Chapter 113

Joanna was far more complex than she appeared. Noticing Hayden’s silence and unpleasant expression, Yosef carefully asked, “Mr. Parker, of my daughters, which do you truly prefer?”

He was bewildered. Hayden had married Yvonne, yet had scarcely been home in the past year. Worse, upon his return, rumors circulated about him and Joanna, though the depth of their relationship was unclear. As a man, Yosef couldn’t fathom Hayden’s thoughts.

Hearing this, Hayden, lost in thought, seemed troubled, his deep eyes clouding. “Don’t you know who my wife is?” he said, his quiet voice carrying an air of command that startled Yosef.

“I know. It’s Yvonne,” Yosef replied. He was about to ask further, but seeing Hayden’s somber expression, he withdrew his question.

Hayden clearly wished to end the conversation. He called the driver. “It’s late. Take my father-in-law home.”

“Yes, Mr. Parker,” the driver nodded, gesturing to Yosef. Yosef, unable to speak, followed them out. The Parker family’s influence, and his fear of upsetting such a wealthy man, made him wary.

After Yosef left, Hayden remained alone, gazing at the spiral staircase. Silence reigned; Yvonne had long since ascended. The house felt unusually quiet. After much hesitation, he lacked the courage to go upstairs. Sighing, he loosened his collar and sank onto the sofa.

He had brought Joanna back because she had cared for him, practically saving his life. But now he learned it had been Yvonne all along. He recalled the coffee incident.

A mixture of guilt and a strange, ticklish sensation gnawed at him. Yvonne wanted a divorce; he wavered.

He remained on the sofa all night. At dawn, hearing the staff bustling, he rose and asked, “What are you all doing so early?”

“Mr. Parker, it’s per your instructions,” a servant replied. “Mrs. Parker knew you sometimes like morning pasta, so we prepared it early.”

“I haven’t been eating pasta,” Hayden said, frowning. A year away had changed his habits; he preferred sandwiches and bread.

“Mrs. Parker instructed us; we wouldn’t dare be negligent,” the servant said, bowing his head.

Hayden fell silent, then asked, “Did she say anything else?”

“Mrs. Parker said you work late, so we should be quiet at night. She also noted your dislike of winter cold, so the heating should be high. And because you prefer iceberg lettuce, she requested the finest from the farmers.” Once started, the servants couldn’t stop. Yvonne’s instructions, all concerning Hayden, poured forth. They were keenly aware of her care.

Hayden’s jaw tightened. He hadn’t realized the extent of Yvonne’s actions. He opened his mouth to speak, but hesitated, unable to find the right words.

The servants watched, perplexed. A senior servant finally said, “Mr. Parker, while you were away, Mrs. Parker managed the household admirably. She constantly looked forward to your return…”

This servant, older and suffering from worsening arthritis, had been cared for by Yvonne, who arranged hospital visits and a good doctor. With such a benevolent mistress, how could she not be grateful? The other servants nodded in agreement. “Yes… Mrs. Parker is truly kind…”

They had witnessed recent events. While not daring to pry, they understood what was happening.

Hayden watched them praise Yvonne. Reflecting on her actions, his calm heart stirred, irrevocably changed. He could only sigh, “Go back to work.”

The servants exchanged glances and reluctantly left. Matters of the heart were best left to those involved.

The living room fell silent again. Hayden remained downstairs all night. It was exceptionally quiet.

The following day, I rose early. A company gathering that evening required a wedding gown fitting with Lucy in the afternoon. I also had Martin’s affairs to attend to; my schedule was hectic.

Downstairs, I saw a figure on the sofa. The staff usually didn’t sit there. Curiosity led me closer. It was Hayden. I stared, thinking it a hallucination.

Could the Parker heir have spent the night on the sofa? Several empty bottles sat on the coffee table. I was astonished. Hayden was always calm and composed. He drank occasionally, but never to excess. Alcohol, he said, wasn’t for numbing his senses; he needed to remain alert.

But now… I understood him less and less. He frowned slightly, waking. His eyelids lifted; our eyes met in silence. He sat up, rubbing his temples.

“Did you sleep here last night?” I asked, incredulous. Had he really slept on the couch? If word got out, people would think I was dreadful.

Hayden looked at me. “I drank too much and didn’t want to bother you,” he said softly, gently, as if I were a delicate flower.

I stood, speechless. I’d known Hayden for ten years. Never before had he spoken to me like this. I’d once longed for this, hoping he would address me thus. Now, it made me wonder if he’d lost his mind.