.
With a sharp clatter, Dorian set his crystal glass down onto the table.
His voice came out thick, slurred, and terribly broken.
"Wesley."
Wesley looked across at him, raising an eyebrow.
"I think I have fallen for another woman."
Wesley blinked, his eyebrows shooting up in real surprise.
"Besides Iris?"
Dorian nodded slowly, his chin dropping toward his chest. "Yes. Besides Iris."
Wesley leaned forward, resting his elbows on the edge of the table.
"Who is it?"
Dorian did not say a word. He stared down at the tablecloth.
"Is it Veyra?"
Dorian’s head snapped up instantly. His eyes widened with a sudden flash of guilt.
"No."
Wesley studied every line of his face. "You are lying to me right now."
"I am not lying."
"Yes, you are," Wesley said calmly, his voice steady. "You are lying to me, and more importantly, you are lying to yourself."
Dorian kept his mouth firmly shut, refusing to give in.
Wesley reached down beside his chair and picked up a small white paper bag.
He pulled out a small bakery box, placed it right in front of Dorian, and flipped the lid open.
Inside sat a few plain egg tarts and warm scones.
"Veyra gave these to me," Wesley said quietly.
Dorian stared at the humble pastries with a blank look.
"She actually came to see me today. And she brought these treats along as a gift. Just for me."
Wesley paused for dramatic effect.
"She was genuinely worried that I would not like them. She mentioned that I was used to high end cuisine and expensive private chefs. She was convinced I would look down on ordinary bakery snacks."
A muscle twitched violently along Dorian’s jawline.
"She went out of her way to see you?"
"Yes, she did."
"Why on earth would she do that?"
Wesley shrugged casually. "She wanted to ask me a few questions about something."
"What kind of questions?"
"About you, mostly."
Dorian’s face drained of color entirely, turning pale, then flushing red before turning pale once more.
"What did she ask you about me?"
"She wanted to find out if you were having any relationship troubles lately."
Wesley watched Dorian’s face carefully, observing every micro-expression.
He could clearly see the raw pain, the deep confusion, and the total emotional turmoil swirling inside his friend.
Deciding to push the boundary even further, Wesley offered a slight smile.
"To be honest, I really like her," Wesley said smoothly.
Dorian’s head jerked up so fast it looked painful.
"What did you just say?"
"I said I really really truly like Veyra," Wesley repeated, keeping his tone entirely relaxed. "She is smart, she is wonderfully brave, and she is quite beautiful."
He paused, letting the words poison the air.
"And if I am being completely honest, I think she likes me a lot too."
Dorian’s hands curled into tight fists resting on his lap, his knuckles turning pure white.
"She even hinted that she might be willing to be with me," Wesley continued, twisting the knife. "After the baby is born and after your marriage contract officially ends."
Dorian stared across the table at him.
On the outside, his face looked completely calm. His expression remained tightly controlled, showing no outward sign of panic.
But on the inside, his world was tearing completely apart.
The pain hit him instantly, sharp, overwhelming, and impossible to ignore.
He wanted to stand up and shatter the glass in his hand. He wanted to scream at the top of his lungs or punch the wall until his hands bled.
Yet, he forced himself to stay completely still.
He sat there in total silence, putting on an unshakeable facade while his heart burned to ashes inside his chest.