The moment they leave, Henry's anger finally breaks free. His fist slams into the wall with such force that the skin splits instantly, blood seeping out in dark streaks.
The sharp sting doesn't even register through the boiling fury in his veins.
He paces the floor, breath coming heavy and uneven, his hand raking through his hair again and again as though pulling at the strands will somehow keep him grounded.
A groan escapes his throat, low and raw, the kind that threatens to rise into a scream if he lets it.
He's fighting with everything in him to stay in control, to stop the storm tearing through his chest from spilling out and wrecking everything in its path.
Then he catches sight of Victoria. She is standing rigid, watching him, her arms folded tight across her chest, eyes narrowing at him with an anger that is just as sharp as his own.
Her glare pierces through him, and the moment she opens her mouth, her voice cuts the air like a blade.
"Did you seriously just quit the job and hand over the company?!" Her words come out like a scolding whip, layered with disappointment, worry and annoyance all tangled into one. "How are we supposed to live now, Henry? Do you think you'll ever find another job out there as good as that?"
Every word lashes at him, but Henry doesn't stop to answer. He brushes past her without a glance, treating her as though she is invisible, as if her voice is nothing more than an echo he doesn't need to hear. Like to him, she's like a shadow he's determined to ignore.
"Henry.." She calls after him, her tone sharp with disbelief and frustration, but he keeps walking, refusing to let her drag him into another fight.
Her next words, however, hit him where it hurts most. "What are you even going to use to pay that servant you brought in? How could you give out the company like it's nothing?"
Those words make him stop dead in his tracks. He turns back slowly, his shoulders stiff, his breathing heavier than before. His voice comes out low, edged with a frustration so heavy it nearly breaks through his control.
"Servant?!" The word leaves his lips with a weight that shakes the air. He pauses, staring at her with an expression that speaks more than his voice could. For a moment, he goes completely quiet, as if forcing himself to swallow down the avalanche of words screaming in his head.
"Stop screaming in my ears, you're really irritating me. If you feel like screaming, go to the forest or wherever people go to let it out.
And if you're not going to do that, then just shut up and go to bed. And if you feel like you can't survive in this house anymore just because I don't own the company, then leave. Or better yet, go marry my brother since he's the one who owns it now."
The venom laced in his words is quiet, but it strikes deep. Without waiting for her reply, he turns sharply and heads toward the hallway that leads to his room, his anger still searing through him but his expression locked down into cold control.
Just as he turns the corner, he nearly collides with Riley. The sight of him makes Henry freeze for a brief second, his entire body stiffening as if caught off guard.
His thoughts tumble immediately... did Riley hear everything? The shouting, his family, the arguments, Victoria's biting words, his own harshness? And if he did, will that be enough to make him leave?
A sudden fear grips him. He doesn't want to imagine Riley leaving. Not when the weight of everything else is already threatening to crush him. If Riley leaves, then what will happen to Skye? The thought alone makes his chest tighten, almost painfully.
At least with Riley here, Henry tells himself, he can focus on the battles outside. Because with Riley, he knows his son will be fine. He cannot focus on him with everything else.
He swallows hard, forcing his voice out, though it sounds rough, uncertain. "Want to talk now, or should I just show you your room and we talk tomorrow?"
He isn't even sure what answer he wants to hear.
If Riley chooses to talk now, Henry isn't sure if he's in the right state of mind.
His blood is still running hot, his mind spinning too fast, his hands still trembling faintly from the force of his anger. If Riley chooses to talk now, Henry isn't sure if he's in the right state of mind.
But again, if they wait until tomorrow, what if Riley changes his mind by then? What if he decides leaving is the better option, and Henry won't even get the chance to explain or convince him otherwise?
The silence between them stretches for a moment, until Riley finally answers. His voice is quiet, soothing in a way that contrasts so sharply with the echo of Victoria's screaming that Henry almost feels his chest loosen just hearing it.
"I'm not so sure myself. What do you think?" Riley asks, his eyes steady, his tone soft.
"Then... Now," Henry says firmly, even though his insides feel tangled and restless. He turns toward the direction of his office and gestures with a tilt of his head. "This way, please."
Riley hesitates, then follows. The sound of their footsteps echoes lightly down the hallway, a contrast to the heaviness that lingers in the air between them.
When they enter the office, Riley gently pushes the door back, though it doesn't shut completely.
Henry rounds the desk, drops heavily into the chair behind it, and gestures toward the chair opposite him. "Sit," he says, his voice quieter now.
Riley sits, his posture careful, as though he is trying not to disturb the fragile calm Henry is clinging to.
Just as Henry opens his mouth to speak, Riley cuts him off, his words rushing out as though holding them back any longer would burn him. "Do you have a first aid kit? Your hand looks like it's still bleeding."
Henry glances at his knuckles, noticing the faint trickle of blood still smearing against his skin. He flexes his hand, dismissing it with a scoff. "No. Don't mind it, it's not even bleeding. Do you see blood on the flowing?"
Riley doesn't back down. "If not, then do you at least have something you can wrap around it?" His eyes linger on Henry's hand as though seeing the wound makes him feel it himself.
Henry sighs deeply, leaning back in his chair. "Okay, fine. You're not going to let it go, are you?"
He pulls open several drawers. He rummages through them until he finds something that resembles a strap.
He pulls it out and sets it on the desk, muttering under his breath as he tries to wind it around his injured hand.
But the strap slips, again and again, refusing to hold. His patience begins to wear thin.
"Let me help," Riley says pushing himself up from the chair. He steps closer, his movements slow and deliberate, as if he's careful not to spook Henry in the fragile state he's in.