Chapter 65 Stubborn Fool
Dorian sat in his leather chair, his wine glass empty, his steak still untouched. Across from him, Wesley Wen leaned back, his sharp eyes was still fixed on Dorian’s face.
The question still hung in the air.
You wouldn’t... fall in love with her, would you?
Dorian’s jaw tightened. His gray eyes met Wesley’s.
"Do you think that’s possible?" Dorian asked.
His voice was flat and cold. The warmth that had flickered there moments ago was gone.
Wesley studied him. "Possible? With you? No. I don’t think you’re capable of it."
"Then why ask?"
"Because I’ve never seen you watch a video twice. And you watched that one three times."
Dorian looked away and his thoughts went back to Veyra, the pizza shop and the way she had stood there with an empty gun, facing down armed men, and smiled.
He pushed the thought away.
"There’s someone else," Wesley said. His voice was softer now. Curious. "Someone from your past."
Dorian’s hands stilled.
"You’re still thinking about her, aren’t you?" Wesley continued. "The woman from before. The one you’ve been searching for."
Dorian said nothing.
Wesley leaned forward. His voice dropped.
"I’ve known you for fifteen years, Dorian. I’ve seen you build an empire. I’ve seen you destroy competitors without blinking. I’ve seen you walk into rooms where everyone wanted you dead and walk out without a scratch." He paused. "But I’ve never seen you look at anyone the way you looked at that photograph. The one you keep in your wallet."
Dorian’s hand moved toward his jacket pocket. Then stopped.
"That was years ago," Dorian said.
"Years don’t matter when it comes to some things."
Dorian was quiet for a long moment. Then he said, "I will never like another woman besides her."
The words were firm. Absolute.
Wesley nodded slowly. "Then why did you get married?"
"The marriage is a contract. A business arrangement." Dorian’s voice was clinical. Detached. "She carries my child. After the baby is born, we will divorce."
"A contract," Wesley repeated. "That’s all?"
"That’s all."
Wesley studied his face. Searching for something. A crack. A hesitation.
"What if she doesn’t want a divorce?" Wesley asked. "What if she falls in love with you?"
Dorian’s jaw tightened. "She won’t."
"How do you know?"
"Because she knows the terms. She agreed to them."
Wesley shook his head. "People change. Feelings change. You should be careful. A woman who bluffs armed men with an empty gun is not someone who follows rules."
Dorian did not respond.
Wesley picked up his wine glass. He swirled the remaining liquid. He did not drink.
"Let me ask you something," Wesley said. "And I want you to answer honestly."
Dorian waited.
"If that woman—the one you’re searching for—if she had never existed, if you had never met her... would you still divorce your wife after the baby is born?"
The question hung in the air.
Dorian’s eyes dropped to the table. To his empty plate. To the wine glass with its last sips of crimson.
He did not answer.
"I see," Wesley said quietly.
Dorian stood up. His chair scraped against the floor. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a stack of bills. He dropped them on the table. Enough to cover the meal. Twice over.
"I have work," Dorian said.
He turned and walked toward the door.
Wesley’s voice followed him. "Have you ever thought that you might never find that woman again? That she might be gone forever?"
Dorian stopped.
His back was to Wesley. His shoulders were tense.
The words struck something deep. Something he had been trying to ignore for years. The fear that she was gone. That she had moved on. That she was married to someone else. That she was happy without him.
He suppressed the panic that rose in his chest.
"Even if I search for the rest of my life," Dorian said, his voice low and stubborn, "I will search for the rest of my life."
He walked out.
The door closed behind him.
Wesley sat alone at the table. He picked up his glass. He took a sip.
"You’re a fool, Dorian," he murmured. "A brilliant, stubborn fool."