Chapter 155: Silent Questions at the Table
Azazel’s steps faltered for the briefest second when Benjamin’s voice cut through the silence like a blade.
The weight of that question wasn’t small, and the seriousness in the man’s tone pressed against his chest.
He turned slightly, catching the older man’s face under the dim hallway light.
Benjamin’s expression was firm, his brows drawn together, the kind of look that could make any man hesitate.
Azazel adjusted the tray in his hands before answering. His voice came out low, steady, but with a certain carefulness.
"Sir..." he began, his eyes briefly dropping in respect before meeting Benjamin’s gaze again, "my intentions toward Ava... they are not to harm her.
She is someone I hold dearly—someone I..." he paused, searching for the right word, "...treasure."
Benjamin’s lips pressed into a hard line.
His sharp eyes studied the young man as though trying to peel away his words and see the truth beneath them.
His grip on the dish he was holding tightened slightly, the veins in his hand standing out.
"Treasure?" Benjamin repeated, his tone carrying both disbelief and warning.
"Words are cheap, son. It’s actions that weigh. I have seen men who talk sweet but leave nothing but scars behind. And I won’t let that happen under my roof."
The air between them thickened, carrying more weight than the warmth of the steaming dishes they carried.
Azazel didn’t drop his gaze, though; his dark eyes held steady, and a faint determination lingered there.
"I understand," he said, his tone softer now, but steady like steel under calm water. "You have every right to watch me. And I will prove myself—not through promises, but in how I treat her."
For a heartbeat, the only sound was the faint clink of porcelain as Benjamin shifted the dish in his hands.
His jaw worked, grinding silently as though holding back more words.
Then he gave a low hum, almost like a growl, and turned his eyes back to the path ahead.
"We’ll see," he muttered at last, his voice quieter but still carrying weight.
They walked the rest of the way in silence, though the tension hung in the air.
Azazel walked half a step behind out of respect, his shoulders squared but his chest tight from the exchange.
Benjamin’s face stayed unreadable, though his sharp eyes softened by a fraction, betraying the silent thoughts moving behind them.
When they reached the dining room, the scene waiting for them was different.
Ava sat at the table, her elbow propped lazily on the polished wood, her chin resting in her palm.
Her eyes followed the two men instantly, a small arch of her brow betraying her curiosity.
Cassandra was perched happily on Theresa’s lap, her little legs swinging back and forth, her hair bouncing as she giggled into her mother’s ear.
Theresa’s hand stroked her daughter’s back in small circles while she listened, smiling faintly.
Azazel quickly moved ahead, setting down the tray he carried with quiet precision.
He turned at once to Benjamin, pulling out his chair the same way he had done earlier for Theresa.
"Please, sir," he said with a small bow of his head, his tone polite but firm.
Benjamin paused for a heartbeat, eyeing the young man, then let out a faint grunt.
Without a word, he lowered himself into the chair, his movement slow but deliberate.
His face didn’t change, but the corner of his mouth twitched faintly—as if something in Azazel’s respectful gesture stirred him, though he hid it well.
Ava’s lips curled, the faintest shadow of a smile tugging at them as she watched.
She didn’t say a word, but her eyes softened, her usual guarded look slipping for just a moment.
Azazel caught her gaze, and though her lips stayed sealed, her eyes seemed to say, I saw that.
Theresa glanced up from Cassandra, her warm eyes catching Benjamin’s stern face before flicking briefly to Azazel.
A small knowing smile spread across her lips, the kind that only a mother who noticed everything could wear.
"Now," she said softly, patting Cassandra’s leg, "let’s eat before the food gets cold."
But Cassandra had no intention of being quiet. She wriggled in her mother’s lap, her small voice rising with excitement.
"I’m hungry," Cassandra said as she jump with a small thud from her mother lap and quickly sat at the other chair one right beside her mother’s.
The clinking of cutlery began softly, breaking the silence that lingered after Theresa’s gentle call to eat.
The aroma of seasoned soup rose warmly, mingling with the sharper scent of roasted meat and the faint sweetness of bread laid out on the polished table.
The atmosphere was hushed, not heavy but careful, like a room holding its breath.
Cassandra, now seated properly at the table, folded her small hands before picking up her spoon.
For once, she said nothing. She ate obediently, her little lips pressing together after every bite. Yet her eyes betrayed her.
Every few moments, they darted up toward Azazel, who sat across from her, his posture straight and composed as he helped himself to a modest portion.
Her gaze lingered on him, hopeful, curious, like she wanted to burst with a question.
But the memory of her mother’s earlier warning glance kept her mouth firmly shut.
Theresa’s presence was steady and warm. She moved with the quiet rhythm of someone who had done this a thousand times, serving portions with grace.
Her smile lingered as she set food on Benjamin’s plate, her hand brushing his briefly in a gesture so natural yet tender it softened even his stern expression for a heartbeat.
Benjamin grunted softly, his deep voice low. "You didn’t have to serve me, Theresa. I could have managed."
Theresa only tilted her head, her lips curving knowingly. "And rob me of the chance to look after you? I think not."
His brow furrowed as though he wanted to argue, but when her warm gaze held his, he looked away instead, clearing his throat.
The veins in his hand relaxed against the table. Theresa caught the subtle shift, the quiet surrender, and her smile deepened though she said nothing more.
Across the table, Ava lowered her spoon, her fingers brushing the rim of her glass.
Her eyes slid sideways, stealing a glance at Azazel. His focus was on his food, yet there was a calmness about him, a steadiness she couldn’t ignore.
The earlier exchange between him and her father still hung in the air, though neither acknowledged it aloud.
Leaning ever so slightly, Ava whispered under her breath, her tone barely audible. "You didn’t have to do all that."
Azazel paused, the spoon in his hand hovering above his bowl. Slowly, he turned his head, his dark eyes catching hers. "Do all what?"
She blinked, her lips twitching as though she couldn’t decide whether to smile or frown. "Pulling out chairs, carrying trays... answering so carefully."
Her voice softened at the end, carrying a note of something she hadn’t meant to reveal—concern.
A small smirk ghosted across Azazel’s lips, fleeting but unmistakable.
"Respect isn’t something you do halfway," he murmured, his voice low so only she could hear. "Especially not with people who matter to you."
Her eyes widened faintly, her chest warming against her will.
She dropped her gaze quickly, pretending to busy herself with her plate, but her fingers trembled lightly around her spoon.
She hated that his words could settle so easily inside her.
Theresa’s eyes flicked between them, noticing the subtle exchange though she said nothing.
Her gaze softened but held a quiet depth, like she was storing the moment away in her mind.
Benjamin, however, remained focused on his food.
His expression was unreadable, though the occasional flicker of his eyes toward Azazel betrayed that he was still weighing the young man silently.
Cassandra, meanwhile, squirmed faintly in her seat. She dipped her spoon into the soup, sipped obediently, then glanced up again at Azazel.
Her lips parted, ready to speak, but as soon as her mother’s gaze landed on her, she froze.
Theresa’s eyes weren’t harsh, only firm—an unspoken command to keep quiet.
Cassandra puffed her cheeks out in protest but said nothing, returning to her bowl with exaggerated concentration.
Minutes passed in the quiet comfort of eating, the sound of spoons tapping gently against porcelain. Then, Theresa broke the silence.
"So, Azazel," she said softly, her tone curious but not intrusive. "How are you finding your time here? I hope we haven’t been too overwhelming."
Azazel lifted his gaze, his expression respectful as always. "On the contrary, ma’am. Your home has been nothing but welcoming." His voice was steady, carrying no hesitation. "I’m... grateful."
Theresa’s smile warmed, though her eyes flickered to Benjamin briefly as though hoping he was listening too.
Benjamin grunted, his spoon pausing mid-air. "Gratitude is good," he said, his tone low and weighted. "But it is consistency I watch for."
Azazel inclined his head slightly, unbothered. "Consistency you will have, sir."
The room fell quiet again, but this time the silence was not sharp—it was tempered, softened by the weight of sincerity that lingered in the air.
Ava exhaled slowly, her lips curling into the faintest smile despite herself.
Cassandra, catching the softness on her sister’s face, finally stopped sneaking glances and instead focused on finishing her food, her small hands moving with determined obedience.
The family continued eating together, the earlier tension shifting into something quieter, steadier—like the beginning of an understanding forming just beneath the surface.