Chapter 83: The Man Who Stayed

The top floor of Knight Corporation headquarters was completely dark.

Only the faint glow of the city lights seeped through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting long shadows across the empty office. The air was thick with cigarette smoke, hanging in the darkness like a fog.

Layton stood alone before the glass wall, another cigarette burning slowly between his fingers.

He rarely smoked. Only when he completely lost control.

His shirt sleeves were rolled up, his tie had long been discarded somewhere on the floor, and his eyes were bloodshot—red-rimmed and hollow. He hadn’t slept. Hadn’t eaten. Hadn’t moved from this spot for hours.

Everything Mindy had said replayed endlessly inside his mind, each word cutting deeper than the last.

"I saved you twice..."

"I piggybacked you for almost an hour..."

"You all left me there..."

"I really regret helping you."

Every sentence felt like another knife twisting in his chest.

Knock. Knock.

The office door slowly opened, the sound unnaturally loud in the silence.

Mike stepped inside, then immediately began coughing, his hand flying to his mouth. The entire office was covered in smoke, the air almost unbreathable.

"Mr... Mr. Knight?"

Receiving no answer, Mike cautiously walked forward, his footsteps hesitant, before switching on one of the dim wall lights. A faint golden glow spread across the office, illuminating the scattered papers, the overflowing ashtray, the broken glass on the floor.

Layton never turned around, his silhouette dark against the window.

His voice was hoarse, barely recognizable. "...Did you find anything?"

Mike nodded, though Layton couldn’t see him. "I investigated every record that still exists." He paused, swallowing. "There weren’t any surveillance cameras around Elvaris Valley back then, so we couldn’t retrieve any footage."

Layton remained silent, his shoulders tense.

Mike continued carefully, his voice soft. "But we found old hospital admission records."

Layton slowly turned, his movements stiff, mechanical.

Mike handed him several worn documents—yellowed paper, faded ink, the edges frayed with age. "The hospital admitted two people that day." He paused. "You... and Miss Mindy Hawthorne."

Layton’s fingers trembled as he took the papers, his grip weak.

Mike continued, his voice dropping. "There was also a handwritten note on Miss Hawthorne’s medical prescription." He swallowed hard. "It says... Exhaustion. Blood donation. Patient fainted after donating blood."

Silence. Heavy, suffocating silence.

Mike slowly added, his words careful, "I couldn’t find any admission records for Miss Missy Hawthorne."

The documents slipped from Layton’s fingers, fluttering to the floor like fallen leaves. They scattered across the polished wood, the truth laid bare in faded ink.

His entire body froze. His breathing became uneven, shallow, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

Then—

BANG!

His fist slammed into the glass wall, the sound explosive in the quiet office.

Mike jumped, his eyes widening. "Mr. Knight!"

Another punch. BANG! Cracks spread across the thick tempered glass like spiderwebs, radiating outward from the impact point.

Another. BANG!! The entire window shattered, glass raining across the office floor in a glittering cascade, the sound like wind chimes breaking.

Blood immediately flowed from Layton’s knuckles, dark and thick, dripping onto the scattered documents below.

Mike rushed forward, his hands outstretched. "Mr. Knight! Your hand—"

Layton raised his injured hand, blood running down his wrist, staining his white shirt sleeve. His voice was frighteningly cold, empty. "Leave."

Mike hesitated, his expression torn. "But you’re bleeding—"

"I said..." Layton slowly turned, his eyes meeting Mike’s. "...leave."

Mike had never seen him like this. Not even after the assassination attempts. Not even after losing billion-dollar projects. Not even when his uncle had tried to kill him.

For the first time, Mr. Knight looked... broken. Shattered. Like the glass at his feet.

Mike quietly lowered his head, his voice barely a whisper. "...Yes, Mr. Knight."

The office door closed once again with a soft click.

Silence returned, heavier than before.

Layton slowly slid down the wall until he sat on the cold floor, his back against the broken window, glass crunching beneath him. Blood dripped from his hand, pooling on the polished wood, but he didn’t even look at it.

His eyes remained fixed on the scattered hospital papers, the handwritten note visible even from where he sat.

Patient fainted after donating blood.

He had ignored her. Again. Again. Again.

His phone vibrated, the screen lighting up in the darkness.

Missy Calling...

He stared at the screen, his expression blank. Then declined it, his thumb moving automatically.

Another call. Missy Calling...

He ignored it again, letting it ring until it stopped.

Silence.

After a long while, he opened another conversation, his fingers moving slowly, hesitantly.

Mindy.

The chat window appeared, the messages loading one by one.

The last message was from the day before she asked him for a divorce.

He scrolled upward, his thumb moving across the screen.

One message. Don’t forget your lunch.

Another. It’s raining today. Drive carefully.

Another. You’re working too late again. Come home early.

Another. I made soup. Eat while it’s hot.

Another. Did you reach safely?

Another. Good night.

Hundreds. No... thousands. Every single one had been read—the blue checkmarks mocking him. None had been answered. Not one.

Layton closed his eyes, his head falling back against the wall. His voice barely escaped, broken and hollow. "...I was really awful."

Meanwhile — Outside Virello Restaurant

Mindy walked out of the private rooftop dining area, her heels clicking softly against the pavement. The cool evening breeze brushed against her face, carrying the scent of rain and distant flowers. She let out a long breath, her shoulders relaxing slightly.

Then she spotted a familiar black car parked nearby, sleek and understated.

Leaning casually against it stood Matthias King, his hands tucked into his pockets, his posture relaxed. The moment he saw her, he smiled—not a dazzling smile, not a practiced one. Just... warm. Genuine.

He walked over, his steps unhurried. "All done?"

Mindy nodded, her expression tired but calm.

He studied her face for a second, his gaze sharp and perceptive. He could immediately tell—she hadn’t eaten.

"...Are you still hungry?"

Before she could answer—

Grrrr...

Her stomach betrayed her, the sound loud and unmistakable.

Mindy instantly covered it with both hands, her eyes widening. Her ears turned red, the blush spreading down her neck.

Matthias blinked, then laughed—a genuine laugh, warm and unrestrained.

She looked away in embarrassment, her voice small. "...I didn’t eat anything."

His smile softened, his expression gentle. "I thought so."

Then he asked, his voice quiet, "...Can I cook for you?"

She looked at him in surprise, her eyebrows raising. "You can cook?"

He nodded, his tone matter-of-fact. "I make a pretty good pasta."

Right on cue, her stomach growled again, louder this time.

She sighed dramatically, her shoulders sagging. "My stomach has already agreed."

Matthias laughed, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "So... should we?"

She smiled, the expression soft and genuine. "...Okay."

He opened the passenger door for her, his movements smooth and practiced. After they got inside, the car filling with the faint scent of his cologne—something clean and understated—Mindy looked at him, her expression curious.

"How did you know I was here?"

Before he could answer, she narrowed her eyes, realization dawning. "...Layla."

Matthias nodded without denying it, his tone light. "She called. She said you’d probably leave without eating."

Mindy smiled helplessly, shaking her head. "She knows me better than anyone."

She looked out the window, watching the city lights blur past. "Is she still at the office?"

"No. I forced Zac to take her to dinner."

Mindy slowly turned toward him, her gaze lingering on his profile—the strong line of his jaw, the silver mask catching the streetlights. She stared for several seconds, her expression thoughtful.

Matthias became slightly self-conscious, his grip on the steering wheel tightening. "...What?"

She smiled, her voice soft. "...You’re a really good person, Matthias." She paused, her smile fading slightly. "You shouldn’t waste your time on a married woman."

His hands tightened around the steering wheel, his knuckles whitening. "I’m not wasting anything."

Silence settled between them, comfortable but weighted.

A moment later, he spoke again, his voice lighter. "Why are you wasting your time on an ugly guy?"

She immediately frowned, her tone sharp. "I told you not to call yourself ugly. I hate it."

He laughed, the sound warm. "I was joking."

After another quiet moment, he asked softly, his voice serious, "On a serious note... why did you help me?"

She looked at him, then smiled mischievously, her eyes sparkling. "Honestly?"

"Honestly."

"I knew you’d become very successful. Very rich. So I thought I could ride on your coattails later."

Matthias burst into laughter, his head tilting back. "So that’s your grand plan?"

She nodded proudly, her chin raised. "Exactly."

He chuckled, his tone playful. "Fine. I’ll make you a mountain of money."

She laughed, the sound bright and genuine. The heaviness she carried from meeting Layton began fading, dissolving like smoke.

After a while, Matthias glanced toward her, his expression soft. "You should laugh more."

She looked at him, her head tilting slightly.

"You look beautiful when you laugh."

She blinked, caught off guard. Then smiled awkwardly, her cheeks warming. "...Are you hitting on me, Mr. King?"

He answered without hesitation, his voice calm and direct. "I’ve been doing that since the hospital."

She stared, her eyes widening. She had expected him to deny it, to laugh it off. Instead, he admitted it so calmly, so matter-of-factly.

She looked away, her heart beating faster. A faint blush spread across her cheeks, visible even in the dim car interior.

Matthias smiled to himself and continued driving, the city lights reflecting in his eyes.

Twenty minutes later, the car entered the same private estate where Mindy lived—tree-lined streets, elegant villas, the kind of neighborhood where privacy was guaranteed.

She looked around in surprise, her expression confused. "...You live here too?"

He nodded, his tone casual. "I liked the architecture. And it’s peaceful."

He pointed toward a row of villas near the end of the road, their facades illuminated by soft landscape lighting. "My place is just over there."

She blinked, realization dawning. "...You already knew where I lived."

"I did."

She narrowed her eyes dramatically, her tone teasing. "So you stalked me and bought a house near mine?"

He laughed, his voice warm. "...Maybe."

Right then—Grrrr...—her stomach interrupted once again, the sound loud and insistent.

Matthias laughed harder, his shoulders shaking. "Let’s feed you before your stomach files a complaint."

A few minutes later, they entered Matthias’s home.

The architecture was remarkably similar to hers—clean lines, high ceilings, floor-to-ceiling windows. Simple. Elegant. Minimalistic. Only the color palette was different. Where her house felt warm—creams, soft grays, natural wood—his was dominated by shades of charcoal, black, and deep gray. It suited him perfectly.

Matthias placed a pair of guest slippers before her, the gesture thoughtful and practiced.

She slipped them on while he removed his coat and rolled up his sleeves, revealing strong forearms. Without wasting another second, he walked straight into the kitchen, his movements confident and efficient.

Mindy climbed onto one of the tall counter stools, her legs dangling slightly. Resting her chin on one hand, she quietly watched him.

He boiled the pasta, the water bubbling. Chopped fresh vegetables with practiced movements—tomatoes, basil, garlic. Prepared the sauce, the aroma filling the kitchen—rich, savory, comforting.

Everything looked surprisingly natural. He clearly wasn’t pretending.

After several quiet minutes, Mindy suddenly spoke, her voice soft. "...Matthias."

He looked up, his hands pausing mid-motion. "Hm?"

She hesitated for only a second, her gaze steady. Then asked, her voice quiet but clear, "...Can I see your face?"