Accidentally Crossing the Tycoon Chapter 93

Caspar‘s POV:

I dragged myself through the front door of my estate, my mood as dark as the gathering storm clouds.

Audrey's rejection echoed in my mind, each remembered word another weight added to my already burdened shoulders.

As I entered the foyer, voices from the living room caught my attention.

I found my grandmother Dorothy there, looking up from her tea with a pleasant surprise.

"Caspar, darling, you're home earlier than expected," Dorothy said, her eyes quickly assessing my demeanor.

Her smile faded slightly as she studied my face. "Is everything alright? You look troubled."

"It's nothing," I muttered, loosening my tie. I glanced around the room. "Where's Noah?"

"Upstairs changing. I just brought him back from my place," Dorothy explained.

I nodded absently.

Dorothy set her teacup down and leaned forward slightly, her eyes searching mine.

"Speaking of which, how are things going with Audrey?"

Her voice held a note of hesitation. "She hasn't been around the estate for several days now. Noah's mentioned her quite a few times, you know. The poor boy seems to miss her."

The mere mention of her name sent a jolt through my chest.

"She won't be coming here anymore," I said flatly.

Dorothy's eyes widened in shock.

"What? Why not? Did something happen between you two?"

She leaned forward. "Did you have an argument? You know, young women sometimes need a bit of coaxing, darling. Don't be so stubborn—whatever it is, I'm sure it can be fixed with a proper apology."

I sighed heavily, feeling the weight of failure pressing down on me.

"She rejected me." The words tasted bitter on my tongue. "She probably won't be returning to the estate."

Dorothy fell silent at my admission.

As she lifted her head, seemingly about to offer some words of comfort, her expression suddenly changed.

Her eyes widened in alarm as they fixed on a point just beyond my shoulder.

"Noah?" she gasped.

I spun around to find my son standing motionless at the bottom of the staircase. His small face was completely blank.

I realized immediately he had heard what I'd said about Audrey.

"Noah," I began, the words dying in my throat.

Noah turned and walked away without a word, his small shoulders squared with an unnatural rigidity.

The sight of his retreating figure sent a fresh wave of guilt crashing over me.

Moments later, I heard the distinct sound of his bedroom door closing with a soft but definitive click.

Edward appeared in the doorway. He asked carefully.

"Sir? Should I check on Noah?"

I shook my head, pinching the bridge of my nose.

"Give him some time. He needs to process this."

I moved toward the staircase. "I think I'll do the same."

In my room, I loosened my tie completely and tossed it aside, then stood at the window staring at nothing in particular.

Perhaps I had been deluding myself all along.

Was I truly so unlikable to Audrey?

The way she looked at me sometimes... I could have sworn there was something there. But maybe that warmth in her eyes had never been for me at all—just a reflection of her affection for Noah.

Perhaps I was merely basking in Noah's reflected light.

Had I expected too much, seeing a connection where there was merely politeness?

Twilight gradually darkened into night while I stood at the window, lost in thought.

Eventually, I roused myself, concerned whether Noah had eaten dinner.

When I opened my door to check on him, I found him doing exactly the same across the hall.

Our eyes met briefly before he looked away, his face still unnervingly expressionless.

During dinner, Noah sat straight in his chair, eating methodically.

Not a single complaint, not a single word.

His behavior was perfect.

All the arguments I had mentally prepared for, all the tantrums I had steeled myself to handle—none materialized.

Noah simply went through the motions of dinner with robotic precision.

He was being so obedient, so well-behaved that it was frankly unsettling.

This silent compliance was worse than any outburst could have been.

After dinner, I followed Noah as he headed upstairs.

He didn't look back once, didn't acknowledge my presence, but he also didn't close his bedroom door in my face when we reached it.

"Noah," I began, sitting beside him with enough distance not to crowd him.

"I need to explain something important." I paused, searching for the right words. "Miss Audrey, not wanting to... be with me doesn't mean she doesn't like you. She cares about you very much."

Noah's eyes remained fixed on his dinosaur, but his grip tightened slightly.

"You can still see her. I can arrange for you to continue your art sessions. She just... probably won't be coming to our home anymore."

The words felt like stones in my throat.

"Noah. I'm sorry I can't make her... I can't make her your mother."

Noah didn't respond.

His eyes were closed, his breathing deliberately slow and measured. He was pretending to be asleep.

I sighed softly, reaching out to adjust his blanket, watching his pretense gradually transform into genuine slumber.

The days that followed were eerily peaceful.

Noah woke up, dressed himself immaculately, ate his breakfast without complaint, completed his lessons with perfect focus, and went to bed precisely at bedtime.

Meanwhile, I buried myself in work, deliberately packing my schedule to capacity.

I filled every minute with something demanding my full attention. It was easier than allowing my mind the space to drift toward thoughts of Audrey.

We were both trying to accept that she had made her choice, and I was determined to respect it, not to become the kind of man who couldn't take no for an answer.

Life settled into a new rhythm. Different, emptier, but functional.

Until the answer came after three days.

I was reviewing quarterly reports in my home office when Edward knocked urgently.

"Sir," he said, his normally composed face etched with concern, "Noah has been sick in the bathroom."

I found my son bent over the toilet, his small body convulsing with another wave of nausea. His face was pale and clammy, eyes glassy with fever.

"Noah," I murmured, kneeling beside him and placing a hand on his forehead. It was burning hot.

"What happened?" I asked Edward.

"I'm not entirely sure, sir. He seemed fine at breakfast, but then complained of a stomachache during his morning lessons. Within the hour, he started vomiting."

Edward hesitated, "There's... something else you should know."

I pressed the cool cloth against Noah's forehead as he leaned weakly against me. "What is it?"

Edward reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded sheet of paper.

"I was tidying his art supplies and noticed... well, he hasn't been drawing at all these past few days."

I unfolded the paper with one hand, keeping the other firmly around Noah's shoulders.

Instead of the colorful artwork that usually filled Noah's pages, there was just a single sentence written over and over in his careful, childish handwriting:

*Noah always does what Audrey says. When will Audrey come get me?*

My heart cracked as I looked down at my son, who had closed his eyes and was trembling against me.

"Call Dr. Matthews," I said to Edward, my voice tight.

"Of course, sir." Edward paused, then added gently, "Should I also call Miss Lane? I think at this point..."

He glanced meaningfully at Noah's shaking form. "Noah clearly needs her."