My Vampire Beloved Husband
Chapter 81: Silent Storm

Chapter 81: Silent Storm

Zylan body began to tremble, the sensation creeping over him in waves, an eerie dissonance that felt foreign to him. His eyes flickered with disbelief. Why was his body reacting this way? He couldn’t understand it—this involuntary reaction that seemed to take on a life of its own. His mind struggled to gain control over the trembling, but it was like trying to rein in a storm.

His hands gripped the steering wheel tighter, his knuckles turning white from the pressure as if holding on could stop the onslaught of sensations overwhelming him. He cursed under his breath, his voice barely a whisper, laced with frustration as he tried to steady himself, to regain some semblance of control.

But the tremors only intensified, their rhythm growing stronger with each passing second. The grip on the steering wheel tightened even more, his breath growing shallow and uneven, like he was struggling to breathe through the weight pressing down on his chest. His heart thudded painfully in his chest, a heavy, relentless beat that mirrored the sense of panic crawling up his spine. The world around him seemed to blur as if the edges of reality were dissolving. Then, with a loud crack, the steering wheel finally gave way, snapping under the pressure, and Zylan, in a mix of frustration and confusion, tossed it aside as if it were a toy, the pieces falling to the floor with a hollow thud.

He quickly exited the car, his movements sharp, almost jerky, his body taut with tension, as if every muscle was coiled, ready to snap. He opened the driver’s side door, leaned in, and carefully lifted Naomi into his arms. Despite the urgency in his movements, his eyes softened when they landed on her delicate face, a tenderness that was rare for him. His jaw remained tight, clenched against the storm of emotions swirling within him, but he couldn’t mask the gentleness with which he cradled her. As he walked toward the building, his gaze remained fixed on her, the peaceful expression on her face contrasting sharply with the turmoil raging inside him, as though her serenity was a reflection of the peace he could never seem to find.

The words she had spoken earlier replayed in his mind like a haunting rhyme, constantly repeating, echoing over and over again in his thoughts. The weight of those three words pressed against his chest, tightening with each repetition, making it harder to breathe. Despite everything, despite his years of hardening himself against the world, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he had failed her—that realization hit him harder than anything else. The knowledge gnawed at him, relentless, a bitter truth he couldn’t escape.

Her weight felt light in his arms, deceptively so, but there was a heaviness in his chest that he couldn’t shake. It was a weight that had nothing to do with the burden of her small frame in his hold and everything to do with the emotions that were welling up within him. Each step he took toward the stairs was measured, quiet, but the silence between them felt suffocating, like a wall closing in around him. His eyes remained fixed ahead, but his mind was elsewhere, tangled in the storm of thoughts he couldn’t seem to unravel.

His gaze drifted down to Naomi’s face as he ascended the stairs. She looked peaceful, her features softened in sleep, the delicate curve of her lashes now more pronounced, a subtle testament to the tears that had once marred her face. She seemed so small, so fragile in his arms, yet there was an undeniable strength in her, a quiet resilience that had always intrigued him. The sight of her made something deep inside him ache, a pang of emotion he couldn’t fully understand, a desire to protect her, to shelter her from the world, even from himself. It was a feeling that made his chest tighten, as if there was something inside him breaking with the realization that he could never fully shield her from the pain she carried, nor from the mistakes he had made.

He chuckled lowly, the sound almost bitter. He would never have believed— not in his wildest dreams—that one day he would act like this. That he would feel like this. It was absurd. This wasn’t the man he had crafted himself to be. Yet here he was, holding her, vulnerable in ways he had never allowed himself to be before.

As he reached the door, he hesitated for just a moment before pushing it open. The room was still, waiting for him. He stepped inside, the quiet of the space wrapping around him like a thick blanket, stifling. The only sound in the room was the soft shuffle of his feet on the marble floor beneath him, smooth and cold. The coldness of the floor seemed to seep into his bones as he moved toward the bed, each step measured, deliberate. Gently, he laid Naomi down, making sure she was comfortable, adjusting the sheets around her with the care of someone handling the most fragile of things. His fingers brushed against her skin as he made sure she was settled, the touch lingering longer than it should have, a silent apology in the way he adjusted her position.

His fingers trembled slightly as he reached into his pocket, pulling out his phone. His eyes remained fixed on her as he typed a message with mechanical precision, his fingers moving across the screen almost automatically. But his mind was elsewhere—still with Naomi. He couldn’t shake the image of her face, the way she had looked at him earlier, the trust in her eyes that he feared he had betrayed. It gnawed at him as his fingers moved across the glass screen, the words he typed more out of habit than necessity.

After a while, there was a knock at the door—soft, insistent, as if the person on the other side knew he wouldn’t answer unless they persisted. Zylan glanced up, his eyes distant, his mind too tangled in its own mess of thoughts to be fully present in the moment. He stood, walking toward the door, each step slower than the last, as if trying to delay whatever came next. The door creaked open, revealing an elderly woman standing there, holding a bowl of warm water and a white towel. Her eyes flickered over him with a quiet recognition, as though she had seen him in this state before, but said nothing of it.

"Mr. Zylan. Welcome back," she said, her voice gentle, respectful, as if his return was an ordinary event. She handed him the bowl and the towel with slow, measured movements, almost deliberate, as though each gesture had been practiced a thousand times.

Zylan took them without a word, his gaze cold and unreadable as always. His emotions were buried so deep, it was impossible to tell what was truly going on inside him. "You may go," he said, his voice low but firm, dismissing her without any further words.

The woman hesitated, startled by his abruptness. She glanced at him, as if weighing her next move, before nodding in silent agreement and leaving, the soft click of the door behind her almost inaudible in the silence that followed.

Zylan turned back to Naomi, his gaze softening as he approached the bed once more. The room felt colder now, a shift in the air that mirrored the shift in his own mood. His thoughts were hidden behind the calm mask he wore, a mask he had perfected over the years. Slowly, he unbuttoned the jacket she still wore, his fingers working with a tenderness he rarely allowed himself to show. He dipped the towel into the warm water, squeezing it out carefully, the steam rising in the still air, the faint scent of freshness mixing with the tension that hung heavy in the room.

He moved closer to her, the towel trembling slightly in his hand as he began to gently clean her face. The motions were slow, deliberate, as though he was trying to erase the traces of the world from her skin, to cleanse her of the pain she had endured. He made sure every inch of her was clean, every detail attended to, as if by doing so he could somehow undo the pain she had carried with her for so long.

As the towel reached her neck, he paused, his breath catching in his throat. He stared at her for a long moment, his thoughts hidden behind the calm mask he wore. For a while, he did nothing but watch her, listening to the quiet rhythm of her breathing, trying to find some peace in the stillness. But the peace he sought eluded him, as always.

When he finally finished, he stood up, his movements slow, almost hesitant. The room seemed heavier now, filled with the weight of unsaid things, of emotions that had no outlet. Without sparing Naomi another glance, he turned and walked toward the door, the ache in his chest still lingering, a constant companion. He closed the door gently behind him, leaving the room as quiet as it had been when he first entered.

Not long after, Ryland stood waiting in the hallway, his posture stiff, as if he knew what was coming.

Rylan’s gaze shifted to Zylan, who stood at the doorway. The chauffeur had already opened the door of the sleek black car, the polished surface reflecting the dim light of the hallway. Zylan held his long black cloak in his hand, the fabric draped over his arm as he turned to face Rylan. His voice was calm, yet laced with an undeniable finality that made the air between them feel thick, charged with something unspoken.

"If my wife asks for me, tell her I left," Zylan said, his tone almost casual, but there was an edge to it. "I’ll be back."

Rylan understood immediately. He had heard those words too many times before. When Zylan said he would return, it didn’t mean the next day. He would be gone for days, sometimes even longer, no matter where his destination was. It was a signal that his absence would stretch far beyond the usual. But this time, something was different. Zylan’s departure seemed more final, more distant than ever.