Chapter 208 Would You Die for Her?
Wesley hung up the phone with a quiet click.
He leaned back in his plush seat, letting his eyes drift up toward the ceiling while his mind raced through all the possibilities.
He knew Dorian better than almost anyone else did. The man was proud to a fault and ridiculously stubborn. He would never admit out loud that he was in a bad mood, nor would he ever sit down to talk about his inner feelings. Trying to force him to open up directly was like trying to punch through a thick stone wall.
Wesley needed a completely different approach to break through those defenses.
He tapped his fingers against the table for a few seconds, thinking hard. Then a slight smile touched the corners of his lips.
He picked up his phone once again and dialed Dorian’s number for a second time.
The line rang. Once. Twice. Three times before someone finally picked up.
"Wesley," Dorian’s voice came through the speaker. It sounded completely flat, raspy, and deeply tired.
"Have you ever seen Titanic?" Wesley asked, keeping his tone entirely natural.
There was a long, baffled pause on the other end. "What?"
"Titanic. The movie. Have you seen it?"
"I have seen it," Dorian answered slowly, sounding like he thought his friend had lost his mind.
"I just rewatched it a little while ago," Wesley said, intentionally letting his voice sound thick and overly sad. "Honestly, I am feeling really down right now."
Another quiet pause followed. "Why?"
"Jack dies right at the end," Wesley sighed dramatically, shaking his head. "He gives up his spot on that floating door and lets Rose live. It is just so tragic to watch."
Dorian said nothing at all to that ridiculous statement.
"Look, I really need a strong drink to cheer me up," Wesley continued smoothly. "Come over to Bordeaux right now. It is my treat."
High up in his quiet office, Dorian hesitated.
He was still sitting behind his broad desk. The main room lights were completely turned off, leaving only the soft glow of his laptop screen illuminating the piles of paperwork scattered all around him. He had been sitting in that exact spot working for hours, stretching into days without a break. He had barely slept, had not eaten a proper meal, and simply refused to stop.
The ongoing cold war with Veyra at home was driving him crazy. Between his endless insomnia and all these pent-up emotions he could not express, he felt completely drained.
He was beyond exhausted. Yet, the thought of going back home to the empty manor felt unbearable. He did not want to face her right now. He did not want to sit in that heavy silence between them.
"Fine," Dorian finally grunted into the phone.
He hung up without saying another word.
Wesley ordered a bottle of top-shelf whiskey alongside two short glasses. He settled into the booth, poured a splash into his glass, and waited quietly.
A short while later, the door swung open.
Dorian walked inside.
Wesley looked up from his seat and almost flinched back in surprise.
Dorian looked absolutely awful. The white skin around his eyes was bloodshot and bruised with deep exhaustion. His jaw was locked tight, his complexion was pale, and his broad shoulders slumped slightly with fatigue.
A thick sense of gloom seemed to hang over him, almost like a visible cloud following his every step.
Wesley forced himself to keep a completely neutral expression so he would not startle him.
"You look like absolute hell," Wesley said softly as his friend approached.
Dorian pulled out a chair and sat down without bothering to answer the comment.
Wesley reached for the whiskey bottle and poured a generous drink into the second glass. "Drink up."
Dorian picked up the glass with a steady hand. He took a quick sip, followed immediately by a long, deep swallow that emptied half the glass in one go.
Wesley watched him carefully out of the corner of his eye.
"Is something wrong?" he asked, keeping his tone light, casual, and completely unbothered.
Dorian shook his head slowly, staring down at the amber liquid. "Just tired. Work has been... completely exhausting lately."
Wesley nodded along as if he believed him. He did not push the issue any further. At least, not yet.
The two of them sat together, taking slow drinks in complete silence for a few minutes.
Once the atmosphere felt a little more comfortable, Wesley decided to test the waters.
"Are you still looking for her?" he asked quietly.
Dorian’s hand froze mid-air. His glass hovered just an inch away from his lips.
"Yes," he answered after a brief silence.
"Have you found any new leads?"
"No," Dorian set his glass down onto the table with a soft clink. "Nothing at all."
Wesley studied every tiny detail of his friend’s face.
Before Dorian arrived, Wesley had held a strong suspicion in his mind. He had built up a theory that Dorian must have uncovered some terrible news about Iris, the mysterious woman from his past. He assumed that some painful realization about her was what had broken his spirit and sent him spiraling down like this.
But there were no new leads. No fresh news. Nothing had changed on that front.
His theory fell apart instantly.
Wesley leaned back against his chair, taking another sip of his drink.
He watched Dorian pour himself another shot. He noticed the way Dorian’s back remained tense, the way his eyes looked hollow and distant, and the way he kept reaching for the bottle again and again.
This obvious misery had nothing to do with company business. Work had never made Dorian act like a broken man before.
Something else was definitely going on behind closed doors.
Wesley made a firm decision right then and there. He would get Dorian to drop his guard with enough alcohol, and then he would dig out the truth.
He reached over and filled Dorian’s glass once more, then topped off his own.
They began chatting about mundane things, small business updates, political shifts, and the usual corporate news. As time ticked on, Dorian’s speech slowed down just a bit, and the stiff walls he built around himself began to loosen by a tiny fraction.
Wesley waited patiently for the absolute right moment to strike.
Finally, he set his own glass down and looked straight across the table.
"Dorian."
Dorian lifted his tired eyes to meet his.
"Let me ask you something real quick."
"What is it?"
"Just a small hypothetical question."
Dorian said nothing, simply waiting for him to continue.
Wesley leaned forward across the small table, dropping his voice to a quiet, earnest tone.
"If you were Jack in that movie," Wesley said carefully, "standing right there beside that floating door in the middle of the freezing ocean water... if you knew for a fact that you were going to die right then and there, would you willingly give up your only chance of survival just to save Rose?"