"Olivia! What happened to you?" he asked, his voice filled with alarm as he gripped her shoulders, but there was no reply.
He quickly lifted her in his arms and carried her into his office. Kneeling beside her on the floor, he watched her labored breaths and the lost look in her eyes. He gently placed his hands on her face and spoke in a calm but firm voice:
"Olivia, look at me. You’re having a panic attack, you’re not suffocating. Try to breathe slowly... I’m here."
But his comforting words failed to reach her scattered mind. She began to scream through her hysterical sobs:
"I killed my son... I’m the reason! I’m the reason!"
Matthias pulled her to him tightly, wrapping his arms around her as if trying to shield her from herself. He whispered near her ear, his voice filled with sorrow and tenderness:
"Olivia, stop. Don’t say that. You’re not the reason for his death. I’m here, I’m with you... You’re not suffocating, believe me."
He continued to hold her, gently stroking her head, trying to calm her until her sobs slowly diminished. Her breathing gradually steadied, and she collapsed in his arms, exhausted and broken.
Once he was certain she had completely calmed, he lifted her gently, as if she were a fragile piece of glass that could shatter at any moment. He laid her on the sofa with care, then covered her with a coat that had been draped over a chair. He stood silently beside her, gazing at her with sorrow in his eyes.
He whispered to himself, as if addressing her wounds that he thought had healed:
"What happened to you today, Olivia? I thought time would be enough to heal the wounds... but I was wrong."
He sat in his chair, watching her as she slept, his heart weighed down by memories of the past and the pains that resurfaced, reminding him that some wounds never truly heal.
The room was immersed in a heavy silence, as if it were trying not to wake the sleeper. Olivia lay on the leather couch, her body relaxed in an uncomfortable position, and her mind submerged in a whirlpool between sleep and wakefulness. Her eyes began to open slowly, staring at the ceiling as though pleading for some clarity, but all they could see was a blurry image that only grew more distorted with each attempt to focus.
She tried to rise, pushing herself slightly to sit, but a sudden headache struck her head like a storm. She raised her hand to her forehead, trying to soothe the pain, but the sharp stabs deepened with every pulse. She muttered faintly, barely audible:
"Ah... my head... Kira, bring me a glass of water."
Moments of silence passed before she heard the sound of steady footsteps approaching. She didn’t lift her head; the pain drowned out every other sensation. A soft hand offered her a glass of water and a pill. She grasped them quickly, swallowed the pill, and drank some water as if begging for relief from her torrent. She leaned back into the couch, breathing deeply as a sense of discomfort engulfed her. She stretched her hands behind her back, attempting to undo the tight buttons of the dress that had felt like a suffocating chain since yesterday.
She spoke in a hoarse voice:
"Kira, help me unfasten this dress."
She hadn’t expected anything different. But instead of hearing Kira’s cheerful voice, she felt fingertips gently brushing her hair away from her neck. She paused for a moment, an odd sensation creeping over her skin—both cold and warm at once. Then, the buttons began to open slowly and carefully, as though the one doing it were avoiding disturbing her. She froze in place, suddenly realizing this touch was unfamiliar. She turned quickly, and the shock was waiting for her.
Matthias stood behind her, his expression as rigid as a statue, though there was something enigmatic beneath it. His eyes were fixed on her, watching her response without a clear expression, as if inspecting her every move. A heavy silence hung between them, as if time itself had frozen. But the memories were unforgiving. Fragments of the previous night rushed back into her mind, broken and jumbled, as though she were trying to recall the details of a distant dream.
She began to look around, the luxurious furniture, the scent of old books that filled the room, and the clock hanging on the wall—all of it confirmed the truth she had been trying to ignore. She was in Matthias’ office. She took a deep breath, closing her eyes for a moment, trying to process what was happening. Finally, she broke the silence, her voice carrying a mix of confusion and embarrassment:
"How long have I been asleep here?"
He stood behind her, slowly undoing the buttons of her dress as. His voice was calm, yet devoid of any clear emotion as he said:
"Perhaps two hours, maybe more... I don’t know. The clock says it’s past one in the night."
Olivia moved cautiously, shifting away slightly, and said stiffly:
"You can stop undoing my buttons. I’ll handle it from here."
But Matthias gently placed his hands on her shoulders, guiding her back into place with a firm steadiness. His eyes locked onto hers as though he was determined to dispel any doubts she might have. His tone remained cold, yet a sharpness threaded through it:
"I don’t know what foolish thoughts crossed your mind to make you wary of me, but I’ve told you before, and I’ll repeat it: I will never touch you unless you give me permission. So let me finish this. I need to check something."
She looked at him with suspicion and confusion, but finally asked:
"Check something? What do you mean?"
He finished unbuttoning the dress silently, and it fell from her shoulders, settling at her waist. She stood there for a moment, weighing the situation. He stepped in front of her, standing rigidly like a rock. Despite the embarrassment she felt from the exposure of her body, she maintained her outward calm, then managed to force a mocking smile as she said:
"You say you won’t touch me, but you’re inspecting my body with your eyes after undressing me. Your commitment to your words... it’s impressive."
He smiled back, his response tinged with a darker mockery.
"If I wanted to sleep with you, I would’ve done it while you were drunk. At least you would have been more compliant, without the need to bear your sharp words. Besides, I’ve seen you naked before. Seeing more wouldn’t change a thing."
Olivia turned her head in silent rejection of his words, but he noticed. His gaze fell on the bruises on her neck, and the narrowing of his eyes betrayed a hidden anger. Slowly, he reached out and lifted her hair away from her neck to examine the marks more clearly.
"What the hell do you think you’re doing?!" she screamed, pulling away from his touch.
Matthias was unfazed by her outburst. Instead, he reached towards her jaw, lifting her face to meet his gaze. With an unexpected calmness, he asked:
"Does it hurt?"
"What? What are you talking about? Don’t start beating around the bush!" she retorted, pretending not to understand.
"The bruises on your neck... do they hurt?"
Olivia paused for a moment, realizing she could no longer evade the truth. She remembered the real reason she wore the high-neck dress: to hide the bruises left by David’s choking grip. But she replied coldly:
"No, it doesn’t hurt."
Suddenly, he reached out and touched one of the bruises, causing her to gasp lightly in pain, though she tried to mask it in vain.
Matthias spoke softly, though his tone carried a hint of irritation:
"It seems like it does hurt."
He withdrew his hand and stood up, gesturing toward a nearby table where a silk nightgown had been placed. Without looking at her, he said:
"It’s on the table. I brought you a nightgown from your room. Wear it. I want to talk to you about something."
He then left the room with steady steps, leaving her to change in silence.
The room was steeped in a heavy silence, broken only by the sound of Olivia’s footsteps as she approached the table to grab the silk nightgown. Her fingers brushed against the soft fabric, and she began changing into it. Finally, she felt a sense of relief, as if the weight of the day was gradually lifting.
She had barely finished changing when the door opened, and Matthias walked in, carrying a basin of water and a small compress. His expression was somewhat tense, as if some burden rested on his shoulders. Olivia raised an eyebrow in surprise and asked:
"Why did you bring this?"
Matthias sighed as he placed the basin on the nearby table:
"Do you really have to ask about everything?" Then, with a practical tone, glancing at her, he added:
"Looks like you’re done changing."
She nodded and replied calmly:
"Yes, I’m done."
He looked at her steadily before ordering:
"Lie down, then."
She stared at him, eyes wide, the request striking her as strange:
"What?"
He repeated, his patience wearing thin:
"Lie down. Didn’t you hear me? Hurry up."
She hesitated for a moment but succumbed to his commanding tone and lay down quietly on the couch. Matthias took the compress, slowly dipped it in the water, and gently wrung it out before placing it over her, as though some invisible energy flowed from his fingers. Olivia noticed the warmth that began to fill the room but chose not to ask. His face held traces of irritation, and she decided silence was the wisest choice.
"Lift your head."
She complied without question. She lifted her head slightly, and he placed the warm compress on her neck. As it touched her skin, she felt the warmth seep deep inside, as if the compress held more than just heat. He spoke in a serious tone:
"This compress will help heal the bruises. In the morning, you should ask the doctor to examine you."
Olivia looked at him in surprise, her mind digging through the depths of their shared memories. Matthias had always been like this: caring for her, respecting her, even when his presence in her life was rare and their conversations brief. And even in their intimate moments, nothing had ever happened without her prior consent.
Matthias stood up from beside her and took a seat across from her, his sharp eyes never leaving her. Then, in a calm tone that hinted at a little amusement, he said:
"So... looks like I’m an uncle now."
Olivia swallowed hard, a dryness in her throat. Her heart raced, but she tried to maintain her composure as she asked:
"Are you talking about Layla now?"
He smiled lightly and replied:
"Well, it seems so. Congratulations to me."
She raised an eyebrow, then responded in a calm tone, though tinged with mockery:
"Congratulations to you. Congratulations to me as well, since I’ve become an aunt."
He leaned his head against his hand, smiling slyly, their eyes meeting briefly, charged with something unspoken. He spoke with clear sarcasm:
"No, it’s because you’ve become an aunt. Isn’t that worth celebrating?"