Her blood burned. He just had to say her name first. She could have pretended that he was a mere stranger, or maybe a little less of a familiar face just so she could have something to reason out with because of how deep his eyes were scavenging hers on purpose, in hopes of finally getting something out of her right on the spot.
And it was rightful torture.
Helena was too unsure to even trust her voice. Her heart wanted to break past her ribs, run away and hide somewhere awful coincidences like this wouldn’t dare to happen. But her chances of dodging the war zone were short at this point.
“Mom? Um... Mister Storms, do you two know each other?”
And Aiden finally pulled the trigger, unaware that he was to be the future casualty.
Pierre’s shock extended—mother. Helena was this young man’s mother, he just called her his mother. Everything was making sense now as piece by piece, the aftershocks of Helena’s departure resurfaced excruciatingly enough to make the past flood back into his vision.
It was as if he was actually back in there in his father’s office—enduring almost every faint detail of the room that clouded over his senses, like the vicious Gurkha his father smoked and the smell seemed to seep straight into his lungs and it felt harder to breathe than it already was. Lavender was the color his mother wore that night, as she and whimsical Henry mocked him and told him that the woman he fell for went up to them herself to unveil what they had, what they shared, which meant everything to him.
For a minute, for a while–
Maybe that’s why she doesn’t smile wider than she should whenever she’s around him, and he thought of what she said by how she wanted things to be. Maybe it wasn’t him she wanted, because nothing could ever be simple between them as long as she’s still head over the heels for him, and him to her.
‘Pierre Alarie Storms, heir to a chunky gold mine and whatever else is in store, kissing me? The sacred, married gardener? Something to stir up the tabloids, huh?’
And that was his cue to tell her that he found her way more captivating than the beds of Peonies she tended to every day, as he would take off his favorite coat to wrap it around her since she easily gets cold whenever they would secretly meet in a chilly midnight.
And it occurred to him that Helena would actually think he wouldn’t look into their transition.
It wasn’t possible that Helena stopped... loving him, in a week or two even though she seemed a little distant to him then. There was fire in her eyes whenever she would declare she won’t ever give up on what was left keeping her smiling like a fool—a lunatic whenever he squeaks if he finds a worm in the soil he just stuffed in the pot. He loved helping her around.
It must have been something that got in the way of that, them.
So he thought of any crazy idea, and he considered only one that was truly possible, which lead to him cornering one of the maids Helena has gifted her trust upon if she knew why the woman left him as a wreck because of god knows why.
Now, he knew why. Completely.
He remembers; he dwells on that night. They were clinking reckless Romaneé’s, thanks to the premium bottle he stole from his father’s collection, and things got willingly out of hand when they lost all control after a few heated moments.
Soon but unexpected—he was shoved into business in France, and of course his parents would flash a fine paycheck filled with a number among a lot of zeros to a quartet of bodyguards to ensure he had no way out of their wishes. Paychecks weren’t the only fine papers involved, but the settled French citizenship documents were also showed to him while they were out of his reach.
In conclusion, it all made perfect sense now.
He finally answers, blinking, “Yes, yes we do.”
In conclusion, she lied.
Aiden looked surprised as his gaze shifted from one empty gaze to another, only between his mother’s and Pierre respectively. He was bewildered upon the older man’s response, and he was waiting for any kind of greeting, formal or otherwise from his mother’s own accord to confirm her own side, since he just wanted a way out of this awkward air.
But Pierre already had an idea to relieve him of that situation, while he has the chance.
“In fact, she stole something from me.”
Bluntly as he had put it, yet it still wasn’t enough vengeance as his fists coiled harshly from each of his sides.
“Uh, guys, what’s going on?” Aiden nervously asked, guiding Claire’s hand to his fiancée’s so he could protectively make himself adjacent to his mother. Elsa nestled her daughter’s head against the side of her skirt, beginning to perceive an unpleasant exchange growing.
Helena swallowed the lump in her throat because she had to speak, she had to speak for herself right at this moment since her silence could only validate what Pierre’s meaning to say, without even considering current circumstances.
The word was at the tip of her tongue, though apparently Aiden didn’t want to beat around the bush either when his eyes narrowed to pressure her a bit. Pierre didn’t answer the younger man’s question this time—since only Helena could.
She just had to have the guts first.
But then, Pierre practically dragged her cue and made it his.
His cold stare landed on Helena, his voice getting louder beyond his will. “The thought of it was what kept me alive inside for years, you know. Being a father–”
He paused dryly, and focused all of his attention on Aiden before he converted his volume into that of a low, harsh whisper.
“... Being your father.”
•
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Aiden’s spirits dropped violently, as well as the half-empty glass he handled that soon became nothing but murderous fractals gleaming devilishly on the lavish marble. The sharp noise was enough to freeze time—and the idle chatter that once filled the atmosphere, polishing the room clean with nothing but silence.
“W-what are you talking about?” he brokenly managed to get out of his system. Tides of confusion were drowning him and sweeping him back up to the waves when all he wanted was to get to the shore. The green of his eyes darkened, surrendering to shock like sullen poetry.
Helena, despite knowing that it was too late, tried to erase the revelation with a stammer, “Aiden, no, don’t listen to–”
Before her hand could helplessly reach his arm, it was only a matter of time until Aiden defiantly turned around and moved away from her touch, his expression clear for her to see. He still didn’t know what to make of the tears beginning to roll down his cheeks, each representing how utterly lost he was.
“Helena, stop!” Pierre growled, “You know it yourself; that this is all your fault. That you had the reins right from the start and you used them wrong.”
“I brought myself to the wrong track because I was only going to be that blemish on your image!”
Pierre could only scoff. “You should improve your excuses. Another lie. You ran away, and stole my rights as a father because you were cowardly, I could care less about my image when I should have known I have a son!”
Helena glared at him icily, “Well if you are just so flawless then, why didn’t you try and look for us?”
“Don’t you drive the blame on me, my parents locked my ass in France since you left me with nothing to fight for. Would have stepped up alone, that would have been real convenient, but you threw me away like many other people did!” The businessman bellowed, “I’ve endured falling in love—being in love, with an unfairly married woman yet you couldn’t even last for me.”
Helena bit her lip in fury, and opened her mouth to conduct a rebuttal–
“... Y-you.. You thought of him first.”
It was quiet, it was eerie; but it was enough to be a lone cry echoing throughout the battle ground in hopes of rendering the dead, bringing aid to the injured—a sole desire to turn back time, for all that could have been—yet it will always come ungranted.
Gravely ushering a confused little Claire to settle back beside her aunt, Elsa made sure to be at least near her fiancé whilst she continued to process what just happened. She wasn’t exactly concerned about the encounter unfurling in front of her. Her thoughts couldn’t stray away from Aiden.
Who is undeniably falling apart.
“I... I’ve always thought of you,” Aiden desolately hissed, “Every day, it is you I think of whenever I strive for something. From the stains on your shirt to the sight of you forgetting to feed yourself or take care of yourself. All my life I have been trying to fix a mess that isn’t even mine.”
He shuts his eyes, letting the world get away with its cruelty.
“For a minute,
For a while,
Did you think of me, as you hid?”
For the very first time, Helena understood one of the most tragic aspects of love. Near, or a distance one has no choice but to cope with, one must love from afar. She learned not when she escaped, not when she left a man a wreck. Just... Right at this very moment, where she yearned to take her child into her arms and tell him that she didn’t mean for this.
That she thought of him.
When Helena was still speechless, Aiden was already sated with her lack of response.
“That’s what I thought.”
To be continued
on the next chapter...